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Lesson 8

"It's never too late to change. Unless you wait too long."

Gregory Keough

Life is not predictable. You're going to suffer. You're going to face hardship. That's not pessimism. That's reality.

But what most people miss is that these struggles are also sacred.

God uses them to polish your character, strengthen your spine, and deepen your faith.

And if there's one thing I've learned: God loves Cowboys.

There are no guarantees in this life. Not for success. Not for comfort. Not even for fairness.

But what is guaranteed is that God is always with us. And He has a better plan than the one we try to control.

Every failure, every setback, every moment of humiliation holds seeds of rebirth.

The world calls them "tragedies." I call them turning points. Because your life can flip directions in an instant.

That's the risk. And the beauty. Of living like a Cowboy.

I've had many unexpected, totally unpredictable events in my life. From federal courtrooms to foreign battle zones.

These extremes pushed me to the edge, but also closer to God.

Even now, sitting in prison, I know it: the best is yet to come.

No one saw this level of madness coming in America. Forced lockdowns. Churches closed. Speech censored. Riots ignored.

I never thought I'd see the day where Cowboys were hunted by the very government they helped build.

But that means there's an opening. Because big disruptions create big opportunities.

This country can still be taken back by the Cowboys.

The time is now. To return to God, Family, and Country. Start today.

It is never too late. You don't have to fix everything at once. Just begin.

Let me be clear: I'm not perfect. I still struggle with many of these lessons. Especially patience.

But learning to trust God's timing has changed everything. His time horizon is infinite.

In the military, they say "slow is smooth, and smooth is fast."

Rushing makes you weak. Patience makes you powerful.

But when it is time to act: ACT. And I believe we're there now.

If everyday Americans just started saying "No." No, I won't comply. No, I won't pretend lies are truth.

We could begin to take our country, our culture, and our freedom back.

We are at a binary moment. Choose your side.

Tyrants don't expect resistance. That's why it works. So resist.

Cowboys lead the wagon train. They don't wait at the back.

What kind of country do you want to live in? That choice is now in your hands.

• • •

THE COLONEL

• • •

I've always believed the good stories start when the plan goes wrong.

And Africa? Africa doesn't do plans.

The idea was simple: travel north from the Central African Republic into Chad. See some wildlife, maybe get a glimpse of the Sahara.

I had gotten used to traveling like this: bush buses packed to the brim, bargaining for a spot up front with the driver. Town by town, checkpoint by checkpoint, we made our way north. Until finally, the buses stopped entirely.

I found myself stuck in a remote town about 80 miles from the border. After a day, a cargo truck appeared, loaded with sacks of beans and people already riding on top. I negotiated a spot, climbed up, and off we went.

But in Africa, the border isn't a line. It's a town. We arrived at the first checkpoint inside Chad, a dusty outpost with a small military base. Everyone else from the truck passed through. I did not.

They told me to wait for the Colonel.

When the Colonel finally showed up, he looked exactly like you'd expect: tall, commanding, clearly drunk. But polite.

"You're in the country illegally," he said.

I'd entered Chad one day before my visa officially started. I hadn't thought about it, travel in Africa isn't exactly predictable.

He named his price. Four hundred dollars.

That was an outrageous bribe, even by African border standards. I had the money, hidden away. But I told him I didn't.

He shrugged. "Then you're not going anywhere."

And just like that, the truck was gone. I was stuck.

For three days, I stayed in that little town. Each day, the soldiers came back. Same demand. Same answer.

"I'd give it to you if I had it," I'd say, smiling. "But I don't."

I stayed cheerful. Respectful. But firm. They didn't like that.

On the third night, he came for me himself.

He was drunk again, loud, pissed off. Said I was in violation of their laws. That for all they knew, I could be a spy.

Then he told me to get in the jeep.

The Colonel in front, his driver beside him, and me in the back with two soldiers. We drove out of town. No lights. Just the stars and the hum of the tires.

My mind was racing. Where would I run? Open desert. No cover. Could I take a swing at the Colonel before the soldiers reacted? I thought about the ditch on the side of the road. How to fall. How to roll. Whether I could make it to the dark before the bullets found me.

I wasn't calm. I was controlled, and those are not the same thing.

When we pulled over to the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, my gut clenched.

"Out," he said.

I stepped down, heart pounding. Followed them around a bend. And then, there it was. Headlights. A truck.

The same truck I'd come in on, the one they'd made me wait three days for.

The Colonel turned to me, smiling.

"Get on the truck already."

That magnificent bastard. A Mexican standoff. He wouldn't break me. I wouldn't yield. No one won. But we respected each other for it.

I climbed aboard. Rode all night to N'Djamena.

A few days later, I was getting ready to head back south. We stopped to pick up one last passenger in the backstreets.

Out came a group of women... and then him.

The Colonel.

We both froze. Then, laughter. A big hug. We were long-lost brothers reunited.

He rode up front with me. At each checkpoint, he'd wave my passport and say, "He's with me." Then we'd hit the local bar and drink.

The driver eventually pulled me aside. "Can you get him to stop? We need to get these people home."

So at the next town, I gently told the Colonel maybe it was best he stay and enjoy himself. He gave me a hug. A proper farewell.

I've never forgotten that man.

You never know how things will turn. The man I thought might kill me became my drinking buddy by week's end.

Respect isn't about power. It's about posture.

Stand your ground. Smile. Stay human.

Even in a war zone.

Especially then.

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