Hello again, friends!
Last Wednesday, the 19th of October, I read a piece I had written to the Men’s Group that meets weekly in Alexandria, Indiana. I’ve been a part of this group for about seven or eight years, and on occasion I am privileged to bring a devotion, a testimony, or such, to the group. This time, I brought a story I had written about a month ago.
If you’re so inclined, go over to the AV Files page on this site, scroll down to the bottom of the page, and you will find the audio recording of Wednesday’s reading. And now, the story:
-oOo-
A
It’s not a big ship; it carries cargo and the occasional passenger or two from port to port across the lake, which is rather big. Today the ship would be considered old-fashioned, being strictly a sailing vessel. Not that I know much about such things; what I don’t know about sailing vessels would fill a, well, a sailing vessel.
The young man we’re concerned with at the moment is the First Mate. Mid-twenties, single, hard-working, on the verge of qualifying for a command of his own. On this day, the Captain signals that he’d like a word.
“I’ve been watching you all morning. You’ve been looking at the sky. I know you know the weather about as well as I do; what do those clouds tell you?” he asks.
“Storm coming,” says the First Mate. “Not terribly severe, probably won’t last all that long, but it’s time we started getting ready.”
“How soon?”
“Thirty minutes, maybe forty-five at the outside. Enough time, but none to spare.”
“Get your deck-hands together and see to it. I want you to prepare as if this were a hurricane. Put the men through their paces. And keep your eyes open. You watch them, and I’ll be watching you. When this thing blows itself out, I will submit a report to the head office. Some of the guys are due for promotion, so think of this as an evaluation.”
So First Mate calls the deck-hands together, tells them most of what the Captain has told him, and then begins giving instructions and assignments. There are doors to be closed and locks to be checked, equipment to be stowed, and below, there are crates to be secured; two or three men are sent down to assist the Cook in seeing to the galley and the food pantry.
I like boats, but I admit I’m no sailor. In that First Mate’s shoes, I’d probably hide in my cabin, just hoping we don’t sink. Storms at sea are the stuff of nightmares, for a land-lubber like me.
So I’ll ask him: “Aren’t you afraid? Don’t storms frighten you?”
He almost laughs at me. “Oh, there’s plenty to be concerned about, but that isn’t fear. Storms at sea, even a lake like this, can be powerful, but things to be respected, not feared. Truth is,” he says, “this is, by a wide margin, the least boring thing that’s come up in over a week. Sailing in good weather gets to a guy after a while. You can only watch the men cheat at Solitaire so long, you know.”
I supposed he was right. It could get monotonous, I reckoned.
I began to notice a kind of light in his eyes. He went on: “I’ve been, first a deck-hand, and now First Mate, for several years, and before that, there was a hitch in the Navy. I fell in love with the sea, and sailing ships in particular, but not with the Military. But I’ve been careful to study, take extra training, learn all I can, and then work hard, so that when my time comes, I’ll be ready for a ship of my own. Storms at sea are part of the package. This is what I’ve trained for. You might say, this is what I was born for. Today I earn my pay, and maybe even a promotion. Afraid? Anything but!”
Preparing for the storm is essential to being a sailor. Sailors aren’t fortune tellers; they know storms are inevitable, but unpredictable. Being prepared, and staying prepared, is wisdom.
B
That light in the eyes I’ve seen before. Sometimes it comes with what I would call the fire in the belly. In my all-too-active imagination, I’ve seen it in the eyes of another young man, this one not yet out of his teens. But that was long ago; I’ve only read about him. Feel like I know him, though.
He sits on a bit of rock, out in a wide green field; he watches sheep eat grass. As he watches, he makes up poems and songs in his head. Watching sheep eat grass is only marginally less boring than watching the grass grow without the sheep.
In the course of a normal day, there are two times that can be considered even mildly interesting. Early in the morning, our young shepherd opens the gate, to let the sheep out into the fields. As they go out, he counts them, and then checks the number with last night’s count, just to be sure. And of course, in the late afternoon, before it gets dark, he rounds them up and brings them back to the gate, and counts them again. Just to be sure. Except tonight. The count is off by one.
Today is no longer boring. Young David, the shepherd, knows the routine. He grew up in these fields, watching the ancestors of these same sheep, with his older brothers, and now, on his own. He takes his time, bedding down the sheep exactly like every other night, except this time, he must go back out, and soon, before the last of the light is gone.
He moves about the fields, looking in all the places a sheep might be lost or hiding, and he does so silently. When he finds the little adventurer, he doesn’t want to spook it into running farther off. As it happens, he doesn’t have far to look. Except that he is the second one to find the wayward sheep. Within seconds after recognizing the sheep in the gathering dusk, he sees something else as well: a young lion.
A lion in the hunt is the very definition of single-minded. This one is unaware of the shepherd. He has sheep in his nostrils, and that is now his whole world. Slowly and silently he begins to approach the oblivious sheep, as it continues to munch on the grass in the fading light.
We can ask the shepherd, as we asked the First Mate: “Aren’t you frightened? Even a little bit?” And there it is: that light in his eyes.
“I’ve been here before,” he says. “I know how to deal with predators.”
“So what’s your plan?” we ask. “Do you have a strategy?”
“Well,” he says, drawing a stone from his fanny pack; “first, I have to get his attention.”
Fitting the stone into his sling, he winds it up, and…Whop! Right in the ribs.
