Stranger than Fiction – Part One

Dear God,

What happens when people become so desperate to win that they are willing to sacrifice what should never have been offered?

There are some stories in the good book that leave me with more questions than answers. The story of King Mesha particularly leaves me wondering whether I should be asking You questions or arranging an emergency meeting with humanity.

Because, honestly, Dad, how?

Three kings went to war. One prophet gave instructions. Water appeared where there had been none. The enemy misread the situation, walked straight into a trap, and suffered a terrible defeat. Then, just when it seemed the story was approaching a sensible conclusion, the king Mesha took his firstborn son, the one who was supposed to inherit his throne, and sacrificed him on the city wall.

And suddenly, the war ended and everybody went home.

Dad, I said how?

I read that story several times, hoping I had missed something. Perhaps there was a paragraph somewhere explaining why a man would kill his own son in the middle of a military crisis. Perhaps there was a footnote explaining why an army that had practically won the battle decided to retreat after witnessing such an act.

Nothing.

But then, perhaps the story is not as distant from our world as we would like to think.

Let us start with the kings.

Joram, the king of Israel, was not exactly a man who had impressed Heaven. He had done evil, although the good book tells us he was not quite as bad as his parents. He had removed his father’s idol, but he still clung to some of the other sins.

In modern language, king Joram had made some improvements without changing the entire operating system. He had removed one visible problem but retained the habits that kept producing other problems.

And, Dad, that sounds familiar with us, right?

We have become very good at removing the obvious in our lives while quietly nurturing the ones comfortably installed in our hearts (playing to the gallery).

We change the government but retain the corruption. We change the managing director but preserve the toxic culture. We change churches, friendships, marriages, and even countries, only to discover that the same old problems have followed us into our new environment.

King Joram’s story reminds me that improvement is not the same as transformation. A person can remove one bad habit and still refuse to confront the deeper character that produces the others (the root cause). We change the packaging and call it progress, but a new paint job does not make a collapsing building structurally sound. And some problems are patient enough to wait for the right opportunity; they eventually return wearing a different uniform.

Then came Mesha, the king of Moab.

After King Ahab died, King Mesha decided that he had had enough of paying tribute to Israel. He rebelled, and king Joram (the new king of Israel) decided to teach him a lesson. He recruited Jehoshaphat, the king of Judah, and the king of Edom to join him in a military campaign against King Mesha.

Three kings, three armies, one common enemy.

On paper, it looked like a brilliant strategy. More soldiers, more strength, more resources, but not much sense. The coalition marched through the wilderness of Edom and eventually ran out of water.

Dad, I beg your pardon! Water?

There is a particular kind of humiliation that comes when people who set out to conquer others discover that they cannot even solve their own immediate problems. Three kings had enough resources to organise a military campaign but not enough foresight to secure the water their armies needed knowing they will be marching through the desert.

Hmmm, I am learning that ambition without preparation is simply an expensive way to failure. Sometimes, we spend so much time preparing to defeat our competitors that we forget to prepare our own people, processes, finances, and systems for the journey ahead.

We plan the expansion but ignore the infrastructure. We announce the vision but fail to secure the resources required to deliver it. And when the water runs out, we suddenly discover that confidence is not a substitute for competence. And the wilderness has a strange talent for exposing what success allows us to hide. When everything is going well, we believe we are brilliant. When the water runs out, we discover whether we were brilliant or merely fortunate.

It was at this point that King Jehoshaphat asked whether there was a prophet of the Lord nearby.

Interesting.

When the water ran out, he did not ask for another military adviser. He asked for someone who could help them see beyond the immediate crisis. They found prophet Elisha.

What does that tell me? Dad, we need YOU in our life. No matter how high up we climb, one day we will have a need that will take ONLY YOU to fulfill. (Better be close enough to call without guilt).

Unfortunately for King Joram, Elisha was not particularly impressed by his royal presence, but because King Jehoshaphat was present, Elisha agreed to seek God’s direction.

I find that detail remarkable.

Elisha did not confuse a person’s position with the quality of their character. Joram wore a crown, commanded an army, and occupied the highest office in his kingdom, but none of those things automatically earned him the prophet’s respect. Elisha was willing to help, yet he was not willing to pretend that everything was fine.

There is a lesson here for leadership.

The people who can help us most are not always the people who make us feel important. Sometimes, they are the people who refuse to flatter us. A good adviser will not always tell you what you want to hear. A good friend will not always agree with your decisions. And a good leader must learn to distinguish between people who challenge their thinking and people who simply challenge their authority. If everybody around you agrees with you, it may mean that you are exceptionally wise. Or it may mean that nobody wants to lose their job. As a leader, have that one person in your team who challenges your thinking (No suck-ups, no eye-service, just pure honesty).

