People like redemption stories.

Think about it.

A football team that wins every time isn’t as interesting as the one that seeks redemption. You know, the team that should’ve won the playoffs last year but blew it at the five-yard line with a minute remaining. The loss is painful and common. After all, everyone loses at sometime or another. But what people truly revel in is the story of a comeback. The hope of a fresh start. Redemption.

Tomorrow marks a special day for me as I seek a unique kind of redemption, one that is deeply personal. You see, one would think that slaying a deer with an arrow would be relatively easy. We see them at the park, in our flowerbeds, mashed on the side of the road. They are everywhere, until you want to see one.

Well last year, around this same time (September 27, to be exact) I blew it. It wasn’t the last minute of the fourth quarter either. It was about 30 seconds into the game, on opening day, as the sun peeked over the horizon. The big 8-point stepped out into a clearing as I loosed the cursed, wayward arrow. Unscathed, the buck jolted and ran. I saw him several more times throughout the next few months, but never did I have another chance to connect.

He’s bigger now. Nine points of solid bone crown his head. And he still inhabits the 20-acre woodlot in the middle of suburbia, which had been virgin hunting grounds last year. Unfortunately, I now have to share that sliver of soil with another hunter, who says he’s waiting for the big 9-point as well.

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of my opening-day humiliation. The questions have burned for a year, and they now occupy an unbearable percentage of my thoughts. Will I connect? Will I perform?

Will I find redemption?