The promise


Awhile ago, I got a concealed carry permit for the state I lived in. At that time, I was living on the farm and my father insisted on being driven to town every Sunday. His church was in one of the less than stellar parts of town.

More than once I was approached by homeless folks for cash and or food handouts. The problem? One Sunday morning, I drove away after being approached by a crowd. I was terrified, and went instead to a public parking area with video camera surveillance.

Soon, I decided that it wasn’t enough, and was taught how to shoot by a sibling. I also purchased a protection device, and got my permit. Yes, I was worried. Also at this time, someone had burgled the farm.

At the time I made this decision, I made a promise to my sponsor. I promised to never raise that device in anger, for any reason.

At the point where my beloved was collected by police for intoxication. I made certain that they took my weapon. I did not want to raise that weapon in anger. I waited quite some time before retrieving it, and it now sits not too far from me in the kitchen.

I do not have a concealed carry permit anymore. It expired, and I never renewed it. I do not go anywhere anymore that I am that worried about it. Yes, I keep it behind a lock and have the only key for it.

I’d rather get rid of the beast, but my beloved at times freaks when I mention doing so. I’ve made the decision that I will turn it over for the last time the next time I leave the house.

There is a reason. My beloved still has episodes of severe paranoia. I’d rather not have a device at hand that could end my own life or his own.

Please accept my apologies for a grim post. -L