Max Lucado (8 page)

Things get worse before they get better.

The Philistines decide to attack King Saul. David and his men opt to switch sides and join the opposition. Envision U.S. Marines joining the Nazis. They journey three days to the battlefield, get rejected, and travel three days home. “The Philistine officers said, . . . ‘He's not going into battle with us. He'd switch sides in the middle of the fight!'” (29:4 MSG).

David leads his unwanted men back to Ziklag, only to find the village burned to the ground. The Amalekites had destroyed it and kidnapped all the wives, sons, and daughters. When David and his men see the devastation, they weep and weep until they are “exhausted with weeping” (30:4 MSG).

Rejected by the Philistines. Pillaged by the Amalekites. No country to fight for. No family to come home to. Can matters grow worse? They can. Venom flares in the soldiers' eyes. David's men start looking for rocks. “The people in their bitterness said he should be stoned” (30:6 God's Word).

We have to wonder, is David regretting his decision? Longing for simpler days in the wilderness? The good ol' cave days? No Philistine

How we handle our tough times stays with us for a long time.

rejection or Amalekite attacks there. His men loved him. His wives were with him.

Now, in the ruins of Ziklag with men selecting stones to throw at him, does he regret his prayerless choice to get out and sell out?

Slumps: the petri dish for bad decisions, the incubator for wrong turns, the assembly line of regretful moves. How we handle our tough times stays with us for a long time.

How do you handle yours? When hope takes the last train and joy is nothing but the name of the girl down the street . . . when you are tired of trying, tired of forgiving, tired of hard weeks or hard-headed people . . . how do you manage your dark days?

With a bottle of pills or scotch? With an hour at the bar, a day at the spa, or a week at the coast? Many opt for such treatments. So many, in fact, that we assume they reenergize the sad life. But do they? No one denies that they help for a while, but over the long haul? They numb the pain, but do they remove it?

Or are we like the sheep on the Turkish cliff ? Who knows why the first one jumped over the edge. Even more bizarre are the fifteen hundred others who followed, each leaping off the same overhang. The first 450 animals died. The thousand that followed survived only because the pile of corpses cushioned their fall.
¹

We, like sheep, follow each other over the edge, falling headlong into bars and binges and beds. Like David, we crash into Gath, only to find that Gath has no solution.

Is there a solution? Indeed there is. Doing right what David did wrong.

He failed to pray. Do the opposite:
be quick to pray.
Stop talking to yourself. Talk to Christ, who invites. “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest” (Matt. 11:28 MSG).

God, who is never downcast, never tires of your down days.

David neglected good advice. Learn from his mistake. Next time you lack the will to go on,
seek healthy counsel.

You won't want to. Slumping people love slumping people. Hurting people hang with hurting people. We love those who commiserate and avoid those who correct. Yet correction and direction are what we need.

I discovered the importance of healthy counsel in a half-Ironman triathlon. After the 1.2 mile swim and the 56-mile bike ride, I didn't have much energy left for the 13.1 mile run. Neither did the fellow jogging next to me. I asked him how he was doing and soon regretted posing the question.

“This stinks. This race is the dumbest decision I've ever made.” He had more complaints than a taxpayer at the IRS. My response to him? “Good-bye.” I knew if I listened too long, I'd start agreeing with him.

I caught up with a sixty-six-year-old grandmother. Her tone was just the opposite. “You'll finish this,” she encouraged. “It's hot, but at least it's not raining. One step at a time. . . . Don't forget to hydrate. . . . Stay in there.” I ran next to her until my heart was lifted and my legs were aching. I finally had to slow down. “No problem,” she said, waving as she kept going.

Which of the two describes the counsel you seek? “Refuse good advice and watch your plans fail; take good counsel and watch them succeed” (Prov. 15:22 MSG).

Be quick to pray, seek healthy counsel, and don't give up.

