Out Our Way: The lesson of the hat

"They'll talk of Cookie's flapjacks that'll wear your teeth down flat, but they ain't made nothing tougher - than a cowboy's hat." - J.R. Williams

Out our way, a cowboy's hat is as personal and unique as his signature.  Indeed it actually is his signature because a store bought hat has to be shaped and twisted and stained by years of sweat, rain, wind and occasionally being stepped on - or worse.

My hat was some 30 years in the making, its peculiar stains and twists, tears and shaping spoke of years of wearing in all kinds of weather and situations.   I took it east with me when I went to seminary and, although I didn't wear it every day, folks saw it as much a part of me as my jeans and boots.  I got the name "Bronco" while I was back east and to this day most of my classmates and acquaintances still call me that.   Even the newly installed president at Princeton knows me as "Bronco" and not as Dr. Bruington.

I was engaged to a beautiful Virginia girl back then who hated my hat - which I confess I did wear when we were traveling along the Appalachian Trail or on the Shenandoah Park Way. She wanted me to through it out. My hat!  Folks back east just didn't get it.   A few years later I came home to Montana hat intact and her still back east.

I wore that hat in Montana and Wyoming - roped my first calf (and lost him) wearing that hat at the Diamond V roundup.   I had a golden eagle's feather in it I found in the sand hills of Wyobraska while helping folks at the Empire Ranch move some longhorns onto their spread.  And, of course, my buddy Goliath tossed me head first in it a few times over the years riding in the Bear Paws or out by the Tiger Ridge area.    When I squared that old hat on my head it was more than just a head cover, it was my biography of my younger days.  Its unique shape, tears, stains and faded places were my history.   Yup, my hat had personality, character and memories.

And then one day I came home to discover my puppy, Scout, had used it as a chew toy.  The brim was horribly mangled and the crown was gone, torn to shreds in enthusiastic play.   Pieces of brown felt were scattered across the floor, and Scout was standing with what was left of it in his mouth, tail wagging and looking very pleased with himself.

Most of you know what a terrible year this has been for me - the wife leaving, my saddle stolen, my truck sold, nearly dying from sepsis and spending three weeks in the hospital, bank account wiped out - and now my HAT????

And there stood Scout, grinning and eyes shinning, tail wagging and delighted to invite me to come play with him over the mangled carcass of my 30-plus-year-old hat. Some of you may understand that a cowboy's hat is not just a part of his wardrobe, but a part of his life.

BUT so was Scout.  19 months old, my buddy for less than a few months and, despite the great grief I now felt, still my pard.  

I was angry, I was hurt, I was deeply saddened, but I found that did not affect my love for that goof.  Despite it all, I still deeply cared for Scout and could not stop loving or caring about him.   Although it is really trivial in comparison, it did remind me of God's love for humanity in spite of all the grief, anger, hurt and sorrow we have given Him.

"While we were yet sinners Christ died for us." To think that God still loves me despite all I have put him through - and I can't even claim ignorance or not knowing better as Scout can.   I have done far worse than tear up God's favorite hat.  I have willfully destroyed far more precious things, knowing it would cause Him pain and doing it anyway.

Scout didn't know better when he tore up my hat. We DID when we tore up each other, lied, cheated, deceived and deliberately hurt one another.    We knew what we were doing when we spit in God's eye and defied Him and His word. We're not even cute, like Scout. Yet He loves us anyway!

Tonight when I play with Scout and then just hug him after we finish wrestling, I shall think of God holding and hugging me with an even greater love - and for far less cause.    Thank you, Lord, for the lesson of the hat.

(John Bruington, Scout and Goliath serve the Lord at First Presbyterian Church in Havre. More columns, children stories and sermons can be found on the church website at http://www.havrepres.org.)