The ad in the paper jumped out at me: \u201cCowboy Church: Come as You Are! Boots and Hats Welcome!\u201d My boyfriend would never go for wearing Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, but \u201ccome as you are\u201d? Maybe this Cowboy Church would be good for Jimmie and me.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d been back from Iraq for three months but it was like the real Jimmie hadn\u2019t come home at all. Not the sweet man I\u2019d fallen in love with, the one who had talked about marriage, about us growing old together.<\/p>\n
Now he was an angry, depressed shell of a man who refused to get help. A man I wasn\u2019t sure I had a future with. Could a new church help us? Could anything<\/em>?<\/p>\n We\u2019d met two years earlier. I had recovered from my divorce and was enjoying life again, working as a flight attendant and living in Orange County, Texas, when one night an e-mail from a man named Jimmie popped up in my inbox.<\/p>\n He said he\u2019d been in the Army for 20 years, served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now he was retired from the Army but still in Iraq, working civilian support. \u201cI\u2019d love to know more about you. Write back when you can,\u201d he wrote.<\/p>\n Who was <\/em>this guy? It turned out that my friend\u2019s husband was Jimmie\u2019s boss. He\u2019d given Jimmie my e-mail address so he\u2019d have someone back in Texas to chat with. At first I was annoyed. Why didn\u2019t anyone ask me first?<\/p>\n But I wrote back to Jimmie and the more we chatted, the more we started falling for each other. He was sweet and charming\u2014a true Texas gentleman.<\/p>\n Four months later, Jimmie got a break from work and came to visit. He was even nicer in person. Handsome too. Real handsome. I\u2019d found the love of my life. But did Jimmie feel the same about me? At the airport we held each other for a long time, neither of us wanting to let go. \u201cI\u2019ll be back,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n We Skyped, sent pictures and dreamed of our future together post-Iraq. We talked about getting married, buying a house and settling down here in Orange County. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to spend my life with you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I\u2019d grown up going to a Baptist church with my grandmothers, and though I hadn\u2019t been in years, I still talked to God every day. Thank you, Lord, for Jimmie, <\/em>I\u2019d pray first thing every morning. Please keep him safe. Let him know I love him.<\/em><\/p>\n Just over a year after we met, Jimmie came back to Texas for good. Finally the future we\u2019d planned was here! Hallelujah! First, we\u2019d find him a job, then work on our dream home\u2014the fixer-upper I\u2019d bought for us.<\/p>\n But week by week, Jimmie withdrew. He stopped talking about our future, our hopes and dreams. He stopped saying much at all. He blasted death-metal music and stared at the floor.<\/p>\n If he did talk, it was about fast-moving combat. He\u2019d describe things in horrific detail. \u201cSometimes we\u2019d imagine the tracer bullets were fireworks,\u201d he\u2019d say in a lifeless tone I\u2019d never heard from him before.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not there anymore, honey,\u201d I would remind him. But he\u2019d just pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and turn away.<\/p>\n That was his uniform now that he was out of Army green: hooded sweatshirts, tank tops, jeans and combat boots. He didn\u2019t want to listen to the gentlest suggestion that he dress up once in a while. He didn\u2019t want to be told anything. By anyone. Especially not about the most obvious: that he needed to get help for his combat trauma.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t know what to do or where to turn. Except to God. Lord, <\/em>I prayed, I miss my Jimmie. He won\u2019t listen to me. Maybe he\u2019ll listen to you. Please help him.<\/em><\/p>\n Jimmie had been home for just a few months when his cousin, who was like a brother to him, died. The funeral was the first time we\u2019d ever been in church together. Sitting beside Jimmie in the pew, I could feel his anger and sadness.<\/p>\n It occurred to me that in all the time we\u2019d been planning our future, not once did we talk about having God in it. Sure, I prayed and I knew Jimmie believed\u2014he\u2019d taken his Bible with him to Iraq\u2014but we never really talked about our faith beyond that. Never really got into it.<\/p>\n I was afraid to ask Jimmie if we could start praying together. He might feel attacked and that would push him further away. I thought about asking him to come to my old church, but they were pretty conservative\u2014he wouldn\u2019t stand for anyone telling him how to dress or behave. There had to be a way to get God in our lives. But how?<\/p>\n That\u2019s when I saw the ad for Cowboy Church. I e-mailed the pastor right away. \u201cDear Pastor Dale,\u201d I wrote. \u201cMy boyfriend has just returned from Iraq. I feel strongly that we need a church home. He is bitter and angry, but he still believes. Can I talk or pray with you or someone from the church?\u201d<\/p>\n Pastor Dale called me that very afternoon. \u201cWe have lots of former military men and women who come to Cowboy Church,\u201d Pastor Dale said. \u201cOur services are casual, and everyone\u2019s welcome. Oh, and we don\u2019t care how you\u2019re dressed. We just want to reach people who, for some reason or another, have stopped going to church.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWant to come to church with me Sunday?\u201d I asked Jimmie that night, trying to sound nonchalant. \u201cThe pastor\u2019s real nice…he says we can wear whatever we want.\u201d Jimmie nodded.<\/p>\n Cowboy Church was full of rustic charm, with a wood-frame main building and benches and hay bales out front. Out back there was the most picturesque little hill topped with a giant wooden cross.<\/p>\n The service was warm and welcoming, everything Pastor Dale said it would be. Jimmie sat as still as a stone and didn\u2019t look at me, but I caught him tapping his foot to the Cowboy Cross Band.<\/p>\n \u201cNice service,\u201d he said that night. \u201cWouldn\u2019t mind going back.\u201d<\/p>\n Yes! Thank you, Lord.<\/em><\/p>\n For a month of Sundays, Jimmie and I went to church together. I thought he was making progress\u2014that we <\/em>were making progress. Then, out of the blue, he said there was something he needed to tell me. Something that broke my heart: \u201cI\u2019m leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n I asked him for an explanation, but it wasn\u2019t up for discussion. Jimmie was done. With Cowboy Church. With Orange County. And with me.<\/p>\n I\u2019d never felt so alone. I couldn\u2019t even bring myself to talk to anyone at church about it. One Sunday the soloist sang \u201cTemporary Home\u201d by Carrie Underwood. The lyrics are about someone not belonging here, just passing through, and they got to me. I bolted out of church right in the middle of the song.<\/p>\n I almost crashed into Paul, one of the church elders. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d he asked. I broke down and told him everything\u2014 how Jimmie hadn\u2019t been himself since he got back from Iraq, how he\u2019d up and left me.<\/p>\n \u201cSherrill, I know it\u2019s hard,\u201d he said, \u201cbut you\u2019ve got to let him go. Give him to God. If it\u2019s God\u2019s will, then he\u2014not you\u2014will bring Jimmie home.\u201d<\/p>\n Let Jimmie go. <\/em>Lord knows, I tried. I worked on the house we\u2019d been fixing up together and hung a plaque in the kitchen with the words of Psalm 127:1: \u201cUnless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain.\u201d A reminder that God was at the center of my home, that he would never leave me.<\/p>\n Still, I missed Jimmie something fierce. I prayed for his health, prayed for him to find peace, but I didn\u2019t ask God to bring him back to me. Your will, Lord, not mine.<\/em><\/p>\n I wondered if Jimmie missed me too. One day, when I finished the siding of the house, I snapped a photo and texted it to Jimmie. No message. Just the photo.<\/p>\n He texted me right back. It was the first contact we\u2019d had in five months. \u201cSherrill! I\u2019ve been hoping to hear from you. I thought you\u2019d ignore me if I tried to get in touch. Can I call you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n