The Paths of the Destroyer. Psalm 17:4.

Candie Dominguez was born in San Antonio in 1979. Her father was addicted to heroin. Her mother moved the children from house to house to escape his abuse. But mom had problems of her own and could not care for the kids. Eventually the children were split up. Candie’s life became so dominated by physical and sexual abuse that she left home at eight. (She ran away at eight years old!)

She joined the Mexican Mafia, finding a family of sorts in the criminal organization. She and others slept in cars—sometimes stealing a car just to have a place to sleep for the night. When Candie began having children at 15, she often found herself unable to feed them. Then her cousin, Jose Menchaca, stepped up, scrounging food from the dumpsters behind a McDonalds just so Candie and her children would have something to eat.

She says Menchaca saved her life. But in 2014, Menchaca was murdered in a story too grisly to repeat here. In 2018, Candie was one of three people charged with the murder—of the very cousin she credits with saving her life. It is a messy story, and the subject of two episodes of the Netflix show, “I AM A KILLER,” (season 6, episodes 1 and 2). (I verified these facts from newspaper articles available on the web.) In 2019, Candie Dominguez was sentenced to thirty years in prison for her part in the murder of her cousin.

I had one overwhelming impression as I watched the opening minutes of the television show documenting her case, and it was this—if you made a list of bad ways to begin a childhood, Candie’s life checks every box: Parents on drugs, father abuses children physically and sexually, parents split up, mom values drugs over children, child runs away at 8 years old, is raised in a criminal organization complete with enemies, feuds, violence, and death, she has no education, no exposure to the gospel, no job skills, no positive influences, no options.

To put it another way, life is hard enough when you have the best of everything. It is hard even when you have all the best habits. Imagine having none of them. Candie’s life was on a path of destruction from Day One.

We happened to be in San Antonio when our daughter took her first steps. We celebrated and immediately began pointing her down a good path. When Candie Dominguez took her first steps in the Alamo City, her parents placed her on the path of destruction and told her to start walking. And that may have been the last thing they ever did for her.

There is a path of destruction and a path of success. Think of it in construction terms: there is the demolition crew and there is the construction crew. Making choices that follow God’s word will keep you off the demolition crew and put you on the construction crew. God’s word will change you from a DESTROYER to a BUILDER.

David writes, “By the works of your lips, I have kept myself from the path of the Destroyer” Psalm 17:4. That is, the Word of God will keep you off the path of destruction. Instead, the word of God will lead you to the mountain of God.

“The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and they that dwell therein… Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord, or who shall stand in His holy place? He that hath clean hands and a pure heart … he shall receive the blessing of the Lord” Psalm 24:1-5.

God, thank you for blessing us with your word that guides us away from the path of the Destroyer. Make us builders. May we follow your path, live productive lives, and “ascend into the hill of the Lord.” Show us how to walk with you and how to lead young people to do the same. Help us to draw others to walk the narrow path that leads to life, Matthew 7:14.

ΑΩ

THE MAJESTY AND GLORY OF A NAME: DISCOVERING MY FATHER IN AN ITALIAN CATHEDRAL.

(After posting some 1,200 Bible studies and/or devotionals, this is the first that is simply a personal narrative. A true story/ memoir. Yes, it makes a nice story about David’s Psalm 8. But it’s a story. Posted here for fun.)

I was a father myself when Mama hit me with serious questions about my father, her husband of fifty years:

“Is the writer saying everyone is wounded by their fathers? Do you think you have a father wound? What could your father have done differently? And if you are wounded, is there anything we can do to help?”

After I read it, I had loaned my mother a copy of the excellent book, WILD AT HEART. John Eldredge writes with creativity and insight about men, and fathers, and movies, and literature—I have loved all his books for their insight, and for a “unifying theory” of literature that appealed to this English major. But Mama was wondering if regrets were in order. Her father had died when she was ten—that leaves a solid father wound, but not one with much blame attached.

I laughed at her concern and collected my thoughts. My experience reading John Eldredge was not unlike my brother’s experience in medical school: you read about a new disease and then realize that of course, you also have all the symptoms: you’ll be gone in a matter of days. I had given this “father wound” a lot of thought. I smiled at my mom.

“If I have a father wound, I haven’t found it.”

I was serious. I had looked. My relationship with my father had been colorful, filled with highs and lows, but never so low that I doubted his love or loyalty. When your father is a man of such integrity that he refuses to open mail addressed to his wife, it’s impossible to imagine him failing his family—until he does. Mine never did.

Ernie Wales taught Sunday school some forty-odd years, to boys ranging from seventh-graders to college students. Years later I taught alongside him. But when I had the chance to sit in my father’s class as a student, I bailed out.

I figured I’d seen the Ernie movie: left-brained engineer marches through an outline point-by-point. It was the way he had been talking to my brother and me all our lives, about the difference between volts, watts, and amperage, about the speed of sound versus the speed of light, about the principle of lift, about the internal combustion engine, about his work designing tape drives and memory chips, and the patent he had on the wall to prove it. Most of these topics I’d mastered only enough to know they were boring—boring and a little beyond me, though I listened harder to him than I ever did at school.

I wanted something creative, and I liked teachers who would give up on an outline if they began losing their audience. Daddy did not have a give-up bone in his body: he would reach the end of his lesson and plant a flag there, Sir Edmund Hillary scaling Mount Everest. I was the same way—I found it difficult to give up on things, and the two of us clashed like Bighorn sheep. But I had given up entirely on one thing: school in general and algebra in specific. I think that defeat, that failure of the will, upset him more than the hundreds of fights we had about stupid and trivial things I refused to surrender.

My apathy about school would turn out to be temporary: one day I would tackle my classes with a confidence and a work ethic I could only have learned from my parents. But that day was a long way off, and impossible to imagine.

