Free Max Lucado by Facing Your Giants Page B

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.
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    The church must decide.
What do we do with the Brook Besor people?
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    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.
    â€œHoney!” you yell. “Honey! Where are you?”
    Your rescuer reins the camel to a halt. “Uh,” he begins, “uh . . . your honey stayed at the camp.”
    â€œHe did what?”
    â€œHe 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.
    â€œYou 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