Don't make the mistake of Florence Chadwick. In 1952 she attempted to swim the chilly ocean waters between Catalina Island and the California shore. She swam through foggy weather and choppy seas for fifteen hours. Her muscles began to cramp, and her resolve weakened. She begged to be taken out of the water, but her mother, riding in a boat alongside, urged her not to give up. She kept trying

Be quick to pray, seek healthy counsel,
and don't give up.

but grew exhausted and stopped swimming. Aids lifted her out of the water and into the boat. They paddled a few more minutes, the mist broke, and she discovered that the shore was less than a half mile away. “All I could see was the fog,” she explained at a news conference. “I think if I could have seen the shore, I would have made it.”
²

Take a long look at the shore that awaits you. Don't be fooled by the fog of the slump. The finish may be only strokes away. God may be, at this moment, lifting his hand to signal Gabriel to grab the trumpet. Angels may be assembling, saints gathering, demons trembling. Stay at it! Stay in the water. Stay in the race. Stay in the fight.

Take a long look at the shore that awaits you.
Don't be fooled by the fog of the slump.
The finish may be only strokes away.

Give grace, one more time. Be generous, one more time. Teach one more class, encourage one more soul, swim one more stroke.

David did. Right there in the smoldering ruins of Ziklag, he found strength. After sixteen months in Gath. After the Philistine rejection, the Amalekite attack, and the insurrection by his men, he remembered what to do. “David found strength in the Lord his God” (1 Sam. 30:6 NIV).

It's good to have you back, David. We missed you while you were away.

9

PLOPPING POINTS

I RECENTLY SAW a woman walking a dog on a leash. Change that. I saw a woman
pulling
a dog
with
a leash. The day was hot, I brutally. The dog had stopped, totally. He'd plopped, belly down, in wet grass, swapping blistering pavement for a cool lawn.

The woman tugged and tugged. She'd have had more success pulling a parked semi.

The dog's get-up-and-go had got up and gone, so down he went.

He's not the last to do so. Have you ever reached your “plopping point”?

Blame it on your boss. “We need you to take
one more
case.”

Your spouse. “I'll be out late
one more
night this week.”

Your parents. “I have
one more
chore for you to do.”

Your friend. “I need just
one more
favor.”

The problem? You've handled, tolerated, done, forgiven, and taken until you don't have one more “one more” in you. You are one tired puppy. So down you plop.
Who cares what the neighbors think.
Who cares what the Master thinks. Let them yank the leash all they want;
I ain't taking one more step.

But unlike the dog, you don't plop in the grass. If you are like David's men, you plop down at Brook Besor.

Don't feel bad if you've never heard of the place. Most haven't, but more need to. The Brook Besor narrative deserves shelf space in the library of the worn-out. It speaks tender words to the tired heart.

The story emerges from the ruins of Ziklag. David and his six hundred soldiers return from the Philistine war front to find utter devastation. A raiding band of Amalekites had swept down on the village, looted it, and taken the women and children hostage. The sorrow of the men mutates into anger, not against the Amalekites, but against David. After all, hadn't he led them into battle? Hadn't he left the women and children unprotected? Isn't he to blame? Then he needs to die. So they start grabbing stones.

What else is new? David is growing accustomed to such treatment. His family ignored him. Saul raged against him. And now David's army, which, if you remember, sought him out, not vice versa, has turned against him. David is a psycho in the making, rejected by every significant circle in his life. This could be his worst hour.

But he makes it one of his best.

While six hundred men stoke their anger, David seeks his God. “But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God” (1 Sam. 30:6).

How essential that we learn to do the same. Support systems don't always support. Friends aren't always friendly. Pastors can wander off base and churches get out of touch. When no one can help, we have to do what David does here. He turns toward God.

“Shall I go after these raiders? Can I catch them?”

“Go after them! Yes, you'll catch them! Yes, you'll make the rescue!” (30:8 MSG

(I used to believe only saints could talk with God like this. I'm beginning to think God will talk with anyone in such a fashion and saints are the ones who take him up on his offer.)

