I've always been a fan of westerns. With John Wayne or Clint Eastwood often gracing the big screen, you couldn't lose. Of course, after one of these guys spurred my imagination, it was time to saddle up my tricycle and head to the nearest watering hole. Fortunately, that was a short ride to the gas station across the street from my house.
Back in the day, we didn't need Xbox games because we had those authentic-looking cap guns. Put a fresh round of caps behind the hammer of those guns and you could kill the bad guys for hours. Plus, there was all that smoke and the fresh aroma of gunpowder that filled the playground air. We paid no attention to the fact that the cap paper resembled unrolled toilet paper by the time we reached the high noon of our shootouts.
It was all good fun and the only pain that resulted from it came from the fact that I frequently wore my cowboy boots on the wrong feet. Even then, I was blessed with legendary blisters that would have made John Wayne proud of my "true grit."
On one of my western fantasy outings, I got to ride a real horse. That beautiful beast must have been ten feet tall, because I was pretty sure that if I fell off, the landing was gonna take a while. This may have explained why the horse made me so nervous. I thought I would look really tough on top of that horse, but I wasn't fitting into the saddle too well. Every stride the old gal took shifted me into a horrifying back and forth rhythm that left me holding my breath. Instead of the formidable appearance I desired, I came across as looking more like Barney Fife trying to get his gun out of his holster.
As a Christian cowboy, I rejoiced in the Lord when my aching feet were back on solid ground. I then went back to rustling up the bank robbers and hauling them to jail. Since we were God-fearing folks, there was no saloon and the showgirls were nowhere to be found.
When I made my way to college, I discovered that the wild west was still alive and thriving, just without the authentic clothing and accessories. I saw more alcohol and budding alcoholics in my first weekend than I had seen in my entire life.
College was a bit like Las Vegas, because the party never seemed to stop. And when semester exams were complete, it was like a Fourth of July celebration. The rich kids in my dorm didn't have any fireworks, so they set off their televisions, so to speak. It turns out that televisions built in the eighties made a right explosive display when thrown from a third floor balcony.
As an added bonus, sometimes the resulting explosion of the TV sets would ignite the abundant strands of toilet paper that were waving like Old Glory from the oaks that surrounded our building. The toilet-papered trees were another tradition marking the end of the semester.
One of the wildest adventures I witnessed took place in the life of a misguided young lady who had lost sight of her beauty and true worth. She was known around campus as a girl that was overly infatuated with men and there were many young fellas who sought to cash in on her indulgences.
She had a fair complexion and beautiful blue eyes that whispered of a deep sadness. One day, she had an episode of some sort while walking along the sidewalk near the library. The nature of her sudden collapse was never known. Because of her history, most people were either laughing or steering clear of her like the Levite that bypassed the wounded Samaritan on the Jericho road.
Most, but not all, seemed unfazed by her dilemma. One brave young man raced to her side and began praying authoritatively over her, caring not for the spectacle that he was creating. He was on a mission of mercy on her behalf and he intended to see her to victory over her predicament. I cannot recall the young servant's name, but I'm sure he is related to Jesus. Only someone adopted into His bloodline would behave like that.
And so, in the twinkling of an eye, that's how the west was won during my college days. The parties didn't stop, nor did the raucous behavior. But, for a brief moment, the heavens were open, and the angels of God saw to their protective business and ministered to a wandering soul. All because a young cowboy, free of decadent desires, had no stones to throw at her. Somewhere in his short prayer were the words, "Daughter, your sins are forgiven. Go and sin no more."
Whether she took her free ride off into a glorious sunset, I don't know. I am certain the Lord's heart towards her has not changed and his offer still stands. It won't take a barrage of bullets or a barroom brawl to save her. One drop of blood is the perfect draw.