Meanwhile, I knew I was not really avoiding carefully constructed Sunday school lessons. I avoided my father’s class because I did not want to be embarrassed. I did not want to witness those awkward moments, moments like his visit to my sixth-grade class at Ed White Elementary. He entered the room that day in western boots and a leather sport coat and looked like James Garner on The Rockford Files. When he came in and smiled his tall-dark-and-handsome smile, I felt my estimation rise in the eyes of the female students. They looked at him and then they looked at me, and seemed to be thinking: maybe there’s hope for Steven after all. Even better, Roderick Simpson, one of the most amazing athletes I would ever know, turned to me with eyes like saucers:

“Wow! Your dad is tall! You are going to be tall when you grow up!” I was proud.

My father was there to tell us about drilling for oil through the permafrost in Russia. Although he had been all over the world, I knew he had not been to Russia. But he brought one of his coworker’s photo albums and sat down and pointed at the pictures while he spoke.

He did well: the expert provided great testimony on direct, and had excellent answers to the questions on cross. He knew the material. But when he held up the large photo album balanced across his knees, he folded his hand into a loose fist, and extended only one finger to point at the pictures: his middle finger. There seemed to be a thousand pictures in that album—and this man who never cussed gave the digital insult to every one. My classmates giggled and snickered, and he did not realize what had them so amused.

But I realized it, and I let it embarrass me. I didn’t care which finger he pointed with—I thought that was stupid. But I was embarrassed by what I perceived as his failure to be aware of his audience. I have long considered audience-awareness the number-one rule for any public speaker. I think I reached that conclusion on the day of the permafrost lecture.

When I was 16, I knew who Dave Richards was. But he did not really know me. I was an awkward sophomore of about five foot, six. At 140 pounds, my more encouraging friends said I was as muscular as a broom stick. Worse, I still had the face of a twelve-year-old. Dave Richards had the face of a man. He was a junior at least six feet tall and well over 200 pounds. He had a strong jaw, a broad smile, and reminded me of Fred Dryer, the football pro starring as a cop on TV’s Hunter. Dave played football and anything else he wanted to. Sports came easily to Dave. Everything came easily to Dave. In fact, Dave was even smarter than he was athletic.

I knew Dave was one of four boys that my father had taught in Sunday school two years earlier. They went to four different high schools, and each of the four would go on to be the valedictorian of his class. (Can you imagine a class of only valedictorians?) The smart boys had always gravitated toward Ernie: Daddy was a physicist and had sort of this MacGyver resourcefulness about him: he looked at things in unique, creative ways, and loved to solve puzzles of every kind. I knew his class would be regimented and artless (he was an engineer, after all), but I also knew Daddy would never fail to teach the boys some things they did not know. Dave had enjoyed it enough to stick around.

But that had no bearing on how Dave treated me:

Hey, man, where’d you get that jacket, Goodwill?

Hey, dingus, don’t you know how to tie a tie? That knot’s too tight.

Hey, dingleberry, why don’t you run a comb through that hair?

Our church youth choir was on a tour of Spain and Italy. Dave and I both sang bass. For two years, I had been hiding in the bass section with my fingers crossed, willing myself to finally get that growth spurt, some whiskers, and a deeper voice. My voice had finally begun to change. For the first time, I was truly singing bass, and could not avoid Dave. I tried to keep Scott Lyons or someone older between us. Scott could read music and play several instruments, and I sang harmony parts better when I stood next to him. But more importantly, the older guys looked out for me. But I was just close enough to Dave’s age that my presence bugged him like a tagalong little brother.

Hey, jerk, put away that crap so someone can sit there. This is a bus, not your bedroom.

Hey, doofus, get over there and help the man with the luggage. What’s wrong with you?

Hey, douchebag, why do you keep staring off into space with your mouth hanging open? You look like a retard.

I answered Dave. He was not going to hit me. So I defended myself:

That’s Tim’s stuff. I’m saving the seat for him.

I can’t help with the luggage—the bus driver just told everyone to back off and let him do it.

I’m looking out the window at the fictional world of Don Quixote [quoting the tour guide]. What do you expect me to do? We’ve been on this bus for hours.

If my answers were stupid, Dave would insult me again. If they were not, he would chuckle as if it had all been a friendly joke. Usually, I got the chuckle. I was small and skinny and I always said the wrong thing, but I was not as stupid as Dave thought I was. Usually….

One morning during the final week of our trip, I stepped into a pastry shop in Rome. I was looking for something like a donut, something that might be good for breakfast. We were tired, fatigued even, by the continental breakfasts served at every hotel: tasteless, colorless meals whose most interesting ingredient was often a roll as round and hard as a baseball.

(Every boy among us had thrown at least one roll, some by saving them to use in a game outside, others by simply tossing them around the hotel dining rooms, un-caught rolls skidding across white linen tablecloths and bouncing off sweating glasses of ice water and orange juice. Pretty girls had been duly tormented.)

Once inside the bakery, I quickly bought four tiny pastries without bothering about the English translation of the ingredients. They were pastries and I was not finicky. What could go wrong?

After I got back on the bus Dave asked to see what I had chosen. I unrolled the top of the sack. It was made of waxy, white paper. I pulled out the first sugary, creamy pastry, and held it between my thumb and index finger. Dave asked me what the pastries were called.

“Rum cakes.”

“Rum cakes?” He laughed. “You idiot. Do you even know what that is?”

“I’m about to find out.” I popped it in my mouth.

Dave smiled while I chewed.

“It’s rum, dingus. You know, alcohol? Man, how can you be so clueless? You’re on a church mission trip, and you brought rum cakes on the bus?”

I swallowed the first one. It was soaked in rum. I had smelled alcohol before, but never tasted it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it in this sweet, sugary form either. What a way to ruin a good pastry. The dough was dripping like a boozy tres leches.

