It’s not that I think women are less, they just hold a different place.
The home is a great place for a woman to stay, but a battlefield is no place for one to be found. The things which go on out there are too graphic, too strong for a woman to handle.
This is why it was difficult for me to suppress my laughter when our judge, Deborah, told me the honor of victory would fall to a woman.
Did she mean herself?
Don’t get me wrong, I value Deborah’s input. She clearly has the blessing of our Lord. She has been appointed to give a message to us.
However, there is a difference between giving good advice and actually winning a battle. One simply plays off what women are good at anyway.
It’s difficult to get a woman to be quiet, am I right? All they want to do is give advice to us men about how we should live our lives. The problem is none of them know the workings of society. They have plenty words to offer but no foundation for them to be built upon.
I figured Deborah must have been an especially devout woman. The Lord chose her to do what women are good at for the entire nation.
She’s the envy of them all.
“I wish you would listen to me as well as you listen to Deborah.”
Well, honey, if the Lord ever tells me know your words are appointed by Him, then I will. Of course I never actually say that, except to my sons. It gives us all a good laugh.
Even though I think Deborah may have been chosen I still needed confirmation when she said victory would be ours. This is why I asked her to go with us into battle.
You see, if we ended up going based upon her nudging and then we lost, she could always tell others we had acted on our own. She might spin the story to say she never instructed us to go into battle.
However, if we went into battle with Deborah on our side, it would be difficult for her to say we marched against her orders.
It was really quite a smart strategy on my part. I may have even been up for a promotion after our victory.
“I will surely go with you. Nevertheless, the road on which you are going will not lead to your glory, for the Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman.”
Again, suppressed laughter.
We went to battle and it was glorious. Our enemy was led out right before us. We were able to overtake them easily. We slaughtered those who had oppressed us for two decades. Victory was so close I could taste it, no matter what the lady judge had said.
Sisera got away during the confusion of battle and I began to track him down. My heart raced by with each passing moment. Soon the man would be delivered into my hands and victroy would be mine.
As I approached an encampment a woman came to greet me. She introduced herself as Jael and said she knew who I was looking for and could show me where he was laying.
When I entered the tent my heart fell into my stomach. There lay Sisera, my enemy with a tent peg driven through his temple and securing his head to the ground. Blood still bubbled up where the peg entered his head and the stench of death was fresh in the air.
I turned to the woman Jael to ask who had done this but my question was answered when I looked up on her face.
When she had first greeted me I was too busy to really look at her. Now I could see the blood splattered on her cheek and forehead. I glanced to her hands. They were steady, not the hands of someone who had just taken a life, but they were covered in blood that was not her own.
“I did what had to be done.” She knew the questions which were running through my mind.
Despair crept into my heart. I should have been eager to report back that Sisera was dead. I should be filled with joy that our Lord delivered our enemy into our hands but all I could think about was how my victory was stolen away from me.
I suddenly wanted to scream in the face of this woman who had taken everything for me but I stopped.
If the Lord had chosen her to do this, to treat her poorly would not speak well of my commitment to Him.
As the rage passed, sorrow flooded in to fill the void, and I fell to my knees and wept for my loss, as our nation praised our Lord for deliverance.
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