“…he remembers that we are dust.”
Psalm 103:14 (NIV)
I well recall in the dining room of the farmhouse where my father grew up there was a gun rack with a number of rifles and shotguns neatly mounted in it. I was mesmerised by the weapons. I had been well taught that I was not allowed to touch them. They were unloaded in the house of course but the ammunition was safely stored nearby.
Occasionally the men would take one or another of the guns out, load it, and do target practice. I loved being with them as a boy to watch them hit the targets, usually an old tin can. The gun would roar, an orange flame would lick out the end of the barrel and often a smoke ring would be seen at the end of the barrel of the gun. Then the target would disintegrate as the bullet hit it.
One day I asked my father if I could fire his Piper 10 gauge double barrel shotgun. I loved it and wanted to try it out. I was about 10-11 years old at the time. Wisely my father denied me the pleasure. Had he let me try to fire that brute of a gun I would likely have dislocated or else broken my shoulder. It fired with a tremendous kick back at the hunter’s shoulder. As a boy, I was no match for that weapon and my Dad knew it.