Dave was smiling, enjoying this. He pointed out the adults climbing back on the bus. “You better hurry up and eat the rest—better not let them see you.” I ate the other three. I was not going to waste my money. Dave was cracking up, and kept calling me dingus:

“How many Lira did you pay for that, dingus?”

For the next few days, Dave could not stop laughing about the rum cakes. I wanted to argue some kind of logic with him. After all, it was not as though my rum cake faux paux was the only Innocents Abroad story on this trip. An entire Baptist youth group had just lost a measure of its collective innocence on one of the world’s most beautiful beaches, a beach you should not miss if you grew up making your sand castles in the brown sugar of Galveston, Texas.

La Granadella Beach was nestled in a hillside cove, with water clear as glass, and a rocky bottom some thirty feet deep. I will never forget staring into the depths from a rented peddle-boat, overwhelmed by the beauty and desperately wishing I had a mask and snorkel.

The water was amazing. But it would be the beach our youth group would remember, a Mediterranean paradise teeming with swarthy women, women whose prolific underarm hair was only a minor distraction from the fact that yes, they were indeed topless. Hundreds of women of every shape and size and age. It was like a blow to the head: painful and stunning and you’re dizzy, seeing stars. To add insult to injury, I had a classic awkward sophomore moment that morning, as I walked alone toward the peddle-boats, where I was to meet two girls. (But I was alone just then. Just my luck.)

In the distance, and through the shimmering heat, I saw about six women walking along the water’s edge in my direction. Before I recognized them, I knew they were part of our group because each wore a one-piece swimsuit, extraordinarily modest under the circumstances.

As they got closer, a few more facts became apparent: five of them were sophomores like me, the sixth an adult mother and chaperone. Mrs. W. had a loose shirt on over her bathing suit as a cover-up. All six wore sunglasses. They had footwear and small purses. Naturally: these five girls had been my grade’s beautiful, popular pack for years. They had beach clothes, sunglasses, purses, bling.

I had faded swim trunks. I was barefooted, without sunglasses, with wet, windblown hair full of sand and salt, and instead of a shirt, I was (ironically) topless. But I was sporting my Ethiopian six-pack—six muscles nicely framed by ribs. Years surrounded by teenagers had taught me to keep my skinnier assets covered: those being … all of them. But I was obsessed with this beach and this water; covering up was pointless, and in my quest to explore the ocean, I knew if I wore shoes, shirt, and glasses, I would lose shoes, shirt, and glasses.

Still, the closer the girls got, the more exposed I felt. When we were close enough to speak, I thought I would just smile and nod. Few things could be more difficult than talking to the Fab Five alone. In swim trunks. On a topless beach. Nothing awkward about that.

As the girls approached, I smiled and nodded. Five of them said hi to me by name. So far so good. I was nearly past them.

“Oh, Steven. We’ve been talking.” It was Mrs. W. Oh no. “We would love to hear your opinion.” Mrs. W. was always so nice; I had to be polite.

“Sure.”

“What do you think about all this—” and she gestured toward the women on the beach. Uh oh.

“You mean—?” I couldn’t finish.

“Yeah. What do you think about all these women going topless?”

She was asking my opinion? Here? Now? In front of the Fab Five? I’m sixteen years old, a sheltered kid from Texas. I’m surrounded by… I might never forget this day. Was she asking whether the adults made the right decision in bringing us here? I mean, it’s an amazing beach, but…

I stared at the six ladies in front of me. It was a complicated question and I needed a quick exit. We could talk about this on the bus one day. I would wear something nice, maybe some jeans and my knock-off jacket from “MEMBERS NAVY.”

“Well—”

I put on my most grown-up voice. It was the voice of my father—a Southern gentleman who had Mark Twain’s ability to diffuse awkward tension with a single line of homespun wisdom. I hoped it would work for me:

“Well, after a while, they all kinda’ look alike, you know?”

The girls laughed, not as embarrassed as I was. Mrs. W. smiled at them and they nodded and everyone seemed content. My statement was a half-truth at best, but it satisfied them, and we separated. We did not discuss it again. I suppose it is a complicated question: you’ve come all the way to Spain, and the beach is a wonder of nature that simply must be seen, but these kids are Americans, a church group, teenagers—half of them BOY teenagers: innocents abroad. It is an interesting question.

We still talk about the topless beach thirty years later. But no one talks about the crystal-clear water or the peddle-boats. But to Dave Richards, not even a thousand topless women could compete with my rum cake purchase. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen. During our days in Rome and Florence, he told everyone who would listen.

One night, the choir was scheduled to sing in the Florence Cathedral, home to some of the most amazing acoustics any of us would ever hear. That afternoon we mounted a set of risers for a quick rehearsal. After two weeks in Europe, there was not a boorish American teenager in our group who could not appreciate the acoustic perfection of a good choir singing choral music in a cathedral.

The amazing sound arrested even the most immature among us—at least for a few minutes. And the ultimate marriage of musical content and cathedral context had to be THE MAJESTY AND GLORY OF YOUR NAME, Tom Fetke’s arrangement of Psalm 8. The sheet music includes the English instruction that it be performed “With Wonder.”

The music begins with a simple piano part, then a soprano line, light and ethereal. Then comes four-part SATB, and the music grows and swells patiently. An organ joins. Slowly the harmonies become more intricate, parts layered one on top of another almost like a round.

Finally, it swells and broadens, a wide river of eight-part harmony, each of the parts floating hundreds of feet up to the cathedral ceiling and blending and re-arranging before floating back down to settle on the room, human voices gilded with echoes of the angels. Thus, those gathered in the ancient nave were touched by a musical experience no one outside a cathedral would ever hear. Only a cathedral can do that.

We had been moved by this song daily, in some half-dozen of Europe’s most-storied cathedrals. But today no one was singing yet, and as the line of us slowly took our places on the risers, Dave had just enough time to tell his favorite story again. He turned to the guy behind him, a short college guy named Robert. Robert had a mustache and did not suffer fools.

