My mom, bless her heart, was a clean freak. She labored endlessly to maintain a spotless home, and I’m pretty sure it scared me for life. As a carefree youngster, it was hard to understand why she fussed over a little dust.
Ever since I can remember I wanted to be a cowboy. Real cowboys like Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and The Lone Ranger charged across my TV screen on Saturday mornings…and I dreamed of riding the range with them.
Why did I want to be a cowboy? Think about it—their best friend is a horse and when they walk, dust puffs up around their sequined chaps. Apparently, cowboys are like my dog, Mollie; able to go days, even weeks without a bath. The only time a cowboy takes a bath is after a big cattle drive or on Saturday night before the barn dance in Silver City.
And then there’s the thing about their spurs…they rattle. Each step sounds like a one-man percussion section; his heels drum and his spurs ching-a-ling!
But best of all, real cowboys never fuss over a clean house. They live in unadorned bunk houses lit by the warm glow of the setting western sun and housekeeping is limited to beating the dust away with their Stetson.
At my house, we had a grueling bedtime regimen: bath, brush your teeth, etc. Not cowboys! No Sir-Ree Bob! They simply hang their hat on one bedpost, their gun belt on the other, wrestle their boots off, and lay back. I’m pretty sure a real cowboy sleeps in his bejeweled shirt and matching dungarees. Let me ask, have you EVER seen a cowboy brush or floss? How do I know all this? I saw it on TV so this must be how real cowboys live. And that is why I always wanted to be a cowboy.
I came pretty close when I was seven. That Christmas I scored a coveted set of The Lone Ranger’s guns and holsters. Its wide belt bedazzled with silver spangles and fringe. The holsters had leather backs and cast aluminum front covers emblazoned with his horse, Silver, who reared back on his haunches. The two chrome six-shooters fired caps! I can still smell the gun powder. But the coup d’état was an all suede-leather riding jacket with four-inch fringe that dangled down each arm and across my chest.
However, as generous as my parents were, I was deprived of one vital element; Mom simply would not allow me to have a BB gun (something about shooting an eye out). I never had my own horse either, although the Williams next door had a broken down old mare I was allowed to ride provided I could catch her…which proved frustratingly difficult.
I know now why the make-believe world of TV cowboys was so compelling to me as a youngster. The no-nonsense, rough and ready lifestyle of the old west resounded deep in my young spirit…and I loved it.
But for me today, I’m enthralled by another hero who walked the dusty streets of the old east. Only this man is very real. He is the heroes’ hero who came rough and ready to fight against evil and to restore us to the life for which we were designed.
Perhaps when you think of Jesus today you picture the Hollywood version of him in white flowing robes, handsome and fair-skinned with long flowing hair. But the Bible describes him much differently.
Jesus was “The servant who grew up before God—a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look.
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins! He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through his bruises we get healed.’ (Isaiah 53)
No little Jesus meek and mild there! Listen to this little sound bite of Jesus as recorded by Saint Matthew (8:20),
“Jesus was curt: ‘Are you ready to rough it? We’re not staying in the best inns, you know.’”
That’s what I’m talking about! That’s who I want to ride off into the sunset with; Jesus, strong and mighty! Saddle up partner!