Nobody ever loved western movies like Daddy and me. Mama wasn’t the least bit interested in them, but Daddy and I could (and did) watch them for hours on end. There is not a spaghetti western that we haven’t seen except for the ones that aren’t in English. We tried watching some of those, but neither one of us could handle it – or understand it. Cowboys speaking another language just didn’t sit too well with us.
We always liked to help out the good guys and save them from the villains. We did that by shouting at the characters on the television. We warned them all about the box canyons, told them where the bad guys were hiding, and alerted them about the upcoming ambush. All at the top of our lungs. And to no avail. Mama would bring us popcorn and say, “You do know they can’t hear you, right?” It didn’t stop us from trying to help.
It was rarely the heroes who needed our assistance. Clint Eastwood could handle most things on his own. He didn’t need our help. But there was always someone else getting into trouble, and we knew they needed us. It was not the real hero of the movie – just a good guy who needed help getting out of a fix. So we kept right on shouting and hollering instructions.
And then it would happen. The very person we were trying to help would do the dumbest thing and no matter how loud we yelled, we couldn’t stop it. Usually, they would start by getting all excited and shooting all their bullets at the bad guys. They never hit anyone, but they would just keep firing away. We would bellow and tell them to stop. It never worked. We counted the bullets, just like the bad guys were doing. Six loud bangs and then a bunch of clicking while they kept firing an empty gun. Enter the bad guys who don’t have anything to worry about now that the gun is empty. Well, almost nothing to worry about. We always knew what would happen next. We hated it, but we knew. As soon as the bad guy poked his head up, the poor inept good guy would throw his empty gun. It happened almost every time. And then it became Clint Eastwood’s job to rescue that unfortunate fellow – with direction from Daddy and me, of course, because we always had a good grasp of the big picture and we were perfectly willing to tell everyone what they needed to do.
Back when we first started watching those movies, I was just a kid. And I had no reservations when it came to praying - I would pray about anything and everything. It didn’t matter – I would pray for my goldfish and guppies as easily as I prayed for my family. I once asked God to send a hurricane our way so that my dog could come inside and stay in the bathroom. Mama wasn’t a fan of inside dogs, but she never made them tough out hurricanes. I talked to God as easily as I talked to my earthly daddy. It didn’t matter where I was – on the porch rocking the dog and sharing potato chips with him or swinging in the backyard – I just talked and talked to Him about everything that was important to me.
Somewhere along the way, I got worried that I was being a pest and that God might not answer my prayers if I didn’t scale back a little. I began saving my prayers for the really important things. But God isn’t like that and prayers are unlimited. It isn’t anything like that gun with six bullets so you better save them until you need them. God actually likes hearing from us. And how can we ever get to know someone we never talk to?!
Well, I’m back at the Cancer Center all plugged up for treatment number five! And while I am here, I do a lot of talking to God. He knows all about my health concerns, but that isn’t all I talk to Him about. I include the big stuff as well as things that might seem trivial but are important to me. If it is important to me (or you!) it is important to God. He might laugh out loud at some of my prayers – I once asked Him to lead me to an Italian Cream Cake that I needed right away – but He always listens. And He always answers. Try it and you will see.
Everything is possible for him who believes. Mark 9:23
P.S. I got the cake, but not the hurricane.
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