The Storm

They spoke of the God of Jerusalem as they spoke of the gods of the peoples of the earth,
which are the work of the hands of men.

And the Lord sent an angel who cut off all the mighty warriors
and commanders
and officers in the camp
of the evil king of Assyria . . .

Because history repeats itself, God always wins, and people too easily forget.

“Quiet night,” the soldier at the firepit said offhandedly to the man sitting beside him. He yawned and stretched his legs, watching as a dying coal exploded into fragments of flame. The sparks quickly faded in the dark and floated off, forgotten.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the other replied, eyeing the buildup of storm clouds in the distance.

The soldier turned to look at him in surprise. “What are you talking about? Every year we come up here, and every year they play dead. There’s never much resistance. Why would there be? We outnumber them by, like, a million.” He gave a hearty laugh. “They’re just a bunch of farmers with winnowing forks. It’s like taking candy from a baby.”

His buddy cleared his throat. “I’ve got a bad feeling about things this time.”

“Based on what,” the other soldier snorted. "Those little thunderclouds out there?"

“I had this dream. It was so real. I’m tellin’ ya, I woke up in a cold sweat. I know it sounds stupid, but I saw this loaf of bread, made out of barley, and it rolled into our camp, slammed into one of the Midianite tents, and knocked it flat.”

The other soldier cut his eyes over to the dreamer. “So what? Once I dreamed I won a million shekels, but it turned out to be a bowl of cold oatmeal.”

“Listen to me! Barley—I feed that stuff to my dog. The only people I know who turn it into bread and serve it to their families are dirt poor.”

Dirt poor. The words sent an unexpected shiver down the spine of the other warrior. It rang a bell. He remembered hearing something about a guy, a nobody, who destroyed some idols up in Orphah where the mountain people were hiding out.

The other man was still talking. “I get these dreams sometimes. They’re kind of prophetic, in a way.”

“You mean they turn out the way you dream?”

“Yeah. A lot of times. Not literally, of course. They’re symbolic. Nobody’s gonna be crushed by a loaf of barley bread. But a sword in the hand of a nobody with nothing to lose? Kind of terrifying.”

For a minute, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

“I dunno,” the dreamer continued, breaking the silence with a nervous laugh. “Maybe it was a bad batch of hummus I ate. You never know what they put in that stuff.”

The soldier was thoughtful. “So, I heard one of the officers talking about this nutcase named Gideon. He’s some kind of a folk hero among the Israelites now. Runs around tearing down religious idols.”

“Think he’s gonna start something?”

“I don’t know. But if what I heard is true, the Israelites think their God has already given Midian and the rest of the armies over to him.”

“What do you think?” his companion asked, his eyes wide in the flickering light.

“I think he’s either a zealot or a lunatic.”

“Either way, you gotta watch out for guys like that. Never know what they’re capable of.”

“Yeah. You never know.”

No one heard the sound of disappearing feet on the sandy ground, or the rapid retreat of leather sandals as two eavesdroppers ran back to their hideout in the hills above the invading army’s camp.

“Did you hear that?” the man asked Gideon once the two were out of earshot. “They’re terrified of you! Doesn’t even make any sense, does it?”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well, just look at ‘em all. They fill the whole valley! It’s like a swarm of locust landed down there. Thousands of swarms. And you can’t even count how many camels they have.”

Gideon frowned. For a minute. Images of the river of firelight in the valley below filled his mind. “You’re right,” he finally said. “It’s impossible. Worse than counting all the sand on the seashore.”

“You’ve been to a seashore?” the other man asked, incredulous. “I’ve never been further than these sand dunes.”

“Just a figure of speech. It makes me wonder, though. How’d they hear about me? And why are they so nervous?”

The other man shrugged. “Guess you got in their heads. Or maybe that guy was right about the hummus.”

Quietly, the men crested the hill and went to their separate tents. But Gideon wasn't sleepy. He was more awake than he'd ever been in his life.

The time had come to act. But before he did, he sat beside a homemade altar and worshiped God. Finally, he knew. He was not alone. His countrymen were not alone. Not forsaken. No longer judged. The God of Angel Armies was on their side and would fight for them. And who could ever win against Almighty God? Was there anyone more powerful to come alongside them? Was anyone His equal?

“No one,” a Voice whispered beside him.

“It was a rhetorical question,” Gideon groaned.

“You’ve got this, you know. God teaches your hands to war and you are already the victor. Go in the strength that you have. This one’s a slam dunk.”

“A slam what?”

It was the Stranger’s turn to smile. “Never mind. Are you ready?”

Suddenly, his soul was flooded with such courage and confidence there was no room for even a sliver of fear. God didn’t have to show up, but He did, and He kept on doing it. He didn’t have to prove Himself with silly wet and dry fleeces, but He came up with the goods anyway. And He didn’t have to rescue Gideon from the angry, riotous crowds mourning the exposure of their fake idols but rescue him He did. But why?

“Because He is the only One Who is good. And because He has always loved a desperate heart,” the Visitor told him.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes on the ignorant enemy asleep in the valley below, unaware of the storm about to roll over them. As if to underline His directive, lightning sizzled across the midnight clouds in a distant thunderhead.

“Some trust and boast about how many chariots and horses they have, but we will trust in and boast of the name of the Lord our God,” Gideon said. “Give us victory, Lord. Let the King answer us when we call.”

The Stranger patted his shoulder. “Time to make that call,” he said.






With thanks to Texaus1 for permission to use the photo seen above. The original can be viewed at the following link: https://www.flickr.com/photos/texaus1/