“Did you hear what this dingus did?,” Dave asked, laughing already.

Robert frowned at Dave.

“Who?”

“This guy—what’s your name, is it Steven?”

“Yeah.”

“Steven what?,” Dave asked.

I looked at him thinking don’t you know? I answered him.

“Wales.”

“Wales, yeah.”

He turned to resume his story. Then he paused, and looked back at me, still laughing at the story he was about to tell. But he had a thought:

“Hey! You any relation to Ernie Wales?”

“I’m his son.”

The Bible does not describe the look on the face of Saul of Tarsus when Jesus appears to him on the Damascus Road. But I think it was something like the look I saw on the face of Dave Richards. When I told him Ernie Wales was my father, Dave saw the light: suddenly a light from heaven shone around him. He looked at me and a flash of fear and dread crossed his face.

Of course, he was not afraid of his former Sunday school teacher. He was afraid that he had failed. Afraid he had crossed a line he never intended to cross. All humor was gone from Dave’s face. He was instantly as sober as a judge, and at least as pale. Dave, whose fair skin was often flushed by pink cheeks, suddenly looked like Hamlet after he hears the voice of his father’s ghost. I watched the blood drain from his face. His pink cheeks turned hollow and his skin became more green than rosy. He looked ill. He forgot the rum cakes completely and Robert never heard the story.

Dave stared at me, stunned. I could see him concentrating. Thinking. Wheels were turning, like the tumblers inside a lock: click, click, click. Finally, all the pieces fell into place and Dave spoke again, as if waking from a dream.

“Ernie Wales is your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew.”

Dave put out his hand, to shake mine, as if we had never spoken before.

“So you’re the son of Ernie Wales, huh? Nice to meet you. I’m David Richards.”

I shook his hand.

“Steven Wales.”

“Your dad was my Sunday school teacher. Man, your dad is awesome. Your dad is cool.” Dave laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Man, I love your dad. Your father’s a smart man.”

“Yep.”

“So why didn’t you tell me? You should have told me.” And then Dave put his hand on my shoulder and gestured. “Here, stand next to me.” Dave was on the back row, with the tall guys.

“But I’m—”

“Who cares? You’re tall enough. Jump in here.”

And the piano began its simple, quiet tune. And the girls sang, their voices floating upward as cool and weightless as moonlight:

“When I gaze into the night skies, and see the work of Thy fingers….”

When the song ended, there was applause from tourists escaping the oppressive heat and the world’s most aggressive pigeons. Most of the people had been outside admiring a replica of the Statue of David, and had come inside to better hear the singing. I wondered if any of them knew that David wrote the words we were singing, that David wrote Psalm 8. We had learned that Michaelangelo carved the Statue of David for this very cathedral. It was fitting somehow, singing these words in this place, in this city that was home to so many of humanity’s greatest artistic achievements:

“Oh, Lord our God, little children praise You perfectly, and so would we, and so would we. Hallelujah.”

Our rehearsal over, we walked down from the risers to eat a quick meal before the performance. Dave smiled at me again, shaking his head: it was a different smile. Gone was the arrogance, the teasing, the scorn. He gave me the full sunshine of a smile of genuine kindness, a smile that communicated respect and warmth. A smile that said, I like you.

And though I was skeptical at first, he was sincere. This was not some kind of show. And it would not be a case of old habits dying hard. Everything about our relationship completely changed. Dave was still taller than I was and would remain so for more than a year (yes, I finally grew). But when Dave looked down at me, he was no longer looking down on me.

In his eyes, I was as worthy of respect as he was. I was his equal. In the eyes of the popular, man-sized athlete who would be the valedictorian of his high school, this awkward C-student had suddenly become a person worthy of respect. And I had done nothing. I was still shy, immature, and a misfit on my best day. And I would make a few more Ds and Fs before I filled up the full measure of my academic sins.

But for the rest of that trip, and the remainder of the summer, Dave took an interest in me. He took me under his wing. He talked to me like an equal. And I must have said ignorant things. I had learned nothing in high school so far. But Dave covered for me, helping me support ideas I only understood instinctively. He never again made me feel stupid. He never again called me names. Like I said: Everything Changed.

I have never seen anything quite as sudden as the repentance and conversion, the re-birth, even, of Dave Richards. And why did he suddenly see me as someone worthy not only of his respect, but his friendship?

Because he found out my father was Ernie Wales.

“The glory of sons is their fathers.” Proverbs 17:6

David Wrote 72 Psalms: Claim God’s Promises. Psalms 4 – 16.

David is named as the author of seventy-two psalms, or nearly half of the book of Psalms. That is an impressive collection for a man as busy as he: shepherd, warrior, fugitive, king. And the idea that one of the manliest men in Israel was also a shepherd, composer, poet, and harpist is hard to believe. (American notions of manhood leave much to be desired, it seems.)

That being said, while the book of Psalms makes for a great source of ideas and lyrics for hymn writers and worship leaders, it is not always the easiest book to read. It tells few stories. There are few scenes, few characters, and minimal history. But the book of Psalms contains a heaping portion of one powerful ingredient few other books can match: GOD’S PROMISES.

