Gun-o-cide

I know, says the RCMP, largely composed of officers from Ontario, probably Toronto, aka the center of the known universe ;) . Let's take something valuable, rare, collectible, beautiful - at the center of a time honored tradition. Let's take family heirlooms with memories and romance. Cherry wood or balsam fir or oak or handcrafted metal with engravings. Guns are weapons, and thus fundamentally evil, liable to shoot themselves or throw the unsuspecting innocent into a CSI like interrogation and drug bust just because the guns are THERE.

Then let's make the average Joe deathly afraid of owning one. God forbid he should even think about picking his own up or learning to use it well, or pass on responsible use to his kids. His wife has been nagging him about owning it (and various other trappings of manhood) for years. He'll be so afraid of it that he'll run to someone else, give it away so that it can be destroyed, and go home thinking he's done a good thing.

Millions of dollars of perfectly good guns thrown in a crusher (not even recycled). Antique, collectible, pretty guns. They weren't doing any harm sitting in your closet, locked in the cabinet where they should be, safety on and ammo stored in another location. (which is the law, after all) They were keeping the average burglar or random home invader a little more trepidatious. Now they're in a landfill. And the price of guns has just gone up a little bit more because supply has gone a little bit down.

Note that I haven't mentioned any farmers? Their rifles are happily sitting, escapees of the gun-o-cide, in the hall closet by the door, waiting for cougars, bears, or coyotes. Or moose or deer. Or, (cross your fingers) elk. Mmmm... elk steak. Albertan farms are the real gun amnesty.

I know... let's have a knife amnesty or a 2by4 amnesty... everyone can turn in those dangerous weapons as well. People shouldn't let their children be in a house made of (gasp) wood boards that could kill or kitchen knives that can stab. { More people are killed each year in Canada by knives or 2by4s than by guns. }

Just call me gun lovin. :) I don't even own one, and can't shoot or aim well at all. But I admire the skill it takes and the principle of the thing. And elk steaks. Or any kind of steak. And I appreciate the men in my life who will kill the magpie that wakes me up at 4AM all winter long, or the deer hit by the car who is suffering.

Clipping Toenails

Clipping Toenails. Possibly one of the least coveted tasks that a nurse could ever do. Only minorly below buttwiping during a Norwalk outbreak. Especially in the presence of warts or fungus of any type. Once you get past the age of 70 or so your toes rebel all those years of walking, they bend funny ways and the nails decide to disappear mysteriously or hide and make a walled fortress under a layer of white flaky dead skin. (K that's kinda gross, sorry for the graphics, I'm getting to the point.)

I had a lot of fun clipping toenails last night. yep. Fun. Not because I'm gross or somehow mentally challenged, although my sisters and brother might tell you otherwise. And it represents a revolution. Let me explain.

I'm reading a book called "Renovating the Heart" that paraphrases something that Jesus said really well. Jesus said, "He who loses his life for my sake will find it." "Renovating the Heart" puts it this way: Give up what you want to do and you'll get to do what you want to do. Huh????

Take me back even six months ago, and I would not have wanted to clip toenails. Especially not for free, and not on elderly toes, on my own time. I would have far preferred bubble baths, shopping, eating poutine, snugglin' with a boyfriend, about a million other things too. If I had done what I wanted to do, though, I'd have been ignoring something that I knew God was asking me to do. I'd have been snubbing my nose at GOD - the Almighty God, the all powerful, all seeing, perfect and holy and always loving God. That makes me a pretty big arrogant ass. ( I apologize if your net nanny has now disabled you from seeing my page. You should also note that I'm not talking like I don't struggle doing the exact same thing; even today I can think of three or four specific examples where I didn't do something God wanted me to. )

I love God more than I used to. By doing something that God wants me to do, because I love God and not because I figure it's something good to do, or because I feel guilty, or because it would be rude to tell my aunt, "No" I get to have a lot of fun - it was fun to talk with her, to have a concrete and clear way of expressing that I love her, to get to witness to God without saying God - even to tease her about not being a little more assertive with the nurses that visit her to check up on her. I had fun, and she didn't even fix me a drink. ;) It's not some kind of slavery, it's freedom to know that I can do things that I should do, that I'm asked to, and it's not the should-guilt-factor that motivates me, it's the joy and the love of Jesus.

Option A is have my own fun, my own decisions, my own future, my own life, my own family and relationships, MY life, MY ideas, MY MY MY. You ever notice how when you set out to make your perfect world happen you can never get it? Trade in my MYs and what I want for what God wants and who I am IN HIM, Option B; and I get to be really happy. When I want what God wants, he always makes the way for me to be the person to go out and get it, he makes it happen. So option A is to always want something that I'm powerless to get myself, versus Option B where I always get what I want, even the deepest wildest dreams I've got.

Give up what I want and I'll get what I want. That's so cool!