How the Injured Stockman Was ... Saved

Stage one of the story of the injured stockman starts when his children responded to the Christian Gospel during a school class in the bush. Their tender hearts simply opened to the love of Christ, although there was no way in the world the visiting padre could know why, or the children's secret that won the day!

Months later, the children were out of class, in the heat of the day, taking treatment for bruises and cuts. When the Pastor finished his Scripture class, and before he flew on to the next school, he stopped by the lunch shed to repeat the class for the two. "Dad hits us," offered the lad. "He just gets drunk, and hits us."

That was his pragmatic explanation of the behavior of a stockman out of control. He just simply accepted it as being normal conduct way out there in the remote outback.

"When we pray a Grace at the table, Dad hits us," explained the lass.

"We pray like you taught us."

"He hates The Lord's Prayer and the Bible and Churches and he says those padres are after his money and if he even found one he'd shoot him dead on the spot! He gives Christians a terrible time!" she concluded. And so, the Padre left, a more deeply concerned man that he was when he came.

Back at home base, he confessed to his wife and family he wondered if he could handle it; knowing that his Gospel caused injury to innocent children. Every town has it's story to tell like that. He considered forgoing the patrol work, and taking up a mission or a church instead. The situations he faces were almost more than he could bear.

His wife, though, was less troubled by the situation, but deeply disturbed about it, and read to him again, Second Corinthians Chapter Four.

She emphasised several of the verses slowly; "We faint not," and "we are troubled, but not in despair," and, "cast down but not destroyed," and, "for which cause we faint not," and, "the things which are seen are temporal," and "the things which are not seen are eternal." She said quietly that St. Paul challenged us four times there to not give up! They prayed for the children and the parents of the west.

With those ideas settled in his mind, off he headed again in his little plane, wondering how long he could cope these parents, and their children. He quietly encouraged them, but discovered they were still suffering. "But we keep our Christianity a secret," the lass confessed. "I pray under the blanket so Dad doesn't know!" was the boys method. They'd read the Psalms and Proverbs secretly and the Gospels away from the house when he was home.

"But Mum still cops it," they lamented.

"But we have a secret," they confided. Something special about their Dad. "Mum knows and joins in!" He thought he could figure out what they meant.

Stage two of the story occurs months later, and involves a surprise visit to the family at the homestead. The Padre phoned ahead to say he had a free Sunday afternoon between towns, and if it's OK with them, he'd just land on the dry saltpan and walk over to the house. They children were excited.

Dad came on the phone raging in a wild temper. "You (*) show up here, you miserable (#) apology for an (*) individual, and I'll (#) shoot you out of the sky!" He slurred a lot ….

But, a threat is a threat, and not to be overlooked. But sometimes, a threat is also-a challenge. So, faced with this predicament, the Padre had to consider if the threat was genuine, alcohol fueled, or an idle accusation from a coward! If he means it, I'm in deep trouble, he mused.

And as he eventually flew over the farmhouse, he noticed a 4WD ute' skidding wildly out of the yard, kicking up dust as it headed west along the fence line, and he hoped it was who he thought it was. And it was. Dad had fled.

And the children were elated. They grinned widely and said they felt they'd won something special when the minister actually arrived at their place. During the time of devotions, they hinted together with their mother something more about the special secret they were keeping from their dad.

"And we just won't stop, whatever happens!" was all they'd volunteer.

The months passed, with regular visits to the schools and support to the children, but not exacerbating their situation. They chose privacy, and seemed to appreciate his confidence.

Our Padre's workload became more deeply occupied with a dozen remote townships, and scores of families, making calls, delivering bread and vegetables and medicines, and he was always a hit with his unusual concerts and his ever-present accordion (called an air-compressor), object lessons, and his Bibles. He almost forgot the depth of the drama unfolding back at the farmhouse.

Stage three of the drama brings the story to a head. The Padre is awakened one morning around 4. "It's the hospital. Come quickly."

He found himself talking to the Flying Doctor 250 miles away—via HF radio. "We can't get there now, so we have a patient to evacuate. Can you do it?" Instantly—he agreed.

Within the hour, as the horizon was tinged the pink of piccanniny daylight, he eased the throttle on the Piper Tri-Pacer wide open to pick up speed to depart off the dirt strip with an injured stockman as his passenger. The man was heavily sedated, as he had slipped on the oily floor of a generator shed on a station 100-miles away, fell into the spinning drive belt, tore his arm apart in the most alarming and painful manner, and had driven single-handed through the night in his jeep, with the injured arm fixed in a sling. Now, he dosed, the Morphine doing it's job.

Two hours later, the Flight Service radio crackled in the plane as they approached the city, and he stirred at the voice. "We have your medivac flight plan and the ambulance is on the way."

The pilot-padre turned to discover his passenger studying him intently.

"We'll be there shortly, and you'll soon be in the hands of the doctors. I'm your friend," he quietly affirmed, seeking to comfort the injured man.

"I know who you are," offered the passenger without the blink of an eye.

"You are the man who taught my children to pray, you're that padre—and I hated you for doing it!"

What a predicament? Three thousand feet up alone, in a small plane with a deranged stockman known for his anger, thread, and no one to help, and nowhere to go?

But the man didn't need to be soothed. He was already bitterly troubled by the throbbing agony in his arm. It was then that he blurted out his confession, "It's all my fault. God is punishing me for the way I mistreated my family. God must hate me intensely to do this to me!" … and was soon sobbing bitterly in remorse and blubbered on and on ....

Now, the tables had turned. The padre, feeling more assured with the change of attitude, was able to explain to the confused man the simple terms of God's salvation he'd never heard when he ignored the Bible, the church and the padres. "Listen good. We have only a few minutes before we land, so, hear me clearly."

Between body-racking sobs from the passenger, he briefly explained that a man like him who has chosen to remain distant from God, confuses the issues, and yells abuse all the more loudly in his ignorance.

"God is not punishing you for your sin. He already did that for us on the Cross with Jesus Christ. Nothing you or I could do would pay for our awful sins. That's why he sent Jesus to take our place. If we could save ourselves, Jesus on the Cross was a mistake! What's happened to your arm is a result of your foolishness, so don't blame God for that. Read for me out of John Chapter 3 verse 16!"

He took a Testament from his pocket, placed it on the man's lap in the bouncing plane, and firmly suggested, "You read that verse out loud while I fly this plane!"
The troubled man, reaching out for guidance and common sense in his derelict condition stumbled through the words from the page. "For God so loved the world ..." Next time, louder, he was asked, "Insert your own name in the text, and read it again. And again. Louder. And again."

By the time the wheels touched the ground, the stockman, who was said around town to be the terror of the 'bush' became uncommonly quiet. He strained to hear every word, and seemed to take it in like the dying reaching for life. Time for a prayer, and the pilot led him line at a time, word for word in the sinner's prayer of confession and accepting God's favour in Jesus Christ. And thanking Him for patiently waiting till his heart was broken so that Jesus could heal it, too! Pleading that his praying children would forgive him, and doing it all with a throbbing busted arm giving him all kinds of agony, but no agony as deep as the pain in his heart.

The ambulance backed up to the plane door, a local pastor was there, and the injured stockman was moved onto a stretcher and rolled into the vehicle.

"Leave him to me," the minister suggested, "I'll be with him all the way."

With that word of confidence, the flying padre refueled his little plane, and with renewed assurance, filed a new flight plan, and returned to that bush town where a frantic family waited to hear the news of an injured dad.

What they heard was almost more than they could ever have expected.

"But, 'our-secret' worked!" was all they could get out, supported by the three biggest smiles in all the west.

Les Nixon

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