Wednesday, February 19, 2014

The Lion sleeps tonight

It's a glorious evening in Palestine. It's warm, but not hot. Perfect, if perfect could be had on the earth, he thinks. The sun has been David's companion all day, along with 14 or so men who would die for him, with nary a cloud to interfere with the ideal. It's faux-Spring, the time before the time and David is pretty sure this day couldn't get better unless Saul and Jonathan would suddenly show up and all the hatred the King had for David would run away. Still, God has blessed him with all things, and he has had only to receive them.

David sits, quietly, stretching, laying his staff and a short sword beside him. His human enemies are down the mountain somewhere. Safety is the evening cry.

Even the lion he had seen in the morning shadows is lying silently somewhere on the hillside. David catches his breath with glorious anticipation that he and she would one day meet with consequence and mortality the result for one of them. He enjoyed the dance.

Oh, maybe even tomorrow. He laughs gently, knowing the she-lion would sleep tonight, because he hears nothing except the normal noise of some of the sheep, others sheep this day, and they are not acting afraid. Even as David looks for the safety of a cave on the rocky hillsides outside of Jerusalem, somewhere on the hills, the wispy breeze is lifting and settling her mane like a child playing with bird's feathers, and she is settled, ready but relaxed, much like David, who lessens his alert status even as the lambs relax in the evening dance of the wind. He is on the run, his life is in the hands of his God, but now is the time to rest, to reflect, to offer a moment of worship even to a God who has called him and is even now leading him.

The evening light flickers and taunts. He takes out a reed he uses for writing his songs, a small and thin utensil he carries with him even on the hills of Palestine, and begins to write as if this was all he needed -- forever, because it is. As much as he is a shepherd, he thinks he is a writer. God's words, his framework for living, flows through him. They always have. He pauses for a prayer, a gentle breath communication with Jehovah and begins to write even as the day begins to wane.

"I waited patiently or the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry," David writes. "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. ... Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods. ..."

David stops, thinks how fortunate he is to be doing something he loves, even if he is running. He stretches, and looks to the sky, to where his father taught him to seek his Father.

He reflects for a moment that though things have been more difficult for him lately, though he can't see where the hope will come sometimes, though he has often wondered if King Saul actually wanted him dead, though he really feels he is in a slimy pit and he is covered in the mud and mire of living a life on the run, his Father, his Creator, his Friend, his Alpha and Omega, has reached out to him -- which if he gives it but a second of thought is beyond amazing.

David looks down and begins to write again: "Many, O lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare."

He smiles, relaxes, and begins to ponder how sweet the magnolias smell. It is evening, evening of a day God has made. Waiting on God is the most wonderful of actions, he knows. Waiting fills him with strength, with patience, with love even.

So, this evening, while his brother are probably running like their boots were on fire, he waits. He thinks, "Yet I am poor and needy; may the Lord think of me. You are my hope and my delivered; O my God; do not delay."

Words for today and forever, David thinks.

The lion smiles, and rolls onto its side.

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