When my friend was a pastor of a church up north he’d made friends with the local police chief. They’d meet frequently for a Coke and to swap stories as guys like to do. The pastor would sit with his back to the door and the chief always sat where he could see people coming and going -- cops like to see such things.

On one particular day the police chief invites Pastor Randy to ride with him out to the police weapons range for a bit of shooting. Randy likes to hunt and cheerfully accepts the offer.

Randy owns several hunting rifles and a cross-bow, but not a handgun. "That’s okay," says the chief, "you can use mine." There are three of them out at the range: The chief, a sergeant who drives the chief, and Pastor Randy.

The sergeant is the first to shoot using the chief’s .40 caliber Glock handgun. The target is a metal man silhouette mounted on a coil spring. Sarge takes careful aim and shoots. Dead center -- but just below the belt line.

"Ouch, that hurt," says the chief, laughing as he takes up his position to shoot. Chief’s shot strikes almost the exact spot but the sergeant says nothing about the chief’s hit. The chief hands the Glock over to Pastor Randy.

"I noticed that both shots were about the same but a little low," says Pastor Randy, "so I aim about a foot over the silhouette’s head." Wham! The bullet hits dead center in the upper chest -- center mass.

The pastor hands the pistol back to the chief with the comment, "Thanks, pilgrim, that’s a really nice weapon ya got there."

"Great shot," the chief says quietly to the pastor as he holsters his weapon. Sarge says nothing at all as the trio walks back to the chief’s car. That’s enough for one day.