When I was growing up on the farm, saying grace was something we did before a meal. Our food came from my grandmother’s garden my grandmother planted. Or, from wild plants grandma and I picked around the farm. She and I gathered eggs from the chickens they raised. On special occasions, she would kill one and fry it up.
Grandpa raised hogs and butchered them himself. He cured the meat in a smokehouse he built. He taught me to milk the cows by hand. Almost everything from every meal came from that old farm. It was important to thank God for what He had provided us.
Today, when all our family gathers for holiday meals or other occasions, one of us says grace as we all hold hands and bow our heads. We don’t always do that at all meals. But we should.
Saying grace before meals, among other things, is a way to remember God, not your credit card, provided the meal. Even if you are not a believer, saying grace recognizes the people whose hard work brought food to your table, at home or eating out. People like farmers, grocery store clerks, friends, relatives, or restaurant chefs. If you are a non-believer, I can tell you a true story that can change your life.
I have said grace at luncheon meetings, banquets, and at church. As a believer, it is an honor to do that. I always hope that what I say will touch the hearts of those listening and get their eyes on God instead of the depressing evening news or all the stuff on their smartphones.
I will admit that I don’t say grace before every meal. At home, it is usually just my wife and I. Sometimes we do, sometimes we don’t. When I go through McDonald’s for a biscuit sandwich to eat while on my way fishing, I don’t. When I stop by Arby’s for a roast beef sandwich after a morning hunt, I don’t. I should be thanking God before every meal. But I don’t, even though I should. I don’t know anyone that does.
I have found it is easier to say grace over the game I have harvested or fish I have caught and prepared for a meal. Maybe that is because I have a close connection to them. Like the connection grandma and grandpa had on that old farm. It is hard to have that feeling with pizza out of a box, broasted chicken in a plastic container, a hamburger, fries in a sack, or store-bought groceries.
When grilling a steak from a deer, I think about that morning in the deer woods. I remember the beautiful sunrise peeking up over the hill. I remember the frosted field, the crows calling, the birds fluttering through the trees, the squirrels running around looking for nuts, and the bobcat walking by.
I remember when that deer first appeared. The deer never knew I was there in the tree. I remember kneeling beside it, laying my hand on it, and thanking the deer for giving its life to feed my family. I remember looking up and thanking God for my time outdoors in his creation. I remember field-dressing it and thinking about how that deer would feed the crows, turkey vultures, coyotes, raccoons, opossums, and other animals. When I eat any part of that deer, I say grace.
While cooking a wild turkey breast in my smoker, my mind travels back to a spring morning and another beautiful sunrise. Birds were singing while crows were talking to each other as always. Everything was green. Wildflowers were blooming everywhere. I heard turkey wings flapping when they flew down from their roost. My hen decoys were poised and ready in front of my hiding place. My Jake decoy was near the hens and close enough to make a gobbler want to come in and kick his butt for trying to mess with his ladies.
A gobble came from over the slight rise to my left. I gave a soft purr with the mouth call, hoping it would sound like a hen saying to him, “Come on in, I am ready, you good-looking hunk of turkey.” He answered me with a booming gobble. My heart rate increased dramatically. I never made another call because he quickly appeared over the rise. He fanned his tail feathers and puffed out his chest. It was his way of saying, “Look how handsome I am.”
Then, he saw the decoy and immediately went over and attacked it, knocking it to the ground. The gobbler stood over the battered fake decoy and strutted out for the ladies again. When he came out of his strutting display, my shotgun boomed. The hens disappeared over the rise. It took one gobble, two struts, and a gobbler was on the ground. It is not always that easy. Believe me.
I smooth its bronze feathers in the early morning sun and thank it for feeding my family. The gobblers fan, beard, and spurs hang on my wall along with others. The smoked turkey breast was a reminder of a great day in the turkey woods. There was no hesitation in saying grace when I sat down to eat that turkey, or the morel mushrooms I found that day.
It is the same with fish I catch. I don’t lay my hand on them and thank them for giving their life to feed my family like I do turkey and deer. But, when I fry, grill, or smoke the fish I caught, I remember when and where I caught them. I see the sun or the moon reflecting on the water. I see the eagle sitting in a tree. I see the deer at the water’s edge. I hear the water lapping against the boat or rippling down the stream. I hear my lure hit the water.
When I am out on a camping trip, I feel close to God. My meal may not be fish or game, but I do my best to say grace over my camp meal, even if it is just a hot dog grilled on a stick. As I sit around the campfire, watching the flames flicker and spark, with nature all around me, I look up and say, thank you!
When I take the life of any game animal or a fish I do not take that lightly. I remind myself it is through the gifts God gave me to be a hunter and a fisherman that I was successful at harvesting the game or catching the fish. I will always be thankful to Him for the great outdoors He created for me to enjoy my camping, hunting, and fishing.
I will always try to remember to say grace before a camp meal and before I enjoy eating the wild game or fish that I have prepared at home for a meal. You see, saying grace is the least I can do for all God has done for me.
