The Soul of a Deer

We were driving through northern California, navigating Klamath National Forest along the Interstate 5 route. The majestic Mount Shasta was clearly visible, with pine trees and the ground lightly dusted with snow. My wife and I were on our annual journey north to visit friends who host us for our yearly Thanksgiving tradition. The drive is stunning, with trees turning vibrant shades of red and gold, and evergreens and pines towering above us. My wife was laughing joyfully at something she read on social media. Christmas music filled the car, creating a joyful and almost heavenly atmosphere. I wasn’t driving fast, too captivated by the scenery to speed.

We crossed a small bridge and eased into a gentle curve, staying close to the center line. It was then that I noticed movement in the median—a deer frolicking joyfully among the chaparral scrub brush.

Concerned she might dart in front of us, I grabbed my wife’s arm. “Gin, look at this,” I said, pointing to the deer.

As we passed, we realized the deer was not alone, and she wasn’t being playful. Another deer, presumably her mate, lay dead at her feet, no more than twenty yards from the road. How he got there, I had no idea. Was he hit by a car and thrown? Did he drag himself to the middle and couldn’t go on? We didn’t see that.

What we did see was an animal in the depths of despair. She was tugging at the dead animal’s ear, lifting his head as if trying to wake him from sleep. She reared on her hind legs, dropping her hooves on his body, desperately trying to revive him.

But he didn’t respond.

The realization struck us both like a semi-truck on a blind curve. I'm not sure how many other drivers saw that scene. I immediately regretted pointing it out to my wife. If I had kept quiet, the scene would have been locked in my mind alone, not hers.

I’m not going to lie. I cried. Later that night, alone in my car after saying goodnight to friends, I did cry. Why did this affect me so deeply?

In a conversation with my sister-in-law, Ginny told me what she had said: “You have witnessed something very intimate in nature,” she said.

Intimate beyond imagination. Ginny and I often discuss this question: Do animals have feelings? Do animals have souls?

Regarding feelings, I would say definitely yes, they do. That’s why I was never a good hunter. Taking an animal’s life for sport, even if we were to clean it and eat it, seemed cruel. Go ahead and revoke my man card. Maybe not completely: I still like to target shoot with a variety of weapons, but I admit I am not a hunter.

Do animals have souls? Probably not. However, there is some scriptural indication that animals might be in heaven. Whether or not they will be the ones who were our pets on earth, I'm uncertain.

The next morning, Ginny mentioned that she prayed for that deer. 

I'm glad. Not in a peculiar "all creatures are our brothers" way. But even Jesus said that the Father knows when a single sparrow falls to the ground, so how much more does He care for us? At that moment on the road, the understanding that animals feel the pain of loss became very real.  

When we reached Medford, our dear friend who is hosting us in her upstairs apartment (aptly named The Upper Room) welcomed us with the warmth and grace she shows to all her guests. During our conversation to catch up, our friend casually mentioned, “Ralph (her husband) has been gone for ten years now.”

This thought, combined with the image of the dead deer in the median, brought me once more to the presence of God, asking that timeless question: Why? I don’t understand it—death, that is.

Later that day, a song came to mind. The band Kings Kaleidoscope created a rendition of the hymn How Deep The Father's Love For Us, their version hauntingly beautiful. Some of the lyrics are: “How great the pain of searing loss. The Father turns His face away. As wounds which mar the Chosen One, bring many sons to glory."

The Father turns His face away. In that moment, when Christ was experiencing deep anguish, God turned away from His only Son.

How could He? If that were my son, wouldn't I be desperately clawing at the foot of that cross, pleading for him to be taken down? Even more tragic: He had the power to come down Himself, yet He chose to endure it. Honestly, I cannot fully comprehend the depth of that kind of love.

But this is the mystery and tragedy of human existence. God could not look upon His Son in those moments because of what Jesus had become. He had become sin. My sin.

We live in a fallen world. Undoubtedly, God crafted a beautiful, wild, and marvelous creation that has now become tarnished. The concept of heaven is but a faint glimmer in the believer's mind, yet it persists. As C.S. Lewis expressed: "If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world." Those who call upon Christ for salvation will one day be there, in perfect unity and perfection, free from sin and death. Until that time, we navigate this life with all its beauty and tragedy, even witnessing the sorrowful sight of a doe desperately trying to revive her mate on the side of the road.