When I was little, I was visiting my grandparents in north-central Arkansas. The area was beautiful, hilly, and just as rural as you can imagine. The main population was bovine. I was walking along a gravel road that passed my grandparents' house trailer, which was nestled on a hilltop below an ancient water truck that grandpa would fill occasionally down at the spring for their gravity-fed water system. My cousin was with me and we walked without fear of abduction back then. I doubt she was a teen yet, which put me around six or seven years old. As we walked, my head stayed bowed looking for arrowheads or fossils. That day I found something. It was a twelve gauge shotgun slug - unfired. Naturally I picked it up. We had about a mile to go where we planned to find my dad, uncle, and grandpa who were firing their guns. Grandpa's house was so far outside the nearest city limit, it was one of the few places we could actually target practice.
As my cousin and I walked, my seven year-old mind conceived a plan. It would be interesting to bang on this shotgun shell with a rock. I could see the pin in the center, so that's where I hit it. I did this for a good distance before I bored of it. Soon we arrived at the gun range and I handed my grandfather the slug. He promptly dropped it into one of the barrels of his double-barrel, aimed, and fired the slug. The ground shook. I do not recall my reaction, but I believe my cousin's jaw dropped. WHAT IF THAT THING HAD GONE OFF IN MY HAND? AND WHY DIDN'T IT? I distinctly recall her own disbelief that she'd allowed me to do such a thing. Me? I was dumb as a post.
I think of that often. There's no reason why that shell never exploded, taking my arm off and who knows what else. An angel held his hand over that shell. Why? I tell myself that my assignment was not complete. Maybe. But then I consider the thousands of kids that kill themselves accidentally every year by just doing childish things. Was their assignment complete? These are questions that I'll likely not get my answers for in this realm. I am grateful for everyone who reads this because you've allowed me to have a small voice in your life. Praise God. I do not take it for granted. If there are rewards for such things, I owe mine to an angel with a bruised hand.