Freshly commissioned, David redirects the men's anger toward the enemy. They set out in pursuit of the Amalekites. Keep the men's weariness in mind. They still bear the trail dust of a long campaign and haven't entirely extinguished their anger at David. They don't know the Amalekites' hideout, and, if not for the sake of their loved ones, they might give up.

Indeed, two hundred do. The army reaches a brook called Besor, and they dismount. Soldiers wade in the creek and splash water on their faces, sink tired toes in cool mud, and stretch out on the grass. Hearing the command to move on, two hundred choose to rest. “You go on without us,” they say.

How tired does a person have to be to abandon the hunt for his own family?

The church has its quorum of such folks. Good people. Godly people. Only hours or years ago they marched with deep resolve. But now fatigue consumes them. They're exhausted. So beat-up and worn down that they can't summon the strength to save their own flesh and blood. Old age has sucked their oxygen. Or maybe it was a deflating string of defeats. Divorce can leave you at the brook. Addiction can as well. Whatever the reason, the church has its share of people who just sit and rest.

And the church must decide. What do we do with the Brook Besor people? Berate them? Shame them? Give them a rest but measure the minutes? Or do we do what David did? David let them stay.

The church must decide.
What do we do with the Brook Besor people?

He and the remaining four hundred fighters resume the chase. They plunge deeper and deeper, growing more discouraged with each passing sand dune. The Amalekites have a large lead and have left no clues. But then David hits the jackpot. “They found an Egyptian in the field, and brought him to David; and they gave him bread and he ate, and they let him drink water” (30:11).

The Egyptian is a disabled servant who weighs more than he is worth, so the Amalekites left him to starve in the desert. David's men nurse him back to life with figs and raisins and ask the servant to lead them to the campsite of his old cronies. He is happy to oblige.

David and his men swoop down upon the enemy like hawks on rats. Every Israelite woman and child is rescued. Every Amalekite either bites the dust or hits the trail, leaving precious plunder behind. David goes from scapegoat to hero, and the whooping and hollering begin.

The punch line, however, is yet to be read. To feel the full force of it, imagine the thoughts of some of the players in this story.

The rescued wives.
You've just been snatched from your home and dragged through the desert. You've feared for your life and clutched your kids. Then, one great day, the good guys raid the camp. Strong arms sweep you up and set you in front of a camel hump. You thank God for the SWAT team who snatched you and begin searching the soldiers' faces for your husband.

“Honey!” you yell. “Honey! Where are you?”

Your rescuer reins the camel to a halt. “Uh,” he begins, “uh . . . your honey stayed at the camp.”

“He did what?”

“He hung with the guys at Brook Besor.”

I don't know if Hebrew women had rolling pins, but if they did, they might begin slapping them about this moment. “Besor, eh? I'll tell you who'll be sore.”

The rescue squad.
When David called, you risked your life. Now, victory in hand, you gallop back to Brook Besor. You crest the ridge overlooking the camp and see the two hundred men below.

“You leeches.”

While you fought, they slept. You went to battle; they went to matinees and massage therapists. They shot eighteen holes and stayed up late playing poker.

You might feel the way some of David's men felt: “Because they did not go with us, we will not give them any of the spoil that we have recovered, except for every man's wife and children” (30:22).

Rescued wives: angry.

Rescuers: resentful.

And what about the two hundred men who had rested? Worms have higher self-esteem. They feel as manly as a lace doily.

A Molotov cocktail of emotions is stirred, lit, and handed to David. Here's how he defuses it:

Don't do that after what the Lord has given us. He has protected us and given us the enemy who attacked us. Who will listen to what you say? The share will be the same for the one who stayed with the supplies as for the one who went into battle. All will share alike. (30:23–24 ncv)

Note David's words: they “stayed with the supplies,” as if this had been their job. They hadn't asked to guard supplies; they wanted to rest. But David dignifies their decision to stay.

David did many mighty deeds in his life. He did many foolish deeds in his life. But perhaps the noblest was this rarely discussed deed: he honored the tired soldiers at Brook Besor.