And perhaps there is another lesson in Elisha’s willingness to help because of King Jehoshaphat. King Joram was not the only person involved in the crisis, and his presence did not prevent the others from receiving help.

How many times, Dad, have You helped a person because of the faithfulness, wisdom, or intervention of someone standing beside them? How many businesses have survived because one honest employee refused to give up? How many families have been preserved because one sensible person refused to join the madness? How many people have found their way through a difficult season because someone else remembered to pray, think clearly, or make the right call?

Sometimes, the person who helps save the room is not the person who made the mess.

Elisha then asked for a minstrel, and while the music played, the hand of the Lord came upon him. (Hmmm, Dad, you love music, I do too).

He instructed the kings to dig ditches throughout the valley (Here is where I would have raised my hand if I was with that army).

“Dad, forgive me, but the men are thirsty, the animals are thirsty, the enemy is somewhere ahead, and Your prophet wants everybody to start digging holes?”

But Elisha’s instruction was clear: dig the valley full of ditches. There would be no wind and no rain, yet the valley would fill with water.

And it did.

By morning, water had arrived. The same valley that had exposed their helplessness became the place of their provision. I love that detail because we are often so busy asking God to remove us from difficult places that we fail to consider what He might accomplish within them.

We want the wilderness removed, the difficult manager transferred, the hostile market corrected, the troublesome customer silenced, and the crisis cancelled. Sometimes, however, the answer begins with a simple instruction that looks completely unrelated to the problem. (Dig, prepare and make room. Simple).

Do the work you can do while waiting for what you cannot control. The kings could not command rain, but they could dig ditches. They could not create water, but they could prepare a place to receive it.

Faith does not always mean knowing how the answer will come. Sometimes, it means making room for an answer you cannot yet explain.

How often do we pray for opportunities without developing the skills required to handle them? We pray for promotion but refuse to improve our competence. We pray for business growth but neglect our processes. We pray for influence but fail to develop the character required to carry it.

We want the water, but we do not want to dig the ditches. We want the harvest, but we are offended by the planting season. Dad, forgive us. Sometimes, we want a miracle to do what discipline was supposed to accomplish.

Then came the most fascinating part of the military campaign. The Moabites woke up and saw the water shining red in the morning sun. They assumed it was blood.

Why?

They believed the allied kings had turned against one another and slaughtered each other. In their minds, the three armies had destroyed themselves, (maybe out of thirst and frustrations), leaving behind an easy opportunity for victory. So, they rushed towards the Israelite camp to collect the spoils and walked straight into an ambush. (Chai, my people will say “Onuku”)

Think about that, Dad.

The same water that represented life to one group became evidence of death to another. The water was real. The light was real. But the conclusion the Moabites drew from what they saw was wrong. They interpreted the scene through the expectations they had already formed.

And how often do we do the same thing?

A delayed promotion becomes proof that the organisation hates us. A quiet friend becomes evidence of neglect. A business restructuring becomes confirmation that the company intends to destroy our careers.

We see one thing and immediately write the entire story around it (the six blind men and the elephant).

In politics, a rumour becomes a national emergency before anyone checks the facts. In business, a competitor’s announcement triggers panic before the strategy behind it is understood. In our private lives, a single misunderstood conversation can become the foundation of a quarrel that lasts for years. On social media, an edited video can condemn a person before the full story emerges.

Sometimes, we are so eager to be right that we never stop to ask whether we have understood what happened. We do not merely react to events. We react to what we believe those events mean. And sometimes, our interpretation is more dangerous than the event itself.

The Moabites thought they were approaching a battlefield where their enemies had destroyed one another. They were actually approaching an enemy that was prepared for them. Their confidence was built on a false conclusion.

What can I say Dad, teach us to distinguish what we see from what we assume. Teach us not to confuse suspicion with knowledge or confidence with wisdom. Because not every open door is an opportunity, not every closed door is rejection, and not all that glitters is gold.

Sometimes, the battle we believe we have already won is the very one we are about to lose. So, please show me the work I’m avoiding. Swap my pride for a teachable heart, and don’t grant my big prayers until I’m mature enough to handle them.

Give me friends who tell me the truth, not frenemies who are tipping me up for a fall. When life gets dry, help me keep working instead of whining. When my emotions run wild, help me hit pause and check the facts.

And when the good stuff finally comes? Remind me not to get too arrogant and remember who got me there in the 1st place.

This is your smiley daughter, I will be back, just checking in.