The Decision To Carry

It's been a long time coming, but I think I've finally made the decision to carry. 

I know there's at least one among you who has just soiled himself and is jumping up and down asking why it took me so long to make this decision.  You know who you are ; ) and it's okay.

I took the concealed carry training course back in August after a string of break-ins in my otherwise quiet village.  For a few weeks, I was so frightened of being home alone with the kids and someone breaking in.  Anytime I saw a strange vehicle (IE a vehicle that doesn't belong to one of the dozen houses on my road) I felt all panicky inside wondering if that was the bad guy looking for his next house.  Strange vans really scared me.  And the one time I answered the door, not recognizing the person outside, oh well, I beat myself up about that for the next 2 weeks. 

So I took a class.  And it was a good class although the instructor was a little unnerving.  I learned a lot that day, especially about Ohio's Castle Doctrine and came away confident in my ability to defend myself and my children. 

But I wasn't ready to carry.

I felt no "urgent urgency" to carry. 

I had things I had to work through in my head. 

I had to know what God says about self-defense and lethal force.

The biggest hurdle was that I had to get comfortable with the idea of carrying a weapon.  That was the hardest thing to come to terms with.  I know a number of people who carry concealed weapons and I'm just fine with that.  But making the choice to actually carry one myself, that was different. 

In some strange way, deciding to carry felt like the metaphorical line in the sand. 

By carrying, I'd be crossing that line and wholly admitting that I am completely and totally responsible for my own safety, as well as the safety of my children.

Don't ask me why it felt like that. 

I'm responsible for the safety of myself and my children anyway.  But perhaps by carrying a weapon, I had to acknowledge the need to protect myself and my kids: 

-That the sheriff is, at best, a 15 minute drive away, unless he's really hauling arse. 

-That there is wickedness in the world and that women and children are hurt everyday.

-That neighborhoods like mine are magnets for criminals.  Quiet.  Isolated.  Full of attractive homes that are vacant from 7am to 4 pm.

-That at 5-OT-3 and 1XX lbs, I'm a perfect target...especially when carrying a purse, a bag of groceries, car keys and a kid in each hand. 

By acknowledging those facts, I had crossed a line that I couldn't uncross.  If the worst should happen, I couldn't say that I had been caught off-guard.  I couldn't say that I wasn't capable of defending myself.  I couldn't say that it never occurred to me that, possibly, I could be a victim.

From that point forward, there would be no acceptable excuse for being unable to protect my family.  If I DIDN'T carry a weapon and something happened to my children, I could NEVER forgive myself.  If someone broke into my home and assaulted me or the kids, I could never let go of the realization that it could have been prevented.

In many ways, the choice to carry a concealed weapon was made FOR me, not BY me.

A wise man I respect very much once said there are three kinds of people in the world: wolves, sheep and sheepdogs, and it's up to each of us to choose what type of person we'll be in this life.

I've made my decision.

Have you?