November 13, 2012
Protecting the Protection
Last weekend I went to Cabela’s to buy a Smith and Wesson 38
special. The mall parking lot was full, the store was packed with people, and
guns were flying off the shelves. I
asked the clerk if it was always this busy on a Saturday and he said, “Only since Tuesday’s election.”
Apparently shoppers are trying to get ahead of any of the President’s
threatened changes in the law regarding the sale of guns and ammunition. It’s
interesting that the possibilities of tighter regulations are more motivating
to people than the impending judgment of Christ. You would think the church
parking lot would be full and the facility overflowing with Bible toting souls.
“Now learn this lesson from the fig tree:
As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer
is near. Even so, when you see all these things, you know that
it is near, right at the door” (Matt 24:32-33 NIV)
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1 comment:
Gail;
-----That’s precious. A Smith and Wesson. Just looking at you, one would not note that you are a woman of such special substance. I owned a .44 mag, Ruger, I think, with a scope. It was a sweet pistol. At the time I lived out on Ida Road and had no telephone. So I sometimes felt a bit naked in a predatory world. For a week I kept my pistol loaded and resting between my bed and the wall so that with one simple motion I could swing its muzzle down the narrow hallway and open her up. It would have been hard to miss a human figure there. And if the lead missed, the concussion of that hand-held cannon would have put any but the very strongest butt to the floor.
-----After that week, I unloaded it and put it in my dresser drawer. I imagined too many situations of mistaken identity and gurgling loved ones. My mind goes to the poor fellow who shot a skunk at a Halloween party which wound up being his little niece in a skunk costume. Life is sad. But the last I heard, she was recovering. And then there are the poor chaps like George Zimmerman whose pistol may well have saved his life from a physically brutal beating but roped him into a brutal cultural beating. Maybe it would have been better for him to have just lain there and allowed that little brat to crack his head open on the concrete like a raw egg. Heck no! BOOM!
-----George wasn’t perfect, to put it mildly. Maybe he was only half a step into being a good man. He may have been a hop, skip, and a jump into good, for all I know. But either way, the race-baiters shredded him. So, maybe he should have approached sweet little Trevon with more sugar and spice and everything nice, yet his initial intention was not to shoot him, otherwise he would have, seeing he had the substance it took pull the trigger in the end, before his end. He approached him to keep the neighborhood safe. He had the pistol in his pocket to keep himself safe. He did both. It is sad somebody lost a son. It is good the neighborhood lost a criminal (historical accuracy.)
-----I didn’t have George’s substance, or yours. Not even in my own home. I traded my pistol for a woodstove because I couldn’t shoot it enough to keep my house warm. Now I’m thinking I can’t throw my woodstove hard enough to keep it safe. And the crook I don’t bring down with the swing of my woodstove would be the crook who might rob, or even kill my neighbor. How unloving of me. How much did that .38 cost?
Love you all,
Steve Corey
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