I just want to take a minute and wish you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. As you celebrate this awesome holiday season please take a minute (or longer) and reflect on exactly why it is you’re celebrating today. A little over 2,000 years ago humanity received the greatest possible gift in the form of a Son who willingly gave His life to pave our path to the Father. It’s a gift that is free to all, all you have to do is accept by confession and belief. If not already it is my hope that you do so and begin your new life as a new creation this day forward. I for one came to Christ many years ago now and He has changed my life in a way words can’t explain, although I’m still flawed I have a hope I never new until I accepted. Once again Merry Christmas!
Shane (OGC Founder)
-Enjoy this cool new take on an old classic below from the USCCA
It’s nice to break away from the norm now and again and write something that’s a bit more laid back and fun. So, hopefully, with Christmas just a few days away, my fellow shooters out there can enjoy this lighthearted new take on an old, holiday favorite: “Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas.” I’ve attempted to stay true to the style of the original poem, most often attributed to well-known scholar Clement C. Moore. A few of his descriptive lines and stanzas remain intact, but the rest…well, let’s just say I exercised some creative liberties! Whether you love it or you hate it, here’s wishing a very safe, happy, merry, and wonderful Christmas from my 2A family to yours.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our range
Not a shooter was stirring, which is always quite strange.
The targets were hung by the backstop with care,
In hopes that new firearms soon would be there.
The RSOs were working all secure by their sheds,
While visions of AR-15s danced in their heads.
And mama with her holster, and I with my gun,
Had just collected our brass after a long day of fun.
When out on the lane there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my rest to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore down safety posters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the curves of the new-fallen brass
Gave the lustre of gold to objects en masse.
When, what to my wondering eyes should be seen,
But several concealed-carry guns, and eight tiny magazines.
With a little old shooter, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than autos his firearms they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now SPRINGFIELD! now, BERETTA! now, HK and NIGHTHAWK!
On, KIMBER! on, TAURUS! on SIG SAUER and GLOCK!
To the top of the berm! to the top of the wall!
Now blast away! blast away! blast away all!”
As spent casings that before the firing gun fly,
When they release a projectile, mount to the sky.
So up to the shooting lane the firearms they flew,
With range cart full of accessories, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the lot
The shooting and blasting of each little shot.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the range St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in camo, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with lead particles and soot.
A bundle of guns he had flung on his back,
And he looked like an operator, just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the range bags, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger on the side of his gun,
And safely reholstering, down the range he did run!
He sprang to his range cart, to his guns gave a check,
And away they all blasted like the stream of a jet.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“HAPPY SHOOTING TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!”