Here are a few from David’s psalms. Write down some of these promises and place them where you can see them often. Choose one to memorize. These are promises from God that speak direct answers to so many questions:

  1. You are special and God is listening to your prayers: “The Lord hath set apart him that is godly for himself; the Lord will hear when I call unto him” Psalm 4:3.
  2. God gives joy: “Thou hast put gladness in my heart” Psalm 4:7.
  3. God will punish liars: “Thou shalt destroy them that speak lies” Psalm 5:6.
  4. God will protect and shield the righteous: “But thou, Lord, will bless the righteous. With favor wilt thou compass him as with a shield” Psalm 5:12.
  5. God gives us a taste of glory, honor, and useful work: “What is man that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that thou visiteth him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. Thou made him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet” Psalm 8:4-6.[1]
  6. God listens to the prayers of the humble: “He forgetteth not the cry of the humble … the needy shall not always be forgotten, the expectation of the poor shall not perish forever” Psalm 9:12,18.
  7. God is on his throne and He sees the hearts of men: “The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord’s throne is in heaven. His eyes behold, his eyes test the children of men” Psalm 11:4.
  8. God’s word is as pure and flawless as refined silver: “The words of the Lord are pure words; as silver purified in a furnace, purified seven times” Psalm 12:6.
  9. God can be trusted: “I have trusted in thy mercy, my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation” Psalm 13:5.
  10. No matter how intellectual he may be, the atheist is foolish: “The fool hath said in his heart, ‘there is no god’” Psalm 14:1.
  11. God welcomes the righteous. “Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle, who shall dwell in thy holy hill? He that walks uprightly and works righteousness and speaks the truth” Psalm 15:1-2.
  12. When you give God first place, you will have security: “I have set the Lord always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved” Psalm 16:8.
  13. God will resurrect his Son (this is a Messianic prophecy) and God will give eternal life to all his children: “For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell, neither will thou allow thy holy one to see decay” Psalm 16:10.

God, teach us to read and cherish the psalms. Thank you for these amazing promises from your word! Help us during every reading to discover these nuggets and collect them like jewels!

ΑΩ

[1] I once wrote a lengthy story involving Psalm 8, a cathedral in Florence, Italy, and a trip I took with my church youth group. The story is not a Bible study by any means, but it briefly explores a modern rendition of Psalm 8. I will post that story here, just for fun: https://dadsdailydevotionals.com/2025/01/13/the-majesty-and-glory-of-a-name-discovering-my-father-in-an-italian-cathedral/

SHOCK AND AWE: the Lord in Heaven Laughs. Psalm 2.

When Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi forces invaded Kuwait on August 2, 1990, the world was outraged. On January 17, 1991, a coalition of 42 nations invaded Iraq in order to beat the Iraqis back into Baghdad. The people in Arabian lands have come a long way from the days of camels and tents. But Saddam was no match for the greatest military might on earth. Imagine supersonic jets and bombers lighting up the dusty nation. Battleships offshore. Tomahawk missiles designed to fight the Soviet Union and Communist China being deployed to ravage Baghdad. It was a stunning display of military might. Iraq attacked a weaker neighbor like a schoolyard bully, and suddenly the SWAT Team showed up at the elementary school. It was crazy.

The term generals used over and over during press conferences was “shock and awe.” The US would overwhelm Iraq with shock and awe. And that was not difficult. Frankly, the TV footage inspired shock and awe at home. It was one of the most lopsided wars in history, the whole thing was over by February 28, only 43 days after it began. How much resistance could Iraq offer, honestly? Hussein may have put a bounty on the head of President Bush, but otherwise, his nation’s response to Operation Desert Storm was forgettable.

Psalm 2 says the nations rage against God, 2:1-3. “The kings of the earth take their stand, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against his Anointed. ‘Let us tear their fetters apart and cast their cords from us!’” Psalm 2:2-3.

How does God feel when the kings of the earth martial armies to attack him?


“The Lord in heaven laughs!  He scoffs at them” v4. He laughs. Of course he does. Men cannot fight God. Men cannot even threaten God. He will overwhelm them with SHOCK AND AWE.

“Then he will speak to them in his anger and terrify them in his fury” v5. Again—SHOCK AND AWE.

Have you ever felt overwhelmed by evil? Do you identify with Kuwait, a small nation being invaded by an aggressive, violent neighbor? Does it seem the good guys always lose, bad guys always win? Do you struggle with fear, anxiety, and dread, thinking the world is bad now and getting worse every day? Cheer up!

God is in control. He is. He is sovereign and he will defeat and destroy his enemies with shock and awe. 

And until then, remember: “the Lord in Heaven laughs…” 2:4. God is infinitely larger and stronger than any enemy you have. He laughs at their pitifully small threats. Remember, the biggest, scariest enemy is infinitely small compared to God.

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The Oak Tree in the House. 1 Kings 1:6.

When my father, Ernest, was about five, some older cousins came to visit. They were unruly, wildly undisciplined. One day the boys ran out of the house, little Ernest bringing up the rear. Just as he leapt from the porch, an older cousin pushed a wheelbarrow in front of him, knowing he would be unable to clear it. Daddy smashed his lip in a manner so bloody my grandparents realized he needed stitches. But first, my grandfather gave a good whipping to the older boy who deliberately caused the harm. (In 1940, any adult present was expected to administer corporal punishment to a child ‘in need.’)

Little Ernest returned from the hospital later that day and his older cousin walked up smiling as if to apologize. Suddenly, he grabbed the stitches and yanked them out, doing further damage to my father’s lip. Daddy had a scar beneath his lip in the shape of an ‘x’ for the rest of his life. My grandfather had no use for that family from then on, privately predicting the cousins would spend their entire lives in jail. Sadly, he was right.

Unlike those distant cousins, my father and his siblings were raised by a man of the most unimpeachable integrity. My grandfather believed in total honesty, and he expected honorable behavior from others. He was kind, but a formidable disciplinarian.

Steve Farrar writes, “I grew up in a home with an oak tree right in the middle of the house … It’s the kind of oak described in Isaiah 61:3 and it’s called an oak of righteousness. I’m referring to my dad” (from Farrar’s book POINT MAN).

My father and grandfather were also oaks of righteousness. I wish everyone could be raised by such solid fathers.

King David was not a solid father. David failed to do the hard things at home.

Did David fail to provide for his family? No.

