Against All Odds

Hours. Alone in the dark, he’d been wrestling there for hours. Alone.

“You’re not alone,” the Stranger had told him. But it’s how he felt. That’s what seclusion does to you, he thought. Protecting himself so he wouldn’t be a target kept him insulated from the glaring truth that he was never alone.

Maybe isolation was a perfect foil—the same way it worked in the wild when weaker animals lagged behind the group, making themselves vulnerable to the very thing they were running away from. United we survive. Divided we’re dead.

“Go in the strength that you have,” the Stranger said when Gideon accused God of abandonment. “Go. Stop hiding here. Get out there and save Israel from the hand of Midian.”

“But . . .,” Gideon had protested.

“Have I not sent you?” the Stranger interrupted.

Have I not sent you. It was as if the Stranger was much more than what he appeared. Maybe even an angel. Or the Lord Himself. Impossible. Nobody had ever seen God. He didn’t just, show up. In person. In a hole in the ground to a nobody like Gideon.

But this Guy kept appearing and disappearing like a summer mirage, insisting that Gideon get out in public, assume the role of a leader, declaring that the two of them would defeat a professional, well-supplied army of 135,000.

He felt like vomiting.

All that overwhelming courage he’d had a few hours before had faded like the embers of his campfire. There was nothing left now but a tiny spark threatening to give up the fight. Then what? Would the Stranger find somebody else? He doubted it. In seven years of oppression, he hadn’t heard one brave voice suggest they had a snowball's chance in Hades of ever being free again. Resignation—or was it defeat?—hung on the shoulders of his people like a blanket of heavy chains. It was exactly what their oppressors wanted. They didn’t even have to threaten them anymore. They all just laid down and played dead.

“Go in the strength that you have.” The only strength he had came from beating the life out of wheat stalks in an underground wine cellar. But what if that was enough?

For the first time in years, understanding grew where shame had taken root. There was no condemnation in the Stranger’s voice. Gideon realized he was accepted and approved, just as he was. The directions were straight forward and exactly what his weary heart had been asking for all this time. Please show us what to do, he had pleaded before the Almighty.

Maybe what he’d meant was, please fix this so I don’t have to risk anything.

“Go . . . you can count on Me. I’ll absolutely be with you. It doesn’t matter how many are against you. You’ll take them on and defeat them as if you were up against only one man.”

Maybe. Gideon bit his lip, searching the open skies above for another sign. There was a lot at stake, beginning with his own life, if he was wrong about this. If the Stranger was pulling his leg. What if . . . He stopped there. There was so much he didn’t know. Like how he was supposed to do it. Or whether anyone else would show up to help?

And what next of kin should be notified when he failed.

Sighing, he stood up and stretched. In the darkness, the lights of the encamped troops in the valley lit up like the stars above his head. There’d be no sleep for him tonight.

“Gideon?” a drowsy voice asked. His bearded friend rubbed his eyes, squinting in the dark where he lay at Gideon’s feet.

Gideon looked at the nearly comatose man for minute, weighing his options. “Do me a favor, would you?”

“Anything.”

“Go tell the couriers to put out the word. I want all the men from all our tribes to come here asap. And if they don’t know who I am, tell them to show up anyway. They’ll know who I am soon enough.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Set off the alarm so my family will know to gather here.”

“And then what?”

“Put out a fleece.”

“A what?”

Gideon shook his head. “Never mind. Just hurry, would you? We don’t have much time.”

His friend threw back a drink of water and wiped his mouth. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“You got any better ideas?”

“Make out my will?” his friend said with a weak grin.

Gideon watched him leave, expecting terror to fill the void in the space around him. Instead, he reached for his trumpet and gave a long blast. Then another. And a third. They’ll be here soon, he thought, letting the ram’s horn drop to his side. Suddenly he knew he wasn’t alone.

“You called?” an amused Voice asked.

Gideon’s eyes focused in the moonlight on the Stranger standing beside him. “I’m trusting You on this,” he told Him.

“Are you?” the man questioned, his head tilted to the side, knowingly.

“As best I can.”

“But?”

Gideon’s shoulders lifted slowly and then relaxed in surrender. There was no need to play games with this Guy. Honesty was a better option.

“I need some reassurance. Something visible to believe in. Something that doesn’t disappear every time I turn around.”

The man listened. Quietly.

“If what you say is true, that I am the one who will deliver Israel from our enemies, then give me a sign.”

“A sign,” the man repeated. “Like the words, Vote For Gideon emblazoned across the hillside?”

“Not that big,” Gideon replied, ignoring the sarcasm. He pulled a wad of wool from a bag beside him and stretched it out on the threshing floor in the winepress. “It’s going to be a long night,” he began. “We’re gathering everyone up here, but it’s going to take a few hours. When the sun comes up, if the ground in here is dry but there’s fresh dew only on this fleece, then I’ll know with certainty what You’ve been telling me is true—that You will use me to set Israel free.”

“Is that all?” the Stranger said with a smile. “Easy peasy.”

“Just . . . dew on the fleece, dry all around,” Gideon said. What a Wise Guy, he thought.

“As you wish,” the Stranger said.

Left alone again, Gideon sank down against a rounded rock wall and closed his eyes in fatigue. With any luck, he’d wake up refreshed and discover that the last few weeks had been one long dream and he could go back to his miserable, but predictable, status quo.

Instead, when the morning sun’s rays tapped him on the shoulder, he awoke to a sopping wet glob of sheep wool lying in the middle of a dusty floor. It couldn’t be. Crawling over to the soggy fleece, he touched its spongy texture in disbelief. Then he grabbed his knapsack and the saturated fleece, wringing it dry until it filled his bag with the equivalent of a bowl full of water.

“Satisfied?” the Stranger’s voice asked from beside him.

“Well, yeah, I think so,” Gideon’s hesitant voice answered.

“You think it was just a coincidence, don’t you?”

Gideon bit his lip. “Listen,” he began. “It’s just you and me down here. It’s gonna take another day for everyone to arrive. That’s a big crowd.”

“Probably thirty-two thousand men,” the Stranger agreed.

“It’s just that I need to be sure before I tell them our plan. We do have a plan, don’t we?”

“Is that what you want from Me?”

Gideon closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. This Guy could be so frustrating.

“No. I mean, yes, but I’m sensing that’s too much to ask. So, do this one thing for me and I won’t ask you for any more signs. Tonight this same fleece will be dry. Let’s leave it that way, okay? I’ll spread it out here just like last night and tomorrow morning let the fresh dew be all around it but leave the wool bone dry. I don’t want to find one drop of water on it when the sun comes up.”

It was the Stranger’s turn to sigh. “Sure,” he said, crossing his arms as he looked at Gideon. “I’m telling you, though. That hillside lit up with your name would have been a real crowd pleaser.”

With thanks to Dicemanic for the use of the photo above. The original can be seen by following this link: https://www.flickr.com/photos/dicemanic/