At a small airport in rural Wyoming, three =
strangers were awaiting their flight. One was a Native American =
passing through from the Crow Reservation. Another was a local =
ranch hand on his way to a stock show. The third passenger was an =
Arab student, newly arrived at the Salt Creek Oil field from the Middle =
Eastern country of Kuwait.
To =
pass the time they struck up a conversation on recent events, and the =
discussion drifted to their diverse cultures and upbringing. Soon =
the Westerners learned that the Arab was a devout Muslim and, because of =
recent events in Syria and Paris, the conversation fell into an uneasy =
lull.
The cowpoke leaned back in his chair, crossed his boots on =
a magazine table and tipped his big sweat-stained hat forward over his =
face. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds and the old windsock =
flaps, but no plane was in sight. Finally, the Native American =
cleared his throat and spoke softly. "Once my people were =
many, now we are few."
The =
Kuwaiti raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. "Once my people =
were few, and now we are many. Why do you suppose that =
is?"
The cowboy shifted the toothpick to one side of his =
mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson said, "That’s cause =
we ain’t played Cowboys and Muslims yet!"
~~
Dr Bob Griffin =
[email protected] www.grif.net =
"Jesus Knows Me, This I =
Love!"