Already fingering the next stone, he moves swiftly around behind the lion, and prepares to fire a shot from the other side. The lion has trouble dividing his attention; he’s not ready to shift his attention from the…WHOP! That one hurt.
Suddenly, from the twilight, a hand reaches into the lion’s mane, pulling and twisting, forcing the lion to look away from the sheep. In his other hand, David has a stick, topped with a heavy, solid, knob. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! And then the one that breaks the skull: CRACK! He feels that one all the way to his shoulder! His eyes are fairly glowing.
A couple more THUMPS, just to be sure. If the light were better, he could see blood and brain matter. He reaches down to feel the ribs, and confirms that there is no longer a heartbeat; his own heart, on the other hand…
He collects his wandering sheep, and back to the gate they go. This time the count balances.
Even young, strong shepherd boys need sleep, and in the morning a relief-shepherd comes to take the next shift.
“Go home and get something to eat, and go to bed. I’ve got this,” he says. Then noticing a smear of blood on David’s hand, he adds: “I saw that mess you left out in the field. Have some fun last night, did you?”
“A little,” replies David. “It was over too quickly. Bears are more fun; they take longer.” And he grins, sheepishly. [Sorry, couldn’t help myself.]
C
Not long after, David is called by his father, Jesse, and given an assignment. David has several older brothers, all of them soldiers in King Saul’s army, and they have had no news of the battle for some weeks. Jesse is sending David to the battlefield, with some provisions for his brothers, and to gather what information he can about the battle. As the youngest son, and still a teenager, this will be David’s first exposure to the battle, and he is excited to see for himself what he has only imagined until now.
Surprised, he approaches the camp where the King’s soldiers seem to be taking a day off. No sounds of fighting, not much sound of any kind. He can hear, off in the distance, the sound of some great annoyance bellowing over the vacant battlefield, but the words are garbled, and David can’t make out the words through the heavy Philistine accent.
For several hours, David moves around the camp, gathering what intelligence there is. His brothers, who are NOT pleased to see him, but glad of the provisions, point out the tent where the Prophet Samuel can be found, but advise him to go home before he gets himself killed. Not likely, thinks David. It’s not like there’s a war on.
The Philistines have put up a champion, some monstrosity named Goliath, obviously an antediluvian throw-back, probably no more than a third Human. Judging by his speech, his intellect is as impressive as his striking good looks, but he’s obviously powerful on the field, and his challenge has brought the battle to a halt.
I don’t want to leave the impression that Saul’s armies were cowering in fear. It isn’t the giant, but the challenge, that has them daunted. The giant, Goliath, has called for one champion from Israel’s armies, to face him in hand-to-hand combat, winner-take-all. If Israel’s champion defeats the giant, then the Philistines will surrender and become Israel’s servants, and if Goliath wins, Israel surrenders to the Philistines. I’m sure you see the problem.
This giant, somewhere in the neighborhood of nine feet tall, could easily defeat a half dozen of Saul’s best in a matter of moments; anyone, however brave or mighty he might have been, who steps up to accept this challenge, has just doomed Saul’s armies, and indeed the whole nation of Israel. The only move Israel can make at this point is to stall for time, and pray for a miracle.
As it happens, a miracle is just stooping down to replenish his store of pebbles from a brook. Shall we ask him?
“Are you crazy? Doesn’t that brute frighten you? How can you possibly expect to survive this?”
“Oh, don’t get your emotions in a knot. Don’t forget, I deal with predators for a living.”
“Alright, but how are you more qualified to tackle this monster than a trained and experienced warrior?”
“Oh, that’s a matter of attitude. Those soldiers are trained to fight, and defeat, other soldiers. Any fair fight between one of ours and one of theirs would likely end in a win for us; we’re that good. But this isn’t a fair fight between equals. I didn’t come to fight a seasoned warrior in a fair combat. I recognized him immediately for what he is: a predator. And I came prepared as no soldier could be; this is the opponent I was born to face, and destroy. It is my experience with predators, and my Covenant with the LORD of Sabaoth [Look it up!], that will put me over. After all, it’s His battle, not mine.”
“So, got your strategy figured out?”
“Same as before; first, I’ve got to get his attention.”
So far, the giant hasn’t taken notice of David at all. He’s waiting for a champion, and here’s a child wandering onto the battlefield. Who’s running things over there, anyway?
David’s already winding up his sling; the stone from his fanny pack is still damp from the brook.
WHOP! Right in the forehead!
The giant, more surprised than hurt, staggers, loses his balance, and lands flat on his back. And now he’s as helpless as a turtle. Huge and clumsy, wearing armor that weighs about twice David’s weight, he struggles to gain a little leverage, but there is nothing to hold on to. Probably a good thing David doesn’t speak Philistine!
As soon as Goliath hits the ground, David looks around for something to use as a club. Where did he leave that stick? Wait, here’s just the thing. The giant’s own sword! David pulls it from the scabbard, it’s bigger than he is, and drags it up to the giant’s shoulder. As he’s trying to lift the enormous weapon, gravity takes over, and it slips out of his grasp…and falls straight through Goliath’s neck. His head rolls down the hill.
What? I was robbed! This can’t be over, I’ve still got a load of adrenaline to burn off. Bring me a couple of bears!
And that, dear ones, is that. The lesson is this: If you fight, you cannot lose; if you don’t fight, you cannot win.
God bless you.
-oOo-
That’s it. Hope it means something to you.
David L Henderson
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