saddle up, cowboy

I got news this morning that I didn't want to hear. A call from the local coroner telling me that Cowboy passed away yesterday. David Hervert, aka Cowboy, was a special man to us. He was a homeless man who had first come to the church for assistance maybe eight years ago. I met him at that time with his wife. They were living in a small trailer a few miles away and needed a little help. Shortly after that time, she passed away and he ended up on the street.

Dave split time between the streets and area motels, doing odd jobs for cash. He gave his life to Christ and became a part of the family at Knott Avenue. His edges were rough and he had issues (don't we all), but he had found his home. A couple of years ago he became ill and fell into a coma, having to have both legs amputated. Dave was comatose more than three months and I was asked by the hospital's board of ethics to sit on a panel evaluating his situation. I shared with a group of doctors about Dave's contribution to the community and to our church. It was ultimately decided to remove life support and prepare him for the death that was already near. Two days later, I received a call from the hospital. Dave had awakened and asked two things: "Where am I?" and "Where's Mike?!" The nurse said, "I think we need to take him out of hospice and place him in convalescence!"

The time that followed was not easy for him. His recovery was slow and incomplete, and his inability to get healthy meant he returned to a convalescent home, where he ultimately died. But he was a fighter. He struggled, he tried with all he had and knew. We'll always remember him as the one who wrote out nametags at each the Community Supper. The one who shared a large, toothless (mostly) grin so easily. The one who was writing his own Bible, patiently transcribing the Scriptures day after day onto a pad. He had finished a lot of it, by the way.

I miss Cowboy already. And I'll sure miss him when we gather for our Community Supper Friday night, the 27th. We'll put together a memorial service for him that night, because even though our society as a whole won't miss him, we will. Those on the street, and his church family as well. Dave made an imprint on a bunch of us, and we're the better for it. The good news is that his new body has legs- and teeth too, I suppose. And he's resting in the presence of the God that he'd come to know. No more pain. No more sorrow. No more tears. Only rejoicing, praise and gratitude for who God is and what He's done.

Hold the gate open, Cowboy. We'll be there soon enough and will dance together. That'll be a good time- I can hardly wait. And I know you'll be good at it.

Even with those boots I'm sure you'll be wearing.