It’s strange though; gunfire and baseball don’t fit together, and it’s also strange that there’s a kind of numbness around my waist. A kind of pressure, like a lineman has lowered his shoulder and given me a shove. But it’s not a shove. It’s a large 7.62 caliber bullet moving at high velocity that has entered my hip and hit my femur, and my leg has effectively detonated.
We may be neighbors who do not agree about elections or politicians or immigration or gun control but love is a roof that invites in those who think differently to our table, to break bread, to break down stereotypes, to listen to different perspectives, to pass around the bowls, and pass down kindness and respect and grace.