I loved the cowboy life. Okay, I never was a real cowboy, but I hung out with cowboys. I helped herd cattle from the back of my trusty steed. Okay, I didn’t actually herd cattle on horseback, but I did herd cattle from the back of my Mean Green Kawasaki 350 Bighorn motorcycle! I almost remember hangings on the edge of town from the cottonwood tree. Okay, I had a good friend who actually saw a true Western-style hanging from a cottonwood tree. Let me back up a little before I get too far ahead of myself.

Early in the pastoral phase of my ministry, I accepted an invitation to move from Illinois to the Texas Panhandle and pastor a fairly new congregation. Our town was hailed as “The Biggest Town in Texas on Highway 54”. At the north end of town was the Cowboy Cafe. To enter the cafe, one had to walk between the bow legs of this enormous plaster cowboy. Inside, the owner sold cans of Pet milk that were re-labeled “Jack Rabbit Milk”. There was a mounted jack rabbit on the wall onto which a clever taxidermist had grafted a pair of antelope horns. He called it a “Jackalope”. The tourists loved it!

I immediately felt at home in this little town. Several of us gathered on Main Street each morning for hot chocolate at the Princess Cafe. I joined the Lion’s Club and had more fun promoting various good causes in our community than an adult ought to be allowed to have. My first pair of boots were a bit stiff at first, but after they got broken in – never wanted to take them off. The fire department was volunteer. Twenty-six of us put out the fires. Some were on railroad right-a-ways. Others were out on the prairie. Houses burned; bars burned; even a church burned. I thoroughly enjoyed rolling out of bed at all hours, pulling on my bunker clothes and putting out the fire!

One of my best friends was a rancher. When he and his family moved to our area, they bought a large ranch. My friend invited the family to help name the new spread. After all the suggestions were in, and in an effort to offend no one, the name of the ranch became: The B-R-B Lazy S Rocking Horse Backward K Western Sky Crooked Creek Ranch. One day I asked him how many cows they had. He said that they didn’t have any. When I asked why, he replied, “None of them survived the branding.”

Speaking of ranches, one of our town’s claims to distinction was that it was one of the headquarter towns for the famous XIT Ranch. At one time it was known as the “largest ranch in the world under one fence.” I have a book in my library called “Six Thousand Miles Of Fence.” Can you believe that? It covered parts of ten counties in Texas and Oklahoma.

Every year we had the XIT Rodeo and Reunion. Our population of 5,000 swelled to between 15,000 to 20,000 as folks came from near and far to eat free steamed corn, watermelon, and pit-roasted barbeque. Our Lion’s Club members got to dig the pits, cut up the beef, and bury the burlap bags in deep trenches with hot rocks. Any surviving cowboys who’d worked on the XIT were honored each year. They were propped up in convertibles and driven over the parade route. Each year, their number decreased.

The rodeo was something else. Bull riding, steer wrestling, barrel racing, bucking bronco riding — the professionals came to town and competed for the privilege of taking home a flashy belt buckle and a few bucks.

On each of the three rodeo nights, a local, well-known person was selected to open the evening’s festivities. Here’s how it worked. The “celebrity” was asked to ride a wild cow down the center of the rodeo arena. He was told to pick two of his best friends to hold the control ropes. These two ropes were placed over the wild cow’s head. As the two helpers kept the ropes taught, they were able to walk the wild cow down the arena without much risk to the rider. Everyone would applaud and cheer.

Well, one year I was asked to take my turn aboard a wild cow. Now these cows were wild. They had long, curved horns much like their male counterparts. I selected two of my best friends. One was the high school football coach who weighed more than 300 pounds and was hard and tough as nails. The other was the high school agriculture teacher who was built much like the coach and every bit as hard and tough. I figured that with these guys on the control ropes, my walk down the arena would be pretty easy.

What I didn’t count on was the mischievous nature of both these “friends”. They agreed ahead of time to wait until I was firmly seated on the bare back of the wild cow and then drop the ropes. Yep! That’s exactly what they did. That cow commenced to bucking and pitching, turning me every which way but loose. I began immediately looking for the softest patch of dirt I could find. My tail bone changed places with my skull! I can’t ever remember undergoing so much jarring and banging and pure pain in my life!

Of course, my two friends thought it was uproariously funny. The crowd was cheering for the wild cow. I was in a crumpled heap on the ground, hoping and praying that the pain would go away.

WHAT ARE THE LIFE LESSONS IN THIS PIECE FOR ME?

• Life in a small town can be absolutely wonderful.
• There are special blessings connected to participating in the life of the community in which we live.
• Supportive friends can be very important to our existence.
• We must be very careful how we pick our friends!

Yes, I moved to that town to pastor a local congregation. I did that. However, by getting involved with just about every civic activity that took place, many people came to know Jesus. I thoroughly enjoyed just being part of the community and not trying to fulfill some pedestal dream as a minister. No black tie and narrow lapels. I deliberately and diligently avoided being the one who constantly spouted pious cliches and offered proof texts for everything. We were all just people. No walls, only bridges!

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