Slick leather sandals slipped on slimy mud. David’s knee struck the cave floor, but he bit his tongue. The other men pressed close in the dark, listening for pursuit. They waited, silent for a long time except for tight, panting breath.
Finally, he commanded, “Abishai, Ethan, check the way—carefully.” The two scouts nodded, turned, and disappeared around a corner, more felt than seen.
“Joab, tell them we spend the night here,” he said. Then, forcing a straight step, he added, “I’ll be back.” Taking a newly lit torch, he climbed farther in.
Joab’s eyes followed a moment. “Off to talk to his God again, I suppose,” he muttered to himself then shrugged and moved towards the others.
The pain in David’s knee no longer brought tears, but he still limped. When he knew he was alone, he cried out, “Lord, this isn’t a kingdom; it’s a joke. We have no food, no home. Our families are scattered, and we live like bandits, running from Saul and his army. Why have you deserted us?”
Later, he wrote about hiding in that cave, “I cry aloud to the Lord; I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy. I pour out my complaint before him; before him, I tell my trouble.” Why did the same God who tells us not to worry also call a complaining David a man after his own heart?
Worry abandons trust and seizes control. Then it offers polite prayers that have nothing to do with heart thoughts. Complaints, on the other hand, cling to trust in the God who commanded, ”Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” That passionate honesty confesses reality before the God of truth. Reality may be messy, but that’s where God meets us.
Excerpt from Call For News-Reflections of a Missionary Pilot
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