Nothing could have prepared him for this.
Gone were the days of strumming away the hours on his harp, the nights singing himself to sleep in isolation, surrounded by only nature and the rustling of livestock in the pasture.
The simple days when no one heard him, or cared what he sang.
Now, he isn’t in a pasture.
He is in a palace.
And his assignment is no less than to perform for a man that could destroy him.
A man with a crown on his head, a spear in his hand, and evil in his heart.
What should he do?
Should he run? Pretend to be sick? Give up his position?
What do you do when you are called to use your gift to soothe your enemy?
He squares his shoulders, plucks a few strings, and hums a few bars of a lyric he had been working on.
“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies….”
He tries another chord.
“You anoint my head with oil…”
He plucks out a countermelody.
“My cup runs over.”
Somehow, those words aren’t just a song to him anymore. They sink into his spirit with the force of the stone he once wielded against a giant. Now instead of a slingshot, his weapon is a song.
His confidence returns. He remembers his purpose.
He was called to face these giants. Not run from them.
He remembers that his ability is not his to give or take. It belongs to God. And if it is God’s will to use that gift to bless someone that would as soon kill him as promote him, so be it.
The same God that protected him in the battlefield and the wilderness could protect him in the king’s court.
His thoughts are interrupted by a loud voice outside his quarters.
“David! The king requests your presence. Go, and perform for him.”
Without hesitation, the young minstrel picks up his harp and strides confidently into the presence of a king that hates him, yet needs him more than can be comprehended.
And sweetly he sings for the man with the spear in his hand.