“David at Ziklag.”
I unpeeled the covers, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. David at Ziklag.
What was that?
I shuffled into the bathroom and trudged through my groggy first motions of the day. I moved from there to the closet, out to the coffee pot, and over to the couch. Still two hours until my workday, and enough time to listen. It came again.
David at Ziklag.
The man’s name and location puzzled me. It wasn’t a reminder of the previous day’s reading, a memory of a recent study, or a recollection of a conversation with a friend. No, it was a fresh nudge to search for more.
Since I already knew who and where, I dove in for the what. The story was vague to me—and only one of many I’d put my eyes on at some point at some time.
David and his men came back from battle to their town of Ziklag to find it burned to the ground. The enemy had taken all the women and children captive. David and his six-hundred men bawled their eyes out until they were exhausted. Some of the men threatened to stone David because he was their leader, and this was a mess. He called a priest, prayed, and strengthened himself. An inspired idea came to him, and he rallied his army.
On the way to take back what was stolen from them, the warriors came upon an Egyptian—unresponsive but alive. They tended to the young man for three days, giving him water and food until he revived. He told them he was a servant of the same enemy who had devoured their lives, stealing everything, and because he was sick, his master had left him behind. Could he join them on their way, though? David said yes, and the man promised to take them to the people they sought, if they agreed not to give him back to his master.
David and his men—four hundred of them now because two hundred were too tired to go into battle and stayed back with the baggage—fought their enemy and recovered what was theirs—their wives, children, and property. AND NOTHING WAS MISSING. They even took a great spoil.
When it came time to divide the winnings, the four-hundred men complained about the two hundred who had stayed behind. Why should they get anything? But David said no, they should have their portion too. And from that day on, it became law: share and share alike.
I sat with the stories, four lessons emerging in front of my eyes, and I imagined them as titles: Plundered, Caring for Another on the Way, Recovery, The Great Sharing.
So, which one did I need? Which counted most for my life and the lives around me? Or a better question: if this progression mattered for today, where was I in the story?
Two days later, a friend who knew nothing about my wake-up words sent me a sermon from YouTube. It had to do with victory over this or that in life, and sure enough, “David at Ziklag” came out of the speaker's mouth. The day after, a podcaster talked about standing strong in adversity. Somewhere in the middle, she dropped the words, “like David at Ziklag.” Why was this obscure story of an ancient warrior (and later king) showing up again and again?
As I write this today, I can't say I know the application. What does it mean for my life? I might be in the Caring for Another on the Way stage, but who knows?
Or maybe I'm meant to tell you right now because this story is for you.
What do you think?
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