Last week Pa and I were returning from big city. One of our stops that day was the gun shop. Pa is looking at a hand gun that holds shot gun shells.
When we first looked at this type gun last year I was fine with it, because I thought we would be moving to the deep country and it would come in handy should a snake decide to come to close. Now that we are not moving I see no need for this gun but we stopped and looked around.

Side story... there was a really cool round gun there. It was made in the late 1800's in Chicago and was probably used by dishonest people as it could be hidden in your hand....

I told Pa "I can deal with the rifles but don't want a hand gun around because of the children" Then I said "I don't really like rifles either guess that comes from almost killing my brother" to which Pa wanted to know what I was talking about.

The story:
We were down home in southern Illinois visiting family. My great grandparents and a couple of aunts & uncles lived up and down the road from grandma's. We were visiting the greats that day and I was wondering. They had a farm and the south side yard ran down to the barn yard drive, lots of wondering room. Grandma loved flowers and I was more then likely smelling each and every one, working my way down to the barn yard fence along the fence and back up to the house. There was a pump just outside the kitchen door and I most likely had to get a drink and that is when I noticed the boys. ..... Note Dad came from big family, he has sibling and cousins same age as his children....
My uncle and cousin had been down in the woods hunting and worked their way up to Grandma and Grandpa's. The boys were over on the north side of the house shooting at cans on the fence. I walked over and ask oldest brother what he thought he was doing. I'm sure he said something like "shooting cans stupid" I remember asking if I could shoot the gun and oldest brother handed me the one he had. I ask "are the bullets real"? "NO" the boys said.
I took that rifle, set the barrel on the side of brother's head and said " You mean if I shoot this gun nothing will happen to you"? I can still feel and see that moment. I can feel the pressure of my muscles tighten to pull the trigger, see the end of the gun at his head and feel the hand of God stopping my finger from pulling the trigger. I see the gun barrel moving down pointing towards the ground, see my brothers hands taking the rifle back and see my feet as I walk away to go do something else. Never giving it another thought.
I couldn't even tell you what event brought back that memory in later years. I just know that when it came I could still see it, feel it and feel God Almighty gently and firmly keeping my finger from moving. I can see myself walking way without the least bit of concern, yet knowing something I didn't understand had just happened. To this day it is one of the most intense memories I have and I know that I know that God's hand saved me that day.