Sunday ~ Matthew 20:18-19 ~ Happy Easter!

The Wooden Cross short story

The old cowboy had a rhythm all his own---creak-thump, slice, creak-thump, slice, slice. The creaks and thumps came as his rocking chair shifted on the squeaky boards, and the slices came as his knife whittled on a piece of pine. Without the knife, his hands would tremble with old age, but the bone handle gave them something to be grounded to. 

Folks around town knew him well; he had been there for eight years, rocking and carving from dawn until dusk. Some nights, when he felt the need to, he would stay up even past dark and keep right on with his work by lamp light. Folks knew him well, all right. He was always there on the boardwalk in front of the hotel, and always up for a good conversation.

No matter who came to him to "jaw," the subject would eventually come around to his work. His work was not anything fancy, but it is very important. People all across throughout the West benefited from what he did.

For as he whittled day after day, he was not working on one large masterpiece. He would finish one or two projects a day, and keep on carving the same thing, again and again for eight years. Each time he finished, he lay his knife down and ran a bony hand over his beard while looking at the carving.

Today started out just like any other day for him; he was out there whittling, a cup of cold coffee next to his rocker, when a stranger rode up and tied his horse on the street in front of the old cowboy.

The stranger beat some dust out of his clothes and looked up. "Howdy there," he said. "I don't suppose a man could get some grub in this town, could he?" 

"He sure could," the old man replied. "Just go talk to Jim inside the hotel. His missus will get you a good meal. Where ya come from, son?" 

"Kansas. I'm just passing through. Name's Dal Morgan." 

"Well, before you go, Dal Morgan, come back and sit with me for a spell. Ain't had no good company in a long while."

Morgan didn't say anything, just gave a sort of half-nod and went into the hotel. An hour later, he came back out, and the old man told him to take a seat.

"I guess I can," he said. "I'm so full anyway, I don't feel like riding quite yet." He scooted up a bench. "How long have you lived in these parts, old man?"

"'Bout ten years. When I first came, there wasn't nothing here."

"There still isn't," Morgan said, and looked down the wide, dusty street. Only two more buildings were in sight.

"There's enough for me. All I want to do is sit here and whittle. Jim's wife brings me my meals so I don't even have to get up for that." He made one strong cut with his knife. "There we go. Another one finished."

Morgan leaned over and saw a pale-gold cross in the old man's lap.  

"This one can be for you, Dal. You need a cross."

"Me? I don't need a cross until they stick one in the ground over my head. And I don't plan on that being any time soon. It's a mighty pretty piece of whittlin', though." The old man had a nice smile, and an unusually friendly air about him—Morgan didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Well, I want you to have it. It won't take up much room in you saddle bags."

Dal accepted the cross from the old man's shaky hand. He looked at it and stroked the edges.

"You know something, son? You're wrong about not needing a cross until you're in the grave. It won't much matter what is over you then. I ain't a schooled man, but I've had time to do lots of thinkin', and in my years, I've done just about everything there is to do. I come to the conclusion that there is only one right way, and that is the cross. I never knew what it really meant until I got to studying on it. You familiar with the Bible, son?"

Morgan was listening with an amused expression. "Went to church back East when I was growing up," he admitted. 

"Then you've probably heard the stories about Jesus and the cross. About how He died to save sinners, and rose up alive again after three days. But did you ever stop to think . . . to think just what that means? I never did 'til I ran out of choices. I didn't like the idea of giving up to a religion that said I couldn't control my own life, but I finally learned that there's just no way to escape the truth. I started thinking about what it meant to Jesus to take our sins on Himself. 

"Jesus was a perfect man, and the Son of God. He knew what good is, better than anyone else. He lived in Heaven, and He really is every good thing you've ever known. Every happy and beautiful thing you've seen or felt—He was in it. But Jesus took our sins like He was guilty of them all. He lost every good and beautiful thing and became disgusting to His Father. When He died on the cross, not only did we torture His body, we attacked His spirit. But He is still bigger than all the evil there is, and that is why He rose from the grave."

The old man reached out and reclaimed the wooden cross from Morgan's hands. He held it up and looked at it against the blue sky.

"When I realized what that meant, I knew I had to tell people about it. Folks just don't realize how much God cares about 'em. And yet, sometimes they don't realize how much He requires of you; you gotta be willing to give your life to him and work on gettin' rid of all the sin in your life. Anyway, I knew I had to tell folks about it, and these crosses are my way of doing that. When you look at this cross, son," he said, passing it back to Morgan, "I want you to think about what it really means to you."

Dal looked at the cross, and then lifted his gaze out across the prairie. Finally, he turned and looked at the craftsman. "Old man," he said, "I like you, even if you do preach at me. I don't put much stock in any one religion, though."

"I only ask that you take that cross and give it some thought."

"That I can do. I'll be riding through here again in a couple weeks. Maybe I'll get you off this porch and into the hotel dining room to have some potatoes and steak with me."

"I think I could manage that." The old cowboy smiled and reached out his hand to shake Morgan's.

"I'd best be hitting the trail again. Adios!" Soon all that was left to see of Dal Morgan was a cloud of dust along the horizon. The old cowboy smiled and, with a sigh, leaned back in his rocker.

It was sixteen days before Dal Morgan rode through that town again. He hadn't changed his mind about religion, but he was looking forward to lunch with the old man. He came and hitched his horse in front of the hotel. The old man's rocker was still on the porch, but he was nowhere to be seen. Morgan went into the hotel and asked the owner, Jim, about him. 

"He's dead, now, Mr. Morgan. He died a couple of weeks ago—in fact, I think it was the day you rode through."

"Oh. I'm . . . I'm sorry to hear that. He seemed like a nice old man." 

"You never met a finer Christian. . . .  Maggie went out to take him his lunch that day and found him there. At first she thought he was asleep, but then we realized he was gone. Townsfolk buried him down by the willow grove outside of town. By the way, did he give you one of his crosses?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact he did."

"I figured so. He gave them out to everybody. Yours must be the last one he ever made."

Dal shook his head and tilted his hat back thoughtfully. 

Jim said, "Yep. We sure are gonna miss him around here." 

Happy Easter!

      Happy Easter!       

May you experience the true joy of the day and season!

For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.

                                                 ~ Romans 3:23

But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.  
                                                 ~ Romans 5:8

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. 
                                                  ~ John 3:16