The Cowboy Hat

It’s my oldest cowboy hat, and I believe it is the least expensive straw hat I’ve ever bought. If I recall correctly, I might have paid $8.00 for it many years ago at a Rural King store. But it’s my favorite hat, and when I couldn’t find my ball cap at 6:30 a.m., I stuck it on my shaved head as I walked out the door.

I didn’t give the hat a second thought until the old guy walked up to me as I waited in line for my breakfast sandwich—a treat I rarely allow myself, since I’m almost fanatic about eating a really healthy breakfast.

“Nice hat!” he said, revealing an almost toothless grin.

I smiled. “Thank you!” I replied. “It’s my favorite hat.”

“Oh, I love cowboy hats,” he continued, then launched into a long story of a friend he’d had since childhood who was now living in Texas—where apparently everyone wears a cowboy hat. I listened carefully and marveled that my hat had brought out such a response from a total stranger. Little did I know, however, that it would bring about some priceless opportunities, too.

Soon another one of his buddies came up. “I’ve put together a little group of guys and we go play and sing country gospel songs at the nursing home,” he beamed. “But I really like them cowboy hats. And I think I’ll go find me a new one, since I’m not sure what happened to the last one, I had.”

I love the old guys, and I was happy that they’d chosen to share their stories with me that day—even as I saw the lady patiently waiting at the counter with my sandwich. Finally, she reached around them and placed the sandwich in my hand with a knowing smile; and, as you can imagine, my new friends kept right on talking.

“You know, I only started wearing cowboy hats a little over five years ago, after I found out that I had malignant melanoma skin cancer,” I explained. “I did it to protect my ears.” That started a whole new conversation thread as my two friends began telling me about their battles with cancer. There is an instant bond between those who have stared death in the face and survived. But as I listened to them, I marveled how easily they shared their lives with me. One of them detailed how his cancer had spread, ‘But I’m still a live, and I’m doing good, thanks to the Big Guy upstairs!’ he said, pointing up.

“‘I’m so glad for you,’ I said. ‘God got me through my skin cancer, too, and every day I’m alive is a good day.’

He nodded and continued sharing his life story with me.

As I sat down, I was fully aware that my sandwich was cold, but before I could swallow my first bite, another man walked over to me. “Nice hat, son!” he said with a nod and a grin.

“Thanks!” I said, with my mouth still full. “I never knew how much attention a cowboy hat would get me—and I didn’t even put my boots on this morning!”

The stranger promptly introduced himself and proceeded to stand over me as I ate, telling me he’d been a redhead when he was younger, and that he hadn’t cared about the sun damage to his skin. Then, taking off his ball cap, he showed me his balding head and his cancer battle scars

How odd, I thought. I was just talking about skin cancer with someone a minute ago. And now another one?

Suddenly, it dawned on me that I’d been reading and meditating earlier on how our Lord understood our pains, our sorrow, and our grief—and how He took a keen interest in everyone He met. A line from a prayer mentioned often in recovery circles came to mind: “Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted; to understand, than to be understood; to love, than to be loved.”

A tall order, for sure; and it’s taken a long time for me to see the value of those words. But today, I want to be the guy who sees another man’s worth through God’s eyes; a man who listens with his whole heart and seeks to understand and comfort those who come into his life.

Sometimes, as part of my morning meditation, I’ll focus on the importance of understanding rather than being understood. That always makes me reflect on how the Master approached people. He always found time for them, and each could not help but feel that He cared for them. He treated every man, woman, or child with kindness, gentleness, and infinite understanding. He had the most tender spirit, and was intimately acquainted with their grief, since He felt it every day when His pleas were rejected and misunderstood. He met them where they were, attending to their immediate needs with a healing touch, a word of tender compassion, and after that, words of truth and salvation. He knew the awful burdens they were under, and he knew what it would cost for them to be saved; but He was never afraid to pay the ultimate price required for them to live.

When I ponder His example, it often breaks my heart. I think of those I’ve rejected and even despised, and my heart hurts when I think of those I’ve ignored because of their appearance, their language, or—God help me—of how degraded they’d become from years of drinking and addiction. And when my heart is broken, I’m finally able to see my brother as he really is—a soul of infinite value to God.

Over the years I continue to notice that it never matters how uncouth someone looks when they walk into my recovery group, looking for help. The more beat up they are, the more we love them. We’re not afraid of their language, their criminal past, or even their reputation. We just love them the more for it. The impulse to help them wells up inside our hearts—and I have come to believe that this altruistic impulse comes directly from God. In that atmosphere of love and acceptance, hope is born; and God gives us another opportunity to share what others so freely shared so many years ago.

“… Love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.” 1 John 4:7. God’s love enables us to break through the jagged pieces of every broken heart with humility and patience. He gives us His supreme love, it awakens unselfish service for others, and the miracle continues.

Today I know that while I’m uniquely qualified to help another alcoholic, I can also love my neighbor as myself. God’s love changes our character, overrides our darker impulses, controls our passions, and allows us to lighten the burdens of all those He puts into our path. Every day we’re drawn closer to the heart of Christ, until we lose sight of self in love for our Master.

As I thought of how God had used my beat-up cowboy hat to start so many conversations, I thought back on how He had also set up future friendships for me that morning. Those guys would be there the next time, and they already felt like they knew me. What an opportunity to find out about their needs, their hurts, and their fears—and share what God has done for me.

Father, please give me the humility, tenderness, meekness, patience, and strength of Jesus. Focus me on those who are hurting, who need encouragement and a caring and listening heart. Let me see them through Your eyes.

As I drove away, I had another thought. I need to keep that old hat in the front seat!