Cowboy blues

 to what might have been

The cowboy blew his brains out with a gun.

He was friend of mine and I loved him. He was tough little guy with a real cowboy name, who rode bulls on the national circuit. But the cowboy was also gentle, softly spoken and polite.

The booze became too much and he sought help from the Salvos, but in the end the fight with addiction - the pain of the emptiness, the darkness of hopelessness - was more than the Cowboy could muster.

I loved sharing stories with him of the rodeo business. His eyes would twinkle as he shared a couple of his tall tales after Sunday night at the corps. I always thought that he’d make it through, with his determination and personality; that he’d be able to build a new life.

He was one of a small number of people who spurred us to plant a church for the homeless, the addicted, the rejected and the recovering in inner-city Brisbane. I knew that the Cowboy would find comfort and acceptance in that ragtag community, and that he’d take pride in being a role model to others who were struggling. But it wasn’t to be.

As a result, I’m angry. My anger is a mixture of guilt, regret, frustration, desperation and passion.

Guilt: I wonder whether there was more I could have done for him personally.

Regret: I know that if our ministry and been a little further developed then our place could have been a center of solace, acceptance and comfort for him (and many others).

Frustration: While we wrestle with peripherals like protocols, procedures and boundaries (as important as they may well be) the potential members of our church community continue to die without Christ.

Desperation: I see the extent of the harvest and the vital need. I know there is only so much that I can do with the hours I have.

Passion: The call to inner-city mission burns brightly as always. In fact this loss serves as a fuel to that flame.

I consider myself privileged to be called to live and work with a marginalised community. This is not some sort of corps where people will just keep turning up and might somehow connect with God. Sometimes we only get one or two opportunities of sobriety or seeking among those who’ve done the hard yards; people who swim in the currents of life and death on the streets.

The rewards are few and far between, the disappointments are many and varied but to be among such desperation and need is a constant reminder of the frailty of the human condition. It’s a reminder how much we all need Jesus.

Hey cowboy; farewell my friend. Please forgive me if I let you down in any way, or a missed an opportunity to show you how much you were loved. You’ll always be in my heart. When everything around me screams that I should give it all away, I’ll remember you and fight on.

1 Comment to Cowboy blues

1. That’s a really sad story Bruce, beautifully told. Whether we care to admit it or not we will be held accountable for our sins of ommission.

   We get so caught up in the doing and forget about just being.

   God bless you in your work and comfort you in your grieving for a lost one.

   Shalom
Peter B on May 21st, 2009

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