Did David fail to keep a roof over their heads or to keep his wives and children safe? No. They lived in the king’s palace, after all.

Did David fail to educate his children? No, I’m sure they had the best tutors money could buy.

Did David fail to love his children or to dote on them and delight in them when they were cute and sweet? I can’t be sure, but this man who grew up herding sheep and writing worship songs probably had a tender heart for his many children.

But, like the parents who raised my father’s cousins, David failed to do the hard thing: David failed to discipline consistently.

About Adonijah, it is written, “His father had not displeased him at any time, saying ‘Why hast thou done so?’” 1 Kings 1:6. Concerned I might misinterpret the King James translation on this, I checked other versions. The translators make clear: David did not discipline Adonijah well—if ever:

“His father never rebuked him at any time by asking, ‘Why have you done so?’” (NASB)

“His father never rebuked him by asking, ‘Why do you behave as you do?’” (NIV)

“His father had never once reprimanded him by saying, ‘Why do you act this way?’” (HCSB)

“His father spoiled him rotten as a child, never once reprimanding him” (MSG)

“King David had never disciplined him at any time—not so much as by a single scolding!” (TLB)

What was the result of David’s permissive parenting? Death–the death of the son he loved.

Knowing David was near death, Adonijah tried to take the throne before it could be passed to Solomon as God had directed. David was able to put a stop to it, but the rebellion would eventually cost Adonijah his life (1 Kings 2:25).

How many other seemingly godly fathers have raised disappointing children because they did not discipline them? Sadly, it is not a short list (consider the Old Testament kings). I will admit, it is possible to discipline children too severely, or without supporting that discipline with a loving relationship. As Josh McDowell says, “Rules without relationship lead to rebellion.”[1]

But a relationship without rules—without discipline—can cause tremendous problems as well.

Children must be humbled by their parents. Children learn self-discipline by experiencing the discipline they receive from their parents. Children learn to be teachable when their parents correct them in their errors.

To discipline a child’s behavior reasonably and consistently is as important as anything else a parent can do for that child.

Parental discipline creates self-discipline, self-confidence, and strong young people with wisdom and good sense. By contrast, a lack of parental discipline creates weak, undisciplined adults who fall victim to their own appetites, bad choices, and foolish thinking. Parental discipline is not easy, but it is absolutely essential to building strong, wise, teachable men and women.

“Discipline your child while there is time” Proverbs 19:18.

“Whoever spares the rod hates his children, but the one who loves his children is careful to discipline them” Proverbs 13:24.

“Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will beat it far from him” Proverbs 22:15.

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P.S, It is interesting to reflect on the many verses about discipline in Proverbs. King Solomon, who wrote or collected and edited all of the proverbs in the book, had seen it all. How much of the messiness in David’s family and among David’s children influenced Solomon’s choices about which proverbs to include in the book? Perhaps Solomon had in mind the rebellions of Absalom and Adonijah when he included Proverbs 19:18–“Discipline your child while there is still time!”

[1] https://www.josh.org/ddl-video/rules-without-relationships-lead-to-rebellion/

NO SMALL PARTS: David Served God’s Purpose in His Generation. 1 Chronicles chapters 23 – 27.

God had a purpose for the life of David—I’m sure we can all agree on that. But what about you and me? Does God have a purpose for folks living seemingly ordinary lives in which nothing much ever happens? After all, David was a king—he made the headlines every day. Most of us will never do anything worthy of mention in a newspaper. Does God have a purpose for you and me?

Initially, David wanted to build the temple, but God told him that he had shed too much blood. The temple would be built during the peaceful reign of Solomon. But David took on the task of preparing things for Solomon. David not only collected gold, silver, brass, iron, timber, and stone (1 Chronicles 22:14), but he also prepared Solomon personally (28:9-21).

We must prepare our children as well. Like Manoah the father of Samson, we should pray for guidance, asking God, “What will be the child’s mission and responsibilities?” (Judges 13:12). We must help them discover their gifts and develop their abilities, work habits, and integrity.

But what if your child is going to be a carpenter, a nurse, a farmer, or a teacher? Do those roles matter? Thespians like to say, “there are no small parts, only small actors.” But is that true? Are there no small parts?

Does every role or every job have some merit? I mentioned that most of us will never see our name in the newspaper. But what if you saw your job in the Bible? Wouldn’t mention in the pages of scripture indicate worth and merit? If your job or one similar to it were named in God’s word, would that make you feel SEEN? As in seen by God, the Creator of the universe–the Creator of YOU?

Consider some of the jobs assigned in and around the temple and the palace:

Bakers (23:29), custodians (23:28), those who checked the weights and measures (23:29), managers of treasures (26:20), managers of endowments (26:26-28), musicians and singers (25:6-7), porters (professional movers) (26:12-18), priests (24:1), prophets (25:1), assistants for sacrifices (23:29-31), assistants for purification ceremonies (23:28), bailiffs, supervisors, and judges (23:4-5), public administrators (26:29-30), supervisors over the king’s treasures (27:25), over his farmers (27:26), over vineyards and wine cellars (27:27), over olive trees (27:28), supervisors over herds, flocks, camels, and donkeys (27:29-30), and various counsellors, scribes, and generals (27:32-34).

To summarize, First Chronicles fills five chapters with records of thousands of people covering every aspect of the work at both the temple and the king’s palace. Most of these workers are not listed by name, but by job. Their jobs—their vocations—matter. And what a broad range of vocations. And somehow even the most humble of these merits a mention in the word of God. Think about that: the Bible talks about custodians. Custodians matter and are included in God’s word.

God knows every one of these people. God designed them to fulfill his divine purpose—whether as porter or prophet. God likewise designed you and me to fulfill his purpose. He knows you. He knows the gifts, talents, skills, and interests he gave you. He designed you as a unique creation, and you will fulfill his purpose for your life simply by being yourself.

