Deer illustration from the original inspiration column.
Out in the Hill Country woods, silence has a way of talking back to you. It settles in and forces you to slow down, whether you want to or not. That morning, I felt prepared. I had my spot picked, my rifle steady, and my plan clear. All that was left was for the woods to cooperate. Then a doe stepped out. She was close.
Close enough that impatience started doing math in my head. Meat is meat. A freezer needs filling. A man’s duty is to provide, and opportunities do not always linger. I felt the pull to take what was being offered and be done with it. But I paused. I lowered the rifle just enough and said a quiet prayer. Nothing polished. Just a moment of surrender.
Then I waited. Waiting in the woods is different than waiting anywhere else. There is no clock to blame, no noise to distract you. Just your own thoughts, exposed. Mine were restless. I could feel how badly I wanted control, how easily patience slips when provision feels urgent. Minutes passed. Time stretched the way it only does when you stop forcing it. Then the brush moved again.
A buck stepped out, calm and deliberate, antlers catching the light just enough to make the lesson clear. He moved like he had all the time in the world. I waited until the moment was right, then took the shot clean and true. As I worked afterward, the weight of it settled in. This was not just about hunting. It was about restraint. About trusting that waiting does not mean wasting time.
It means honoring the process. Providing for your family is a responsibility, but so is patience. We live in a world that rewards speed and grabbing what comes first. The Hill Country teaches something quieter. Seeds take time. Rain cannot be rushed. And some things only come when you prove you can wait without forcing the outcome. That morning reminded me that impatience often disguises itself as practicality.
Patience, on the other hand, requires trust. I walked out of the woods grateful, not just for what I carried, but for what I was reminded of. Waiting is not weakness. It is obedience lived out slowly, one decision at a time. Sometimes the most important thing a man brings home is not the harvest itself, but the wisdom learned while standing still.
By Matthew Willis · From the January 2026 issue.