Don’t Let the Dust Change You

Don’t Let the Dust Change You

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Somewhere between the sweat-stained sunrises of Nicodemus and the ghost-whispers of Fort Belknap, there’s a truth so old it wears boots and spits tobacco. That truth? Hardship doesn’t change you it reveals you. Like my grandmother Celestine used to say, “When the fire gets hot, baby, bacon fries but gold shines.”

Let me take you back to a town called Bitter Root Bluff, a crooked little place tucked between the cactus spines of nowhere and the busted dreams of somewhere. Folks came to Bitter Root Bluff for three reasons: to escape something, to prove something, or to forget everything.

In this dust-cloaked town rode five legends not legends in the dime-novel sense, but in the flesh-and-bone kind that left hoofprints on your soul.

There was Calvin "Straight Shot" Booker, who never missed, not with his rifle, not with his words. Said he once hit a rattlesnake square between the eyes while sipping black coffee. Might’ve been true he did sip a lot of coffee.

Then there was Miss Lila Mae “No-Nonsense” Dupree, a cowgirl so quick with her lasso and quicker with her tongue, she once tied up a cattle thief and humiliated his ego in under ten seconds flat. She didn’t ride horses she conversed with them.

Josiah “Preacher” Green, the saddleback philosopher, used to ride with a Bible in one boot and a flask in the other. Claimed the two balanced each other out. Said God didn’t mind the drink, just the dishonesty.

Zeke “Silent Thunder” Taylor didn’t say much, but when he did, people listened like the wind had turned personal.

And finally, Pearl “Wildflower” Jackson, sharp as a cactus bloom and prettier than a prairie sunrise. Don’t let the beauty fool you she once broke a man’s nose with a whiskey bottle because he insulted her horse’s name. The horse was called Destiny and Pearl didn’t play about Destiny.

One blistering afternoon, all five found themselves in the saloon of Bitter Root Bluff, known as “The Thirsty Ghost.” You couldn’t tell if it was named after the amount of liquor poured or the souls who haunted its piano, but either way, the place had a smell of lost bets, hot whiskey, and bad decisions marinated in regret.

The saloon doors creaked open like an old man’s knees, and in walked our heroes well, except Lila Mae, who kicked the doors open and hollered, “I smell trouble. Or is that just Josiah’s cologne?”

Josiah tipped his hat. “It’s sanctified musk, ma’am. Blessed this morning.”

In the far corner, a woman sang with a voice made of moonlight and gravel. She wore a blue dress that made the shadows stare and lips that curled around each note like a promise. Her name was Sweet Clara, and when she sang, men remembered things they hadn’t even lived.

“🎵 Hard times don’t change you—they just shake your pockets empty... 🎵” she crooned.

Pearl whispered, “That’s the truth right there. My grandmother Celestine used to say, ‘The devil don’t bring nothing you didn’t already have a taste for.’”

Now, this peaceful whiskey-tinged harmony didn’t last long. Because in strolled Big Hank, a troublemaker with fists the size of frying pans and a soul that smelled like boiled cabbage and bad decisions. He was followed by his two laughable sidekicks: Dusty Red, who had teeth like corn kernels, and Slick Melvin, who had a hat too big for his ego.

Big Hank swaggered up to Sweet Clara and said something vulgar that don’t bear repeating. She stopped mid-song, and the piano player kept playing because even keys know when to mind their business.

Before anyone could react, Pearl had already stood up.

“You ever had your soul rearranged through your nostrils?” she asked Big Hank.

He laughed. A mistake.

What followed was part ballet, part theology, part catastrophe. Chairs flew. Bottles shattered. Josiah used his Bible as a projectile (it left a righteous bruise). Zeke, true to his name, said nothing but knocked two men out with the door hinge he somehow ripped off mid-chaos. Calvin didn’t shoot nobody, but he did shoot the rope to the chandelier so it fell right on Dusty Red’s wig. Turned out it was a wig.

And Pearl? Pearl ended it. Not with fists, but with her voice.

“ENOUGH!” she bellowed, hands on hips. “This ain’t who we are! Ain’t no storm outside worth letting the dust get inside you!”

Everything froze.

You could hear Sweet Clara inhale. Even the whiskey paused in the bottles.

Pearl pointed at the mess.

“You get tested, sure. Life’ll poke at you like a bully with a stick. But don’t you ever let the world make you someone your Creator won’t recognize.”

Then she turned to Big Hank, now holding an ice bucket to his temple.

“Apologize to Clara.”

He looked like a man who’d eaten spoiled beans and was trying to act dignified about it. But he mumbled, “Sorry.”

Clara nodded. “And I accept it. But try it again, and next time I’m using the mic stand.”

Later that night, as the saloon swept up its bruises, the five cowfolk sat on the porch steps beneath a sky quilted with stars.

Calvin sipped his coffee. “Funny how fights reveal character.”

Josiah added, “Like the fire shows what’s gold and what’s kindling.”

Zeke simply said, “Mm-hmm.”

Lila Mae cracked open a peanut and said, “Y’all ever notice folks change when life slaps ‘em hard? But my granny used to say, ‘You ain’t really grown ‘til life spills your drink and you don’t turn over the whole table.’”

Pearl just looked out at the desert and smiled.

“My Grandma Celestine taught me this,” she said. “When I was a little girl, I burned my finger on the stove. I cried and told her I was never gonna touch anything hot again. She looked at me and said, ‘Child, pain don’t mean change your nature it means learn your rhythm. Don’t run from the fire. Dance smarter next time.’”

It hit them then each of them had faced their own storms. Racism, loneliness, bad bosses, broken dreams, near-death standoffs, empty wallets, and emptier prayers. But they were still them. Not hardened, not bitter just better. Dusty, sure, but still standing.

And that’s the miracle.

You see, adversity is not the thief it’s the magnifying glass. Whatever’s already in you, it’ll pull it to the surface. If you’ve got goodness, grit, faith, and humor, then that’s what’ll bubble up when life shakes your jar.

But if you’ve been wearing masks and faking smiles, the shaking will show it and baby, it won’t be pretty.

So hold onto your spirit like it’s your last silver dollar. Laugh even when your boots got holes. Pray even when heaven feels like it’s on mute. And when a bar fight breaks out in your life be the cowgirl who stops it, not the fool who started it.

'Cause like my Grandmother Celestine always said: “Storms pass, but fools stick around to catch lightning twice.”

Let the dust settle, but don’t let it change who you are.

Your true self the one built by love, sharpened by wisdom, and strengthened by the Creator ain’t meant to be traded for nobody’s approval or circumstances.

Keep your boots on, your faith strong, and your lasso ready.

The West still needs heroes like you.

The revelations shared in these blogs are not of my own making they flow undeniably from the Creator of the Universe. And yet, some may say, 'Kateb made this up!' But no, this is truth....truth that has been placed upon my spirit by the Creator, so that I may serve as a voice, a reminder, a guide for those who have forgotten. I do not stand before you as a religious figure, nor do I claim holiness, divinity, or even self-righteousness. I am simply someone who was given a job to do. I, too, have stumbled. I, too, have been broken. I am no different than you for I was once fallen. But through grace, I was lifted. And now I write, not for praise, but so that others might remember their connection and return to the One who never left them.

Let me remind us all: one day, we shall die. And we will stand before our Creator. Our lives, our deeds, our actions they shall all be weighed accordingly. I urge each of us myself included not to lean on our own egos or limited understanding. For pride and ego are extra weight on the scales, and they do not tip in our favor. May we walk humbly, live rightly, and remember who we belong to.