Seek him. Give God your life, your future, your goals and dreams. And let him lead you to the work he made you to do.

“David served God’s purpose in his generation” Acts 13:36.

God, help us to serve your purpose in our generation.

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P.S. For more, consider Romans 9:19-21 and 1 Corinthians 12:12-31.

David’s Second Great Sin. 1 Chronicles 21:13.

Everyone remembers the story of young King David’s tragic failure with Bathsheba: giant killer grows fat and arrogant and stumbles headlong into adultery and murder. But do you know David’s second great failure, his “second-worst sin” the one committed by old King David?

The census.

Old King David told Joab to use his troops to take a census of all the men in Israel of fighting age. But Joab knew David was not supposed to take a census and tried to talk him out of it.

There is something greedy about David’s motivation, similar to the impulse moderns feel when we count our money, relish in our resume, or perhaps take an IQ test.

Taking a census was taking control. The king without a census goes to war relying on God. The king with a census goes to war relying on himself and his numbers.

The previously unknown tally came out to about 1.5 million fighting men, 1 Chronicles 21:5. As soon as David received the count he knew he had sinned greatly. David repented and begged God for forgiveness, and God gave him three choices:

“Choose either three years’ famine, or three months to be destroyed by thy foes while the sword of thy enemy overtakes thee, or for three days the sword of the Lord, even pestilence in the land, and the angel of the Lord destroying throughout all Israel” 1 Chronicles 21:11-12.

As king, which would you choose for your people: three years of famine, three months of losing battles, or three days of a pandemic?

Wisely, the now-humble king decided to punt: “let me now fall into the hand of the Lord, for great are his mercies” 1 Chronicles 21:13. David asks the Lord to choose for him. Which did God choose? Three days of pestilence.

There is wisdom in this. Men were going to die. That was understood. But three days of horror are better than three months of horror or three years of horror.

When I was in college a psychology professor said something wise about punishment:

“Punishment should be swift, severe, and soon-over.”

First Chronicles 21 indicates God may agree. A swift punishment that is soon over is merciful. Punishments that linger hang over our lives like a cloud of shame. Punishment that is swift and soon over restores the child. It restores dignity. It restores the relationship. The nation of Israel lost thousands of men during those three days, but then the healing began. The restoration began.

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WHAT IS MY ROLE?: God Uses Different People. 2 Samuel 20:16-21.

Picture generated by A.I.

Imagine: you live in the town of Abel, a small city in Israel. One day the walls of Abel are surrounded on all sides by the army of Israel, the soldiers carrying bows and arrows, spears and shields, and more shovels than you have ever seen. The battle-scarred soldiers quickly begin building a siege ramp of dirt that will soon rise high enough to allow them to scale the wall. The city gates are locked, but you cannot survive: the city’s crops and herds are in the fields outside the wall—being eaten and trampled by the army.

Messengers arrive with demands: in twenty-four hours the city will be destroyed, the men and boys slaughtered, the women and children captured. The city fathers have a meeting. The young men want to fight for blood and glory; the old men urge caution.

Suddenly news arrives from the gate. A “wise woman” (2 Sam.20:16) is negotiating with the enemy, shouting down from the top of the wall to the leader far below. The men run to listen:

“Joab! You seek to destroy a city in Israel: why would you swallow up the inheritance of the Lord?”

He answers: “Far be it from me, far be it from me, that I should swallow up or destroy … A man from Ephraim named Sheba, son of Bichri, hath lifted up his hand against David. Deliver him only, and I will depart from the city.”

“Behold, his head shall be thrown down to you over the wall” 2 Samuel 20:16-21.

Hearing that, the majority agrees with the woman: better to toss over the head of Sheba—whom everyone knew to be a scoundrel—than to risk the city in a war against Israel’s own army.

“And they cut off the head of Sheba, the son of Bichri, and cast it down to Joab, and Joab blew a trumpet and they retired from the city, every man to his tent” 2 Samuel 20:22.

Men have played most of the leading roles in the pages of scripture and on the stages of history.

Most political, business, and church leaders are male. However, scripture also records the stories of numerous female leaders: Miriam, Deborah, Huldah the prophetess, Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the sister of Martha, Mary Magdalene, Lydia, Phoebe, Priscilla, and Queen Esther who may have single-handedly saved the entire Jewish race.

The story of the unnamed “wise woman” who negotiated with Joab and saved the city confirms: God does use women in leadership.

Perhaps he has used men more often. Perhaps men are more interested in leadership and women less. One might argue men have an inclination toward leadership. I do not know. I can speculate. But speculation is irrelevant. What is relevant is the Biblical evidence.

The Bible reports the lives and decisions of hundreds of leaders. Most of them are men. But some of them are women. No matter what you believe about New Testament church leadership, you must accept the truth: God has used many women over the centuries, both in the scripture and in my life and yours. Any analysis of the “role of women” must begin with this truth:

God has been using women from the beginning, and God considered their actions important enough to be recorded in his word.

“There is neither Jew, not Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” Galatians 3:28.

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You Reap WHERE You Sow: David’s Sin Turned His Home into a Battleground. 2 Samuel 19:2.

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Relationships around a throne are treacherous because of deceit, violence, and murder. Diplomats and courtiers may taste the delicacies of kings and queens, but the metallic smell of blood is never far away. Everyone is watching everyone else, looking for weaknesses, creating alliances, destroying the careers and lives of enemies and trusted friends. Surely the most difficult and dangerous social interactions happen at the king’s court.

King David took the throne after paying his dues running from Saul. David refused to attack the anointed king and won the favor of the nation. Then as the nation’s king and military chief, David defeated all of Israel’s enemies. There was peace in the land and peace in the palace. Read that again:

THERE WAS PEACE IN THE PALACE.

But then David committed adultery and murder, creating a cycle of violence and death—and turning the once-peaceful palace into a place of whispers, drama, and back-stabbing.

