A long walk back from fishing at a reservoir in 1998 taught me something new: mountain lions don't roar, they scream. We were walking toward the dam when a unhuman, warbled scream made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Uh, what was that, Dad?" He told me to just keep walking. A few minutes later, the scream sounded again from further away.
"That was a mountain lion," he told me.
Earlier this spring, I had the chance to hear it again at a big cat sanctuary and it still brought a jolt of adrenaline, even with a cage and enough distance to keep me safe. It was the primal reaction to a threat that 34 years of relative safety couldn't quite smother. It makes me wonder at how this woman has not only survived but thrived after her encounter. It takes a lot of prayer and not just a little courage. I know that God is using her in a powerful way.
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