(Judges 4 & 5)
He had just lost a battle. His horse was shot under him and he dismounted the wounded animal and fled on foot.
He looked back, the enemy soldiers were in hot pursuit.
He knew they were more interested in him than anyone else!
The thousands of his soldiers they had killed wouldn’t satisfy them: One General is worth ten-thousand-foot soldiers!
It is like a game of Chess: why bother with Pawns, when you can capture a Rook, a Bishop or a Knight?
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He saw a camp and ran in.
A woman called him: ‘Come here, Sir!”
He turned.
He saw her, waving at him with one hand, the other handheld the curtain in front of her tent.
“Come and hide here!”
Ah!
A woman!
He would have been suspicious if it were a man…
He ran over and entered the tent. She covered him with a duvet on the bed and stood by the tent entrance. He heard her tell his pursuers she didn’t see him. He heaved a sigh of relief!
This woman must be GOD SENT, he thought…
God sent her to save me from imminent embarrassment and death!
His heartbeat slowed down.
He relaxed. The worst is over, he thought.
He looked across to her.
Who is she?
He had no idea.
“Ma’am…”
She turned to look at him.
“Please can I have some water? I’m very thirsty!”
“Okay, Sir!”
He watched her open a cupboard.
She brought out a golden bowl.
She opened a flask and poured out fresh milk!
Woah!
I just want water, he thought.
She is bringing me MILK!
Fresh MILK!
He smiled.
Things are better than he had imagined!
Just an hour ago, he was not sure he would live the next minute.
But here he was, lying down on a soft bed, covered in an Arabian duvet, about to drink some curdled milk!
Life is good!
She knelt as she gave him the golden bowl.
She bowed her head in honor and reverence.
He smiled at her.
She looked away, blushing.
He took a sip of the milk.
Hmmmm…
This tastes like milk from the goats of Kadesh Barnea, he thought.
That is the milk Royalty drinks!
He drank the entire bowl and burped.
He laid down to rest.
He closed his eyes…
Her left hand reached out to a tent peg.
Her right hand reached out to a hammer.
She nailed his head to the floor, through his temples.
He was dead before he could move a muscle.
He thought she was a helper.
He thought she was a savior.
He thought she was no threat.
He thought she gave him honor.
The golden bowl made him misjudge her motive.
The milk made him misread her intentions…
She killed him. Be careful: don’t misjudge motives!
Shalom.
Haruna Daniels