When Absalom launched a civil war against his father, David did not hesitate to employ double agents and espionage, 2 Samuel 15:34-36.

First, he convinced Hushai to serve Absalom deceitfully, giving bad advice; second, he told Hushai to “smuggle intel” to two priests who would then pass that news along to David. Hushai did as he was told, convincing Absalom to delay his attack:

“The counsel that Ahithophel hath given is not good … thy father is a mighty man, and they which are with him are valiant men. Therefore, I counsel that all Israel be gathered unto thee….” 2 Samuel 17:7-11.

Next, Hushai sent the priests back to David with secrets:

“Then said Hushai unto Zadok and to Abiathar the priests, ‘Thus and thus did Ahithophel counsel Absalom and the elders … and thus and thus have I counselled.’ Now send quickly and tell David, saying ‘Lodge not this night in the plains of the wilderness, but speedily pass over….’” 2 Samuel 17:15-16.

As a result of Hushai’s ability to act as a double-agent, David’s army defeated Absalom and David’s beloved son—who wanted to kill him—ended up dead. How did David feel about winning this civil war? Terrible. He publicly mourned for his son, demoralizing his troops who had put their lives on the line to win him the victory. “And the victory that day was turned into mourning unto all the people” 2 Samuel 19:2. David, the grieving father, was tone-deaf to the political situation. Joab, his savvy but unsympathetic general, chastised him:

“Thou hast shamed, this day, the faces of all thy servants, which this day have saved thy life, and the lives of thy sons and of thy daughters, and the lives of thy wives, and the lives of thy concubines, in that thou lovest thine enemies and hatest thy friends … For this day, I perceive, that if Absalom had lived and we had all died, then it had pleased thee well. Now therefore, arise, go forth, and speak comfort to thy servants” 2 Samuel 19:5-7.

The once peaceful palace was transformed into a place of politics and intrigue, of double-agents and espionage.

David’s house was no longer a home but a battleground.

Why? Because David sinned in his house. He brought Uriah’s wife into his house and committed adultery with her in his house. He ordered Uriah’s murder from his house. You reap what you sow. David committed adultery and murder in his house, and God said, “the sword shall never depart from thine house” 2 Samuel 12:10.

Dear God, may we love Jesus more than all other loves so that we can be your disciples, Matthew 10:37. But fill us also with the fear of God so we do not sin in our own houses or in our jobs. Help us love you and make good choices. May we establish habits that give us peace of mind while keeping us a bit busier than David was when he stayed home from work and took a lingering look at Bathsheba. Remind us that we will reap what we sow and often WHERE we sow, Galatians 6:7.

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Prophets and Parables: the Indirect Approach. 2 Samuel 14:1-13.

Following King David’s great sin, the prophet Nathan came to him with a story about a rich man with flocks of sheep who took from a poor family its lone, pet sheep and ate it. David was outraged and Nathan famously said to him: “Thou art the man” 2 Samuel 12:7.

Why did Nathan create this imaginary story? Because it is hard to rebuke a king while he is puffed up with his own greatness. And the fable worked. In fact, this is not the only time an underling had to approach the king with a fable.

Two years after David’s son Absalom was banished for the killing of his half-brother, David’s son Amnon, Joab persuaded a woman to go to the king with a made-up story about a dispute in her family. When she told her story and David agreed to protect her son, she answered in effect, if you’ll protect my son, why must Absalom remain banished? Bring him home. Why should Israel lose both Amnon and Absalom?” 2 Samuel 14:1-13.

The indirect approach worked again. In fact, David agreed to her request even though he immediately saw through it, saying “Joab put you up to this, didn’t he?” 2 Samuel 14:19. That is how persuasive an indirect approach can be: it can lower a person’s defenses.

Some situations require a direct approach. When a son acts irresponsibly with a firearm, a father will take the gun away and speak strong words about gun safety. Firearm safety requires a direct approach. But when a hotshot college pitcher with a full-scholarship decides to quietly join his teammates in a smokeless tobacco habit, an indirect approach may be more effective. Upon discovering the secret, a father might say nothing and instead begin innocently sending his son links to videos about young ball players with mouth cancer. The indirect approach allows the young athlete to save face and keep an open mind, where a direct approach may not.*

Our goal is to persuade. Sometimes a direct approach is persuasive, sometimes an indirect approach is persuasive.

The Bible communicates both ways. For example, the law forbids idolatry directly: “Thou shalt have no other gods” Exodus 20:3. But the prophets approach idolatry indirectly, such as the life of the prophet Hosea whom God instructed to marry a prostitute, illustrating Israel’s spiritual unfaithfulness. Hosea’s entire life was an analogy, a metaphor—an indirect object lesson.

Throughout the Old Testament, God takes an indirect approach using the lives of prophets and a great deal of the nation’s history to teach lessons his people were unable or unwilling to learn through more direct communication. In the New Testament, Jesus perfects this approach, crafting a series of rich parables–allegories–to teach deep, spiritual truth.

An English-major friend on social media said yesterday he can’t read novels because he is a “get-to-the-point kind of person.” My response? Getting directly to the point has its place. But it lacks subtlety and nuance.

Speaking directly is effective, even critical at times, but it lacks imagination. The longer, more circuitous approach of indirect communication and storytelling can persuade people when they might otherwise put up defensive walls. A parable, a story, even an effective metaphor can reach people who might not respond well to a direct order, a direct request, or even direct advice.

God, help us to love and understand the Old Testament in all its wordy indirectness. Give us patience and discipline with this library of some of history’s most challenging books. And give us the people skills to know when to speak directly and when to approach a situation with a bit more imagination. Guide us so that our words are effective, apples of gold in settings of silver, Proverbs 25:11.

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* The writer may or may not have personal knowledge of this turn of events.