Panther Prints

The Ache of the Extraordinary

I heard her today.

Amid the thumping of woodpeckers, the whistles of Carolina wrens, and the throaty croaks of Cormorants, the short, high-pitched cry, “Owuh,” stopped me in my dew-covered tracks. I held my breath, trying to ignore the spiderwebs that were clinging to my arms, and turned to look across the fog-dusted field surrounded by slash pines.

There. Again and again and again. Getting louder and longer. I doubted myself; maybe it was a bird. No, there it was again. It wasn’t the long caterwaul she was famous for, but it was definitely her. Maybe she was calling her kittens. Short bursts that sounded almost human. Her throaty, primordial call seeped into my marrow. Not with fear—no, I was not afraid. Awe pumped through my veins, driving my heart to an adrenaline pace. This is why I came.

This is why I got up at 5:30 a.m. this morning. Every hike I have taken the past six years, I’ve dreamed I would see her. Every late-night drive through her territory. Every corner I turned on a trail, I hoped to get a glimpse of that tawny feline body. Critically endangered. Notoriously elusive. Masterfully camouflaged. My chances have always been slim.

But still, a longing I can’t describe drives me forward. And it kills me when I hear stories of someone randomly seeing one cross the road, completely ignorant of how extraordinary it is to see one in the wild at all, and then saying something like, “I thought it was an animal that had escaped from the zoo. I didn’t know Florida had panthers.”

Or people in suburban neighborhoods seeing them walk through their backyards. Aiii! Really? There are only about two hundred of these powerful creatures left, and you saw one walking across the golf course?

Isn’t it crazy that some of us can go out purposely searching for something, and others can have that very thing dropped right in their lap without any effort? I’m sure there’s a spiritual analogy there somewhere, but back to my story.

I tried to follow the sound. It was pretty far away, but still, I hoped I’d see her as I continued my hike. But not this time. I was left with the ghost of her cry, calling to me to come out and search for her again another time.

I’d like to think I’m getting closer. Last time, it was her prints in the sand. A friend and I got up early and hiked the same trail a few weeks ago. We crossed over the tracks of many animals as we trod along: raccoon, deer, coyote, even bobcat. Then we saw some prints we weren’t sure about. No claw marks, bigger than a bobcat. Google Lens to confirm, and yes—panther prints! That’s what pushed me to get up again this morning. The prints had given me hope I was on the right track.

One day I will see her. But for now, I will carry the prints in the sand and the call in the woods to push me forward to keep searching, keep hiking, keep hoping.

Photo by Maheera Kulsoom on Unsplash

And isn’t that like our walk with Jesus? We get glimpses of His glory. We experience a whisper of the belonging we will be pulled into in full, a sneak of heavenly fellowship, a brief rush of the beauty we will one day be welcomed into. And it fills us with longing—oh, the longing to see the real thing, to see more, to be more.

Honestly, sometimes that longing hurts, and I wonder if it was even worth seeing the reflections of what is to come. The longing turns to an ache that sits in my chest like a rock. It’s hard to continue on in the temporal when you have tasted the eternal. It’s hard to walk to the sound of traffic on concrete streets after you heard the cry of a panther in the woods. I get discouraged that it’s only shadows that I get to see. I get stuck in the dark.

But I will press on. May I let the “prints in the sand” that my Heavenly Father has left me push me forward to keep seeking His face, keep working at relationships, and keep letting the beauty He leaves on the path seep into me.

One day I will find my panther.

One day I will see my King.