Because the world is going to hell on a fast train full of evil, it is playing right into the hands of those who would deprive us of our right to defend ourselves.
Although those who murder, and those of us who defend, have guns in common, that is where the similarity ENDS.
It is the mind that controls the hand that fires the gun.
Removing guns from ALL of humanity is an impossibility. There will always be access to guns by those intent on bloodshed.
Stud dragged me to church this morning, looking for "peace and understanding". I didn't bother telling him that he'd not find it there.
The minister has served many churches. He didn't come to this church unprepared. I'm sure the files in his cabinet are numbered according to liturgical dates and nothing, neither rain, nor snow, or dark of night will stay his sermons from their intended delivery dates.
Candles were lit. We stood on cue. Sat on cue. *repeat* Then the pre-Christmas sermon was delivered as we heard again, THE STORY.
But I felt better. *more on that in a moment*
Stud is finally, S*L*O*W*L*Y starting to accept the fact that he and I have two totally different outlooks and personalities.
I've repeatedly explained to him that - in the event of physical terrorism, be it at Walmart, the movies, or home - we are to lower ourselves to the ground and I will - ONLY if it is safe to do so - use my weapon.
I've explained to him that:
(1) There must be no idiots running around between me and the target.
(2) I will not stand UP and make a grand John Wayne stand, thereby getting MY head blown off.
(3) I will remove my wallet from my purse, toss it aside, and - if accosted, I will gladly hand over my purse that contains no personal information or credit cards.
(4) If, and only if, I have a clear shot, will I risk firing.
I've made this clear so that he doesn't assume I think I can be a hero. I can't.
Most heroes receive their commendations posthumously.
Having done all I can do, I sat beside Stud as he expected to be spoken to in some way that would make him feel better about the unholy slaughter of five-year-old, and six-year-old babies and adults.
I pulled my purse closer and felt the bulge of my 9mm at my side.
I felt better.
To each his own.