The brakes slammed down hard as Dad's spotlight caught the maleficent eyes of the pest. My brother holds the spotlight, but his hands are frozen and, as the ute bumps across the paddock, the haze of the light jars.
He hands the spotlight to my dad. For some reason, Dad is able to do it better. One hand on the steering wheel, the other holding the spotlight. A dangerous predicament, but we unreservedly trust him.
We creep, well the ute creeps, we are only passengers. I yawn, and my breath fogs the glass. 'Okay, we got him. Hold the spotlight will you,' Dad whispers, while passing the light to me. The rush of the cool breeze is exhilarating. My hands are firm and the cold doesn't bother me as the window disappears. I am nonchalantly pretending I'm not interested.
But I am.
The barrel is loaded and a hush descends—we're mesmerized, waiting for the shot. I can see him clearly. He is casual and unaware.
'I wish I could hang in your mind' I whisper.
The fox eyes drill into mine.
Its head turns and I see it pondering its next move, blinded by the light I'm holding. 'Left, left, left' my thoughts echo. My brother screams, 'Dad! Its turning left, put the pedal to the metal!' He has a cheesy, magnificent grin on his rounded face, a broad smile matching my own.
A sad experience?
The night's silhouette is somehow vividly darker as you stare down my scope. The gun has been passed to me and I'm ready for the gory details, but I pause. I can hear you louder than before. My finger displays confidence, but a sadness is on my skin. Weighing heavy. Why am I shooting you?
The weight is on my shoulder. It's starting to ache.
But my finger is confident and it overrides the sadness. So, I look you in the eye and aim.
And the story goes something like this: For the first time in the short nineteen years of my life, I shoot a gun.
I'm not sure why it took me so long to shoot a gun. For majority of my life I have lived on a farm surrounded by family members who love to shoot. I am not against shooting, I've just never had an active desire to hold a gun or shoot anything.
For some unknown reason I have never been able to remove the fox's last moments from my memory. Now, I'm not saying everyone's experience after shooting an animal should be like mine.
My experience doesn't demand people never shoot again, but it highlights an important issue. It was so easy for my finger to press down on the trigger and not feel a thing. When I stood over the fox and its inherent grave I couldn't help thinking about the confidence in my finger. Surely it's okay? It was just a slight movement of my finger, nothing more?
Injustice hurts
Shooting the fox was more than just a sad experience for me. I felt like I had shocked its world with injustice. That slight movement of my finger really isn't 'nothing more,' when you see the crippling effects of finger confidence throughout nations.
Mass shootings, especially in the United States, gathered an unprecedented amount of attention in 2015. According to PBS Newshour, there were 372 mass shootings in the US in 2015 alone, killing 475 and wounding 1,870. The terror attacks in France, the Sydney Siege, the countless civilian lives lost in the Middle East, Africa, Indonesia. On and on and on it goes. Injustice after injustice after injustice. With an injustice cherry on top.
When I think about this all too much my heart hurts. And my mind starts to get away from me. In the fox's final moments was there a plea for clemency? A cry for rehabilitation? A song sung to the tune of Amazing Grace?
If my heart hurts, I can't help but think about how much more God's heart must ache for the nations. For the injustice. For the victims. And for those who cause so much hurt when they press their finger on the trigger.
To be peace
In Matthew chapter 5, verse 9, when Jesus is preaching on the mountainside, he says something truly glorious: 'Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.' Children of God have the character of their heavenly Father.
Our heavenly Father is a 'God of peace' (see Romans chapter 16, verse 20, or 1 Thessalonians chapter 5, verse 23, or Hebrews chapter 13, verse 20). We know heaven is a world of peace (Luke chapter 19, verse 38)
And most importantly, we know God is a peacemaker. Even though finger confidence can destroy, decimate and bring terror, we have the ability to be peace, to bring peace where hearts hurt, when injustice is overwhelming.
As Christians, we have a responsibility to give when others take, to love when others hate, to help when others abuse. To be peace when injustice reigns.
So let true peace be the firm cry of your soul. And as one, let's present justice to a world who so desperately need it.
Emily Black is passionate about writing and seeks to write raw, authentic and timely pieces that disturb and comfort, engage justice and fundamentally empower.
She is currently studying a Bachelor of Arts at The University of Melbourne and actively desires to pursue a life of untainted freedom through Jesus Christ.
Emily Black's previous articles may be viewed at http://www.pressserviceinternational.org/emily-black.html
