Gun Control is a useful tool in deterring and mitigating gun violence, despite the staunch protests of 2A advocates who dismiss it as folly.
One of my earliest memories of “working” involved being given a small hammer, a 2×4 full of nails, and instructions to remove them all. I quit after thirty minutes.
By the time I graduated high school, I had basic skills in framing and woodworking, along with the mechanical inclination to fix or repair most anything. Over 28 years, my wife and I have undertaken countless projects that relied on these skills. The first time I repaired pine floors, I realized “skills” often need honing, and so do the tools.
In the summer of fifth grade, my grandfather taught me how to use wood chisels for doorknob installation and trim. With patience and finesse, it’s easy to create clean, precise edges with a chisel. What you can’t achieve with it can be filed and buffed to perfection.
Restoring pine floors layered with old polyurethane is laborious. Laying down new door trim and quarter-round molding demands patience and sharp tools. My first experience took weeks, and I vowed never to do a full house again. It was tedious and not at all enjoyable.
Fast forward 18 years.
A grand, dilapidated house, built in 1898, caught my wife’s eye. She was smitten. We bought it. Beneath the shambled interior, it had a solid core and 4,400 square feet of pine floors in desperate need of restoration.
Fueled by Robyn’s enthusiasm, I set to work, almost forgetting the pain of past projects. Nine months in, the floors and doors came due, and I remembered, while hand-sharpening my chisels, that I was in trouble. I asked a contractor friend for advice, hoping for pointers.
“Things have changed a bit since the 80s,” he said with a smile before vanishing to retrieve something.
Then I heard it: Bzzzzzzzz, Whiiirrrrrrrrrrr, Rreeeeeeennnnnnnnn. I found him using an oscillating multi-tool, completing a flawless installation with speed and precision that made chiseling look archaic. I was sold. I tried the other side, snapped a picture, then drove off to get my own. What used to be slow and exhausting became a breeze, and I’ve used that tool more in the last ten years than any other.
Sometimes innovation makes things easier.
I also like firearms. (And I like tools.)
I grew up hunting squirrels and target shooting with a Ruger Security-Six. I could pull the six-inch pistol, cock it with that classic, unmistakable click, and fire from the hip, hitting half-dollars at ten meters. No squirrel was safe, and we ate plenty of them.
When the semi-auto pistol market overshadowed revolvers, I still held onto my 1911. For hunting, protection, and fun, our collection of revolvers, lever actions, and tube-fed rifles got the job done.
Then came 1994.
By then, I’d acquired an M1A1 Carbine Paratrooper Original Inland from my great-grandmother. My admiration for it was purely aesthetic and nostalgic; it wasn’t a need. Around that time, President Clinton enacted a 10-year ban on AR-15-style firearms. These guns, modeled after the M16 from Vietnam, were practically new to the civilian market. But the ban didn’t bother me—I didn’t own an AR, nor did I care to.
Enter 2004.
I was living in Roanoke, VA, with three kids when the ban lifted, making headlines and sparking renewed interest. Suddenly, the “black rifle” phenomenon took hold. For gun owners, who’d been fine without them, AR-15s became a “must-have.” For some, it was FOMO; for others, a newfound “need” was manufactured.
I’d fired my share of fully automatic weapons growing up. I was eight when I first shot an M16. At twelve, I experienced an M60, phosphorus rounds illuminating rural Georgia fields. What I didn’t realize until I bought my first AR-15 was that the only functional difference between these guns and their military counterparts was automation.
For gun enthusiasts: yes, I know the technical specs, the lingo, and the difference. I’ve trained hundreds of people in standard pistol safety, shooting, and CCW best practices. But that’s beside the point.
The allure of the AR-15 wasn’t about utility; it was about marketing. After the ban ended, manufacturers tapped into the “need” narrative. The message was clear: “You’re missing out. They’re taking it away. Your family isn’t safe without one.” Fear sold.
In 2007, we moved to California, where my AR-15s weren’t allowed. I complied, selling them before relocating. But fear struck close to home when Virginia Tech was hit by a tragic shooting, affecting friends and their children. Suddenly, gun control became personal.
Fear continued to drive sales, especially after Sandy Hook. Black gun sales surged, with people paying five times retail prices. Fear drives demand, but it also opens the door to further tragedy.
For some, firearms are undeniably fun. My second daughter asked for a range day on her 18th birthday, and we spent the day shooting everything from WWII relics to AR-15s. It was enjoyable, but there’s an edge to the fun. Guns aren’t toys; they’re tools that can kill. Not everyone needs access to every type of firearm.
Patriotism, especially in the South, runs deep, and many see the Second Amendment as foundational. But my freedom is not worth the lives of innocent children and citizens going about their daily lives.
We need to remember that tools evolve to make us more efficient. But when we talk about firearms, especially those designed for combat, we have to ask: To what end? Should we keep getting better at killing?
Yes, I’ve been attacked, and I’ve used a firearm to protect others. But does owning an AR-15 truly protect me from tyranny? That’s an absurd argument.
What if we banned these high-capacity firearms, and it reduced violence? Wouldn’t that be worth it? I’d willingly give up my collection if it saved even one child’s life. I propose a complete, temporary ban on magazine-fed rifles for the general public. Let’s examine the impact over a decade. If we see a significant reduction in mass shootings and gun violence, then perhaps we’ll have saved lives—and honored our calling to peace and responsibility. If not, we can adjust accordingly. Either way, we’ll have acted in good conscience.
Gun ownership isn’t inherently wrong, but we must ask ourselves if we’ve allowed our attachment to power and independence to overshadow our duty to protect life. Jesus calls us to a higher standard: one that values others above ourselves, embraces sacrifice, and ultimately serves the common good.
Perhaps it’s time to recognize that love—more than liberty, power, or the “right” to any tool—is what we are truly called to uphold. Let us not cling so tightly to our rights that we miss the higher call to protect, steward wisely, and love as Christ has loved us.
Tools and Truth
In the end, every tool in our hands requires discernment. Sometimes, the right tool for a job makes all the difference. And yet, we must be honest: sometimes, we are the tools. Just as we sharpen a chisel or refine a new technique, we need to sharpen our moral and ethical bearings. We must become tools fit for purpose—wielding power responsibly and asking ourselves not only if we can, but should we?
The evolution of firearms has given us an extraordinary capacity, but one that demands ethical governance, not a blanket ideology that worships rights over responsibility. As Christians, we’re not called to serve our tools but to serve with wisdom and love, honoring the sanctity of life above all.
If we hold tightly to anything, let it be this truth: Freedom must be guided by love. This alone will enable us to use our tools rightly and to be shaped by the hands of a higher purpose.
Oh, I mentioned giving up my guns… actually, I lost them all in a boating accident.
ADDENDUM 8/2023 – And for the fun guys who think our rifles have a bearing on governmental checks and balances… grow up and laugh a little [Warning: Crude Language] and think about the reality of such ideas.