--- title: "Sometimes They Shepherd Me" date: 2025-10-28 author: "Laurie Stroud" featured_image: "https://birminghamchristian.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/Walt-and-Cape-after-hunting.jpg" categories: - name: "Outdoors" url: "/category/news/entertainment/outdoors.md" tags: - name: "Featured" url: "/tag/featured.md" --- # Sometimes They Shepherd Me **The Great Outdoors As a young dad, I often wondered whether my children approved of me. I didn’t want to be their buddy—my role was to be a father first—but I did want them to enjoy being with me. I wanted to offer good advice, perfect their softball swing, and make sure they saw a deer in the field when we went hunting. The quiet fear beneath it all was simple: If they got bored with the expedition, would they get bored with me too? Time, thank the Lord, has a way of refining a father’s heart. These days, I worry less about their approval and more about what they learn from our adventures. Just last night, I told my middle daughter, Cape, that my friend Travis Martin and I are planning a trip down the Tombigbee River with our girls. Whether she has “the best time ever” doesn’t matter much anymore. What matters is that she grows through the experience. [![Walt and Cape after hunting](https://birminghamchristian.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/Walt-and-Cape-after-hunting-300x225.jpg "Walt and Cape after hunting")](https://birminghamchristian.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/Walt-and-Cape-after-hunting.jpg)Walt is seen here with his daughter Cape after a successful hunting trip.That wasn’t always the case. Cape has always been our wild child. Once, when she was about five, she told me, “The only day I feel normal is on Halloween.” She meant it too. That morning, she was wearing a bathmat as a bear-skin cloak and feathers in her hair, standing beside her sister Bay, who had chicken bones tied up in hers. I just smiled and thought, “That’s my girl.” Her wild spirit has always run free—and, funny enough, it was that very spirit that taught me what kind of father I needed to be. It happened one frosty morning in Pickens County, Ala. I had planned an early hunt in a place we called “The Bottoms,” hoping to catch a rutting buck slipping through the hardwoods. When my alarm went off at 5 a.m., the old farmhouse felt like a walk-in freezer. I shuffled to the kitchen, warming my hands over the glowing orange eye of the stove. Through the window, the moon hung low over the frosted field, and I could see my breath in the glass. I eased into the girls’ room and found them tangled under three generations’ worth of quilts. “Cape,” I whispered, shaking her gently. “You ready to go?” She grumbled and rolled away from me. I laughed softly, and decided that the deer could wait. A few hours later, wife Hannah and I sat on the porch drinking coffee, watching the sun rise over the frost. When the girls woke up, Cape came into the kitchen dragging a quilt over her shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” she demanded. I just scooped her up, kissed her cheek, and said, “Don’t worry, booger. We’ll go in a little while.” [![Cape after hunting](https://birminghamchristian.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/Cape-after-hunting-225x300.jpg "Cape after hunting")](https://birminghamchristian.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/Cape-after-hunting.jpg)Cape learned how to call a bobcat during this memorable hunting trip with her father.By midmorning, she reappeared on the porch in full camouflage. “I’m ready!” she announced. So off we went—me and my five-year-old hunting buddy. It was quiet that day. Twenty minutes in, she was fidgeting, and I was anxious we’d leave without seeing a thing. She rummaged in my pack and pulled out a predator call. “Can I blow on this?” she asked. I tried to explain that it was a wounded rabbit call, not a toy—but she was determined. “Well,” she reasoned, “nothing you’ve done has worked. We might as well try mine.” So, I relented. She drew a deep breath and let loose a sound that echoed through the pines like a banshee—part trumpet, part dying cat. I winced, certain we’d scared every creature within half a mile. But she was grinning, proud of herself, so I just smiled and watched. Then she froze. “Daddy! What is that?” A huge bobcat stepped out of the brush, his coat rippling in the sunlight, ears twitching as he came toward us. Her eyes widened. “That, baby,” I whispered, “is what you just called up.” He was coming fast— hungry and close. “Do you want to?” I asked, motioning toward the rifle. She shook her head. “No, you shoot him, Daddy.” And so, I did. But the real victory belonged to her. She had called him in. She beamed with pride as we walked to where he fell, her little hands clutching the predator call like it was a treasure. That day, my daughter didn’t just learn how to call a bobcat. I learned something far greater—that my job wasn’t to control every outcome or guarantee success. It was to be present. To guide. To let her be wild enough to try—and wise enough to learn. Sometimes, in all my efforts to shepherd my girls, I forget that they shepherd me too. *“Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord”* (Ephesians 6:4). Parenting is holy work—not because we always get it right, but because through it, God teaches us to listen, to love, and to trust Him with the little hearts He’s placed in our care. Sometimes, the best thing a shepherd can do is follow where the sheep lead. *-Walt Merrell is a Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at [shepherdingoutdoors.com](http://shepherdingoutdoors.com).*