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Out our way, Charlie and others said that when you take to hard riding, it is not a question if you will get hurt, but when. My pard was badly hurt in a wreck when Freckles was spooked by a dog coming suddenly out of the tall grass while he and another rancher were pushing cows in the Bear Paw Mountains. Charlie ended up in ER that day, and although it did not kill him, it did enough to where Charlie had to give up both riding and cowboying. Eventually, he was in a wheelchair, and a few years later, died. I had been tossed and had sprained ribs several times, banged my head and even once had a horse slip and fall with me onboard. But it was a quadruple bypass that took me out of the cowboying.
But there’s more to being a cowboy than working cattle and running horses. There is that something special that Charlie and others called “learning to cowboy up.” After the initial recovery process from open heart surgery, I started going to the cardiac rehab gym at the local hospital — and guess who was there? Charlie! Instead of Doc and Jet or Freckles, we “rode” various cardiovascular exercise machines. It wasn’t like riding the Tiger together — and, as Charlie noted, on these “horses” we did all the work — but there was still that comradeship. And when the going got tough — putting in that last five minutes on the treadmill or the stairmaster or the stationary bikes — we encourage each other to “cowboy up” and keep going.
It was a rough time for both of us, physically and emotionally. Charlie’s health was getting worse, but the selling of his horses and the loss of much of his mobility was pretty devastating. My wife had suddenly announced her decision to walk out of the marriage and left me in total despair, as well. Yet my Pard wouldn’t let me give in to the grief. He who had been so badly hurt and lost so much continue to smile and encourage me in the gym just as he had on the Tiger. And what healing we both gained was not just for the body — but also for the spirit. The body fades but the soul is immortal.
Most of you know the story of Charlie’s hat. A cowboy’s hat is his signature. A new hat is like a blank page. It only begins to be “his” hat when it begins to pick up the wats, curls, stains, and even holes of hard work and wear. I had my hat for some 30 years and it told my story just as Charlie’s told his. Then my new puppy chewed it up and destroyed it. I wrote a column on God’s love for us even when we have hurt Him like the prodigal son hurt his father, using old Scout’s mischief and my ability to go on loving him even after he ripped my hat apart. Perhaps only cowboys will understand the level of forgiveness that took. Well, Charlie did. And then he went on to remind me of the love of God that comes through anyway — and gave me his! I wore Charlie’s hat at his funeral in remembrance of that act and a reminder of the Gospel Charlie gave me in bestowing it. I still wear it today, although it, like the range coat he also gave me, is about worn out. It is not the material that matters, but the memories and inspiration that still shine,
It was a hard time for me, and much harder for Charlie ,as our worlds came crashing down. For him, the wheelchair, for me, the surprise divorce. But maybe God sent us to each other down in the cardiac rehab lab to remind us both that God is still God and the nightmares that come at midnight cannot withstand the coming of the dawn.
Now and then, God sends us a “Charlie” to encourage us to “cowboy up” in the hard times and believe in God’s love and even in the depths of the 3 a..m., the dawn is coming. Sometimes, like Charlie, God sends His messengers to one or two people. And sometimes, like Isaiah, He sends it to a whole nation and even unto the whole world.
The Isaiah prophecy we so often read at Christmas was written many years before Christ. Talk about dark days! The Kingdom of Israel was dying — the corruption of both the government and religious leaders was mind-boggling — and those who dared to challenge the pop culture of the day were ridiculed, attacked and even killed for daring to go against the flow. Then, as now, the pop culture dominated society and those who dared to question it were ostracized — or worse.
Yet in the midst of that darkness came a voice. A prophet who dared to stand up and light a candle in the midst of the darkness. He dared to accept the ridicule, the abuse and the threats of the mighty and challenge them. His small candle in the midst of the vast darkness was mocked and attacked, but it would not go out. And that light was not only kindled to push to challenge the darkness of the times and the leadership — but also to give hope to those who walked in that darkness,
As you read the whole of Isaiah you read of the condemnation against the rulers and leaders in both the palaces and the Temple who were the “false guides and shepherds” who were leading the people astray and into the darkness. Indeed, the darkness did triumph for a time. Civil war, growing corruption and evenetually the Temple itself and Jerusalem destroyed and the few who remained dragged into Babylon — Iraq — and exile. Isaiah foresaw this and warned the leaders to change course, but they would not heed and the nation was lost.
Except it was not. For even in Babylon, the light still flamed and there the words of the prophet were remembered — not only those of waning and despair, but of hope and promise. Isaiah, like Charlie, said, “Keep the faith — hang on — cowboy up.” 70 years after the absolute destruction of Israel, the faithful flame still glowed and the people came back, restored Jerusalem and rebuilt the Temple. Those who remembered and hung onto the words of hope in the dark times were not disappointed.
Years ago, Stalin — who sought to destroy the Church in Russia and central Europe — boasted, as he sent priests and believers into the gulags and death camps of the Soviet Union, “How many divisions does the People have?” He was applauded by many in the West who also hate the church and seek its demise. Then, some 40-plus years ago, the church, instead of dying as Stalin had sought, discovered the flame had not gone out. New prophets arose in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Out of the church came the labor unions in Poland that challenged the communists. Out of the churches in East Germany arose the forces that would tear down the Berlin Wall from the east side. The same was true in Romania and in Czechoslovakia and countless other places where men and women of faith rose up and rekindle the fire from the faint flame of those who had not let the fire go out despite all the pressure for the government, media, academia and their ilk. Stalin dd not live to get the answer to his question, but his followers and disciples did.
Now, it may be that, politically and culturally, there are those who serve the darkness and so hate the light. They may wield a great power of our culture, but despite all their efforts, history as well as the Scriptures tell us they cannot the douse the flames of those who dare to hold up the light. For most of us, the darkness is much closer and more personal. Illness, depression, personal tragedies and sorrows, and the like. These demons are private and attack from within. Yet they come from the same source and serve the same master. Regardless, they all hate that light for they cannot put it out. Only we can by refusing to accept it.
Isaiah spoke to a nation and the world. Charlie just spoke to me, but the message was the same. Cowboy up and trust. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it.
Blessings,
Brother John Bruington
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