“It is just as you heard!”

I jerked my attention toward my old friend who had burst into my chambers without the customary introduction. Euphoria brimmed in his eyes.

The priest, still panting from his exertion, dipped into a low bow. “Forgive me, King David. But I could not wait to confer with you over such excellent news.” His expression wobbled with a smile that could not be constrained.

My pulse quickened. If the priest spoke true, this could be the time. A second chance for me to make things right. I waved off the impropriety. “No, no, you were right to come. Sit down, Tzadok. Please. Tell me what you have seen.”

Tzadok perched on the edge of his proffered seat across from me and leaned forward. “The blessing of Yehovah has enriched the house of Obed Edom. We are past the time of birthing, yet his ewes have all conceived. His olive trees have blossomed before anyone else’s, and if the number of flowers are measure enough, his harvest will be triple that of last year’s.”

I shuffled to the archway leading out onto the balcony. From here, I could look down the Kidron valley and up the southern slope of Yerushalayim where the morning sun glanced off the simple stone homes. “I had hoped for something more … substantial. Could these not also be natural occurrences? Nature often has a way of surprising us in its cycles.”

I winced at my own words. If anyone knew the surprises of creation, certainly it was me, with my early years spent trotting from one sheep pasture to the next. And my younger self had always attributed the works of nature to the One who created them.

Tzadok’s footsteps approached behind me. “I suppose one could interpret any way he wishes. But Your Majesty, I sensed it.” His tone dropped to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “The Shekinah. Veiled, but present. Lingering like a cloud over Obed Edom’s home. He himself attests to it.”

“The Shekinah.” The word rolled over my tongue as a man would utter the name of Wisdom and Beauty herself. It was the very glory of God manifested through the burning bush and pillar of cloud.

“Indeed.” Tzadok pressed closer. “And if His wrath has abated, perhaps it is time to bring home the ark.”

A deep reverence resounded within his last words, a reverence I had once shared. Even now it provoked me. A jealous desire for the zeal in Tzadok’s gaze that had once mirrored my own.

But then Uzzah happened.

Groaning, I plopped down on the bear skin rug, hiking up my knees to slump against. Hardly the position of a king in front of his loyal subject. But I had not felt so kingly these last three months.

His wrath abated. But had it, really? Or did more outbursts of anger await us?

“If I may be so bold, my king, you do not look pleased.”

I snorted. More unkingliness. “No. It seems Yehovah is not pleased with me. He blesses Obed Edom. But He appointed me as king to shepherd His people, to honor His name. Why, then, are my efforts to honor Him so rejected?”

At the following silence, I glanced back at the priest, whose original exuberance had faded. I sighed. “I tried to honor my father. And King Saul, as the Lord’s anointed before me. It would seem my efforts are never enough.”

Tzadok straightened his spine. “Yehovah may have rejected your efforts, O King, but He did not reject you.” The priest’s eyes pierced like crystal. “He drew very near to you in the pastures of your childhood and in the caves of the Judean wilderness. Yet Yehovah is a holy God. And the ark bears His holy name. It is not a mere symbol to approach lightly.”

I narrowed my eyes at my friend, only a handful of years older than myself. “You have grown much in wisdom since your service as a priest to our God began.”

Tzadok’s eyes twinkled. “He is wisdom.”

“Tell me, then. What should I do?”