Cowboys and Indians
During my childhood, the beautiful Appalachian mountains
of Southern West Virginia served as the playground of my
friends and me. We were rugged outdoor kids who simply loved
adventure. We didn't sit indoors like most kids today,
playing video games and surfing the Net; we were too busy
out playing ball, swinging on grapevines, catching crawdads
and minnows, hiking, swimming or fishing at the old pond,
camping, or anything else that would get us out of the
house. Had our parents only known a fraction of what we were
doing, they would have surely maintained a fuller prayer
life.
We especially loved to play games. We'd play hide-and-seek,
tag, and tackle-the-man-with-the-football, as well as
make-believe games like cowboys and Indians or cops and
robbers. In the world of make-believe, guns were created by
sticking your thumb straight up and extending your index
finger straight out while curling the other three fingers
around a make-believe pistol grip. If someone pointed his
“gun” at you and shouted “Bang!” or “Pow!” you were
considered dead and were obligated to fall to the ground
immediately without moving.
One day in particular we were playing cowboys and Indians
deep in the mountains. Envisioning myself as John Wayne,
better known as the Duke, I had my “five-shooters” out and
ready for action. I decided to climb a huge tree to get a
better view of where the “bad-guys” were hiding. Climbing
higher and higher, I saw no sign of anyone until I was six
to eight feet off the ground. It was from there I noticed
Gary Browning (my cousin) quietly sneaking along, ready to
shoot the first thing that moved. I allowed him to move in a
little closer before taking aim and shooting; however, I was
distracted by a noise from the other side of the tree.
Turning to investigate, I found myself staring straight down
the index finger of Curtis Gibson. “Pow!” he shouted from
the ground. Panicked that I was so far up the tree, I began
climbing down as fast as I could. “The Duke has been shot in
the foot!” I screamed. Remember, I was obligated to fall,
but I was eight feet off the ground in a tree! “Bang!”
shouted Gary who was now aware of my hiding place. “The Duke
has been shot in the shoulder!” I screamed as I kept
climbing down. “Pow, Pow!” A double shot came from Curtis.
“The Duke has been shot twice in the calf!” I squalled,
nearly reaching the ground. Then as I was dangling from the
lowest limb, Curt and Gary emptied their imaginary ammo into
me. “Pow! Bang-Bang! Pow, Pow-Pow! Bang!” From just about a
foot I finally fell to the ground and announced, “The Duke
is dead!”
Just like the make-believe bullets of childhood games,
Satan's fiery darts cannot make you fall. His blistering
trajectories usually whiz toward us in the form of stinging
words—words like “I want a divorce” or “You have cancer,”
maybe even “You're fired!” All of which can be painful, and
sometimes even enough to make you want to give up, but none
have the power to make you fall.
In Romans 8:38-39 the apostle Paul wrote: “For I am
persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor
principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things
to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature,
shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is
in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
No matter what Satan throws at you, it will never be enough
to make you fall. Remember, he can shoot all he wants, and
even scream “Bang!” until he's blue in the face, but the
truth remains: if you do happen to fall, you will be forced
to live with the fact that you had been shot down with
blanks.
Mike Collins copyright 2003
mikecollinsemail@yahoo.com
Mike Collins is a syndicated columnist, broadcaster and
author of Christian-related material. You can find Mike's
previous stories "Valentine's Day Balloon" & "Mike's Knives"
in our archives.
www.2theheart.com/archives