I’m not a gun guy. I like guns, I appreciate guns, and I’m familiar with guns, but I don’t enjoy guns. Some guys like nothing better than a day on the range popping off a few boxes of ammo. For me, using a gun is like driving a vehicle or working a chainsaw. I use these dangerous tools for a specific purpose; mastery of their use is a necessary skill.
Given the option, I’d much prefer spending a Saturday sipping coffee and working through a stack of books to working through a cannister of 9mm. But sometimes God calls us to step into new things – things we may not enjoy or look forward to, scary things, things we might end up failing at. God calls us to them anyway because someone needs to step up and stand in the gap, and lives are always on the line. With that knowledge I applied for our church’s armed security team. Some might question the necessity of a church having armed security. If that’s you, I suggest spending a little time researching the frequency of armed attacks on Christian churches. It happens. A lot. If your rural community is fortunate enough to be insulated from major concentrations of devout jihadists, consider this: Distraught madmen kill their wives, girlfriends, or exes routinely. A restraining order is merely a piece of paper and the police are usually ten minutes away…at best. Guys also kill their own children, sometimes during supervised visitations with social workers.
Can God prevent all of that? Sure, but He could also prevent us from ever being in an automobile accident. We wear seat belts nonetheless. I believe we’ve come to a point where everyone needs to consider if they’re able to accurately and effectively engage targets at any range when the bad guys come gunning for our food, fuel, or families. If not, we might want to invest a few hundred dollars and a weekend into getting trained to meet that ever growing threat.
My area is blessed to have some of the nation’s premier trainers in armed crisis intervention. And believe me, they’re serious about the mantle of the mission. For men who may be called upon to stop an attacker in a crowded sanctuary, they require accuracy to a higher degree than most police departments. Passing the exam means exceeding the Alaska State Trooper’s standards. I knew going in it was going to be hard. I had no idea I was going to get humiliated.
In many action films there is a character known as the man in the chair – the nerdy computer guy who supports the deadly efficient hero from afar. The action guy takes on the bad guys with weapons blazing, but the man in the chair is skilled in other ways. Every guy fantasizes about being Ethan Hunt or Peter Parker; nobody wants to be Benji or Ned.
But until you try your hand you might never know if you’re designed to be in the field or behind the desk.
Somewhere along the line I developed the philosophy of always trying out to a level beyond my known ability. I’ve never wanted to be the best in the room. You don’t learn anything in that room. Rather, I seek out the room down the hall where I’m uncomfortable enough to be challenged. If you do that, you need to be ready to fail. You will learn, but you might not like it.
At age 45, after 25 years of marriage and eight kids, there’s not much that frightens me anymore. But the night before my day at the range, I was scared. I’ve been shooting guns since I was a kid. I’ve got years of training and experience. I had just completed a full day of academic training where the intensity of what was going to happen on Saturday was drilled into us. I confessed my anxiety to my wife during our nightly prayer time. We prayed and I trusted in God to carry me through, hoping expectantly for the best.
I was the first one at the range. I was prayed up. I was caffeinated, ready, and even a little excited.
We started out with basic safety, and they walked us through a series of fundamentals before the first magazine was even inserted. Eventually the live fire commenced. My shooting improved dramatically with a few key insights. I was gaining confidence and the instructors were professional and encouraging, though hard as nails at times with zero patience for infractions. Slowly they increased the pace, the distance, and the complexity. Drills became timed. They added new dimensions, and seasoned their yelling with expert advice. For every two confident steps forward I took one step back, frustrated with myself. But I was learning.
I made it to the lunch break and texted my wife that I didn’t think I was doing that bad. An hour later, I was back in my car texting her that I’d washed out.
During a tactical reload drill I experienced a type-three malfunction (or jam). I knew how to clear it because we’d spent the better part of an hour doing that very thing before lunch, but during the process of clearing it I got lost in my own head juggling the variables. My trigger finger drifted down to the guard instead of high on the barrel and it became clear to the instructors that I just wasn’t ready to play in that league.
I failed. I was humiliated. But I learned.
What is that hard thing you’re putting off for fear of failure? Is it starting a business, or a family? Is it applying for that promotion or blowing that whistle? Tell fear to go to Hell. Try that thing, maybe fail at it, but give it your all. The history books are full of great men and women who failed initially, sometimes spectacularly. God designed you for a specific glory. You may not find out what that is until you’ve crawled through a few miles of muck. No matter what happens though, keep your head held high and keep moving forward.
I don’t know if I’ll qualify the next time around. I’m not even sure I want to give it another go. But I am certain that I’ll put in the reps necessary to get to the next level. For now though I’ll stand firm in the position God has assigned me, and prepare myself in case that day comes – the one that 90% of those folks around you have no clue about. I wish more people would wake up and get engaged, but until they do there are watchman on the walls and in the shadows, and they’re also backed up…by the man in the chair.
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