Unless I’m reading my Bible wrong, I keep getting the message that if I fully follow God (as much as a goofy sinner can) then He will send wicked favor my way that He doesn’t afford to the pagan cattle. This favor entails not only security but provision. If God exists, and if the Bible isn’t an insane stack of slush and superstition, I can rest assured that as God met Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’s needs He will handle my affairs if I’m busy with His business—regardless of the crappy circumstances.
Many Americans consider their guns to be some of their most prized possessions. I love mine. They’re beautiful. With my lovelies I can shoot targets with my friends for recreation, whack some venison for food, or off whatever dillweeds seek to do me or my family harm. Y’know, that whole provider, protector, hunter, hero thang guns afford the responsible owner. Yum, yum.
Gun ownership has been a satisfying tradition my family has held since black powder was invented. Not only that but it is as my friend Major General Paul Vallely said, “A priceless freedom won by our forefathers which few other nations have so cherished and enjoyed. It is because of the conviction about the right of citizens to own and use firearms for lawful purposes that the Constitution was amended to provide that ‘the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.’ That right is a foundation stone of American liberty.”
My guns aren’t as soft as my pillow, but they sure are comforting to have, especially if things get dicey. BTW: I wonder if crime rates will escalate as our entitled culture gets restless? I’m guessin’ yes.
For those of you who’d like to beef up your arsenal, give my buddy Kelsey Hilderbrand a buzz at www.luvtohunt.com and ask him about the “Clash Armageddon Special.”
I could be wrong here, but I don’t believe life favors the indolent. Therefore, when times get tough, I’m going to not only lean on heaven’s everlasting arms and cuddle my firearms like a teddy bear, but I’m also going to start working my aspen off like never before. What I’ve noticed about life in my forty-six scrumpdillicious years of cruising this planet is that the harder I work, the luckier I get. Yep, bold, hard, creative, excellent and wise work will always yield up the Benjamins.
In these times of uncertainty in which everything that can be shaken will be shaken, I’m not banking on big government wet-nursing me into Nirvana. I believe this suckulus package spawned by the Obama administration is going to leave the Americans who are looking to it as the grand societal salvo more disappointed than Lisa Marie was when she finally locked lips with Michael Jackson.
Nope, I’m fixing my hopes in the coming nightmare on God, guns and gumption. That’s my stimulus package. What’s yours?
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