“I used to work on a forklift all day,” he said, adjusting his cowboy hat.
His beard was the color of an aged nickel; his eyes were pale blue, matching his shirt. His hands were thick, wrapped in skin that appeared tight and bruised.
“On weekends, I got permission to chop wood at a pasture that was once down the road. Now it’s some bar. It’s been many things since being a pasture,” he said.
I stared at the man sitting before me. Despite the time-worn wrinkles, I saw a smoother version of him when he spoke: one who didn’t shy away from responsibility, built a life earning an honest wage, providing for his family, and understanding the value of a firm handshake and loving the Lord.
“Now I got this tic that keeps my face moving like a bobblehead and a tremor in my hand that makes holding my sweet tea a challenge,” he said.
I had initially noticed the shake and the tremor, but as he continued to speak, those fell into the background like an obstinate child that you notice but try to give little attention to.
He was the main attraction, and it wasn’t his features or speech that attracted me. It was his resolve.
“I don’t recognize myself anymore,” he continued. “I had muscles, you know. Muscles that would impress the ladies on Friday, chop wood on Saturday, and help set up church on Sunday.”
He shook his head. “Now my arms are skinny, and I’m weak. I’ll get the shakes and might lose my balance in front of you when I try to get up from this couch. That’s where I’m at, but that don’t mean that’s who I am. You understand that?”
“I do,” I said.
“I’ve not been good at many things, from picking wives to picking fights, but I do know one thing: I know Whose I am, and as long as God keeps keeping me alive, I’m going to keep trying to be better than the man I was yesterday.”
He wiped his palms on his Wranglers. “You know, I’ve got enough yesterdays in me to fill up the lives of two men, maybe three. Guess the Lord has higher hopes for me than I even had for myself.”
“What keeps you motivated?” I asked.
“Well, some days I’m not. But that don’t matter. What matters is what I do with the time I’ve been given. Time doesn’t care about my feelings. If it did, I wouldn’t have outlived one son and two wives.”
He chuckled. “Heck, the only wife still living is the one who divorced me. I’d better not overthink such things, I guess.”
“What keeps you focused on the right things?” I asked.
“I’ve tired myself plenty focusing on the wrong things. All that did was make me an angry man, and eventually an angry old man. I can’t change being old, but I learned how to stop being angry all the time,” he said.
“How? How did you stop being angry all the time?” I asked.
“I learned what faith really meant. It’s not some pie-in-the-sky sissy thing that only Baptists are privy to, or Sunday pew sitters can grasp. It’s something beyond whatever I can muster on my own, and it’s put into flame when I surrender to the Lord’s will,” he said with a deeper and more steady voice than I had heard from him. “That’s when everything changes, even if my circumstances don’t initially budge.”
He continued. “It’s more than just my word that I’m a good person and try to do right by people. It’s about Monday through Sunday living for something and someone bigger than me and my problems, opinions, and perceptions. In a nutshell, it’s about complete trust.”
“Complete trust,” I repeated.
“Yeah, and not in yourself. In God alone. That’s faith to me: complete trust.” He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hand shook, yet his words were rock-solid.
“Let me tell you something I had to learn over and over before this hard head softened my hard heart,” he said, tapping his chest.
“Prevailing against the devil doesn’t mean you’re going to win every fight. Life will beat you down, but that don’t mean you are overcome. It means you have been given an opportunity to persevere in prayer and dependence upon the Lord. In taking that opportunity, you’ve got to understand that winning or losing isn’t the prize, even if Satan tells you otherwise. The prize is a stronger dependence upon the Lord. That’s the prize. You get that?”
“I do,” I said. “I get it, and that’s a powerful reminder to not get focused on all the wrongs that need righting so much as focusing on how God can use me in this moment… even the messy, hard moments,” I said.
His eyes lit up. “Yes, ma’am, I believe you got it.” He put his hat back on and held out his hand for me to help him up.
“Just one piece of advice, before I go,” he said. “Don’t lean on your own understanding. Scripture tells us that, and that’s the hard part for stubborn folks like me. I spent years thinking I could figure it out, muscle it out, or outsmart it. But some things you just have to lay down at the foot of the cross and say, ‘Lord, this is bigger than me, and I’m trusting You to be bigger than it.’”
He gave my hand one last firm squeeze, then slowly made his way to the door.
The old cowboy didn’t preach from a pulpit. He preached from a faded couch, with a body that was failing him and a past that could have buried him. And yet, in his surrender, the Lord showed up in a mighty way.
That’s the kind of faith that changes a person.
That’s the kind of faith that inspires people.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. For more inspirational articles, follow ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.