The account of David and Bathsheba in 2 Samuel 11 begins this way:
In the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle, David sent Joab, and his servants with him, and all Israel. And they ravaged the Ammonites and besieged Rabbah. But David remained in Jerusalem.
David, the King and great warrior, stayed home on the couch.
I was once on a date with my high school girlfriend, driving my parents' orange Volkswagen minibus, when I pulled up behind a Jeep that was turning left. A guy in the back seat of the Jeep spoke to me in sign language. Fortunately, he used the only sign language I knew, so I spoke back in the same manner. It wasn't nice, what I said.
The Jeep started to follow us. We pulled up to a stop sign, and three guys jumped out of the Jeep and onto the bus, screaming and yelling. When I drove off, they got back in the Jeep and continued to follow us. I prayed franticallyin the silence of my own heart so Susan wouldn't hear"Jesus, please let my parents be home." It didn't work.
I pulled up in the driveway, and the Jeep screeched to a stop behind me. Three guys jumped out screaming, "Hey man, you flipped us off." One guy had a bat, another guy had nunchakus, and the third guy had a bag of lead shot. We negotiated for about 30 minutes on the lawn. Finally, they left with some comments regarding my masculinity, and I felt lower than scum. I was ashamed. I wanted to fight, to shame someone else in order to hide my shame. I wanted to fight, but I didn't want to lose.
As I reflected on that incidenthow they flipped me off, how they had their weapons handy, how they tried to make me madit occurred to me those guys were out looking for a fight. They were warriors looking for ...
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