David's Final Blog Posting - Sulo Moorthy

These days, as I lay on my bed under a mound of blankets, frail and old, awaiting  my end to come, I love to look back on my bygone years and revel on the goodness of God. It's beyond anyone's imagination, how, I,  who grew up in an unknown town like Bethlehem and spent most of my boyhood  watching over my father's sheep, became a king to rule over the entire nation of Israel.

In fact, I wasn't even considered as a tag-along by my father or brothers when they went to the sacrifice given by Samuel. Until Samuel asked them to send for me, they hadn't even noticed my absence.

Probably, in their eyes, I was just a kid, a dreamer, who's good at only watching sheep and playing the harp. Unlike my handsome looking, muscled bodied brothers, who were sent to the battle front to fight with the Philistines, I was sent there only to deliver bread and cheese to my brothers and to bring back news about them to my father.

Like any youngster, I hated to be left alone in the fields faraway from my family and friends. Now, looking back, I find those days to be the best times of my whole life. Being alone and away from people, I had ample time to talk to God, to notice His fingerprints on things around, and even hear Him in the quietness of the dawning hours.

For any onlooker, I might have seemed wasting my time doing anything interesting. But I must say, watching my sheep in the fields, gazing the stars at  the night, and  spearing bears behind the bushes taught me much more valuable lessons than what I had learned being on the throne.

Wow! To be named as the Man after God's own heart by God Himself is the highest honor anyone could wish for, and I was so blessed to receive it.   In comparison, the bejewelled crown placed on my head, the wealth acquired as a king, or the fame of conquering many cities weigh far less value to me.

I'm not trying to paint a perfect picture of me to gain admiration here.  Neither do I deny the horrendous deeds I did to stain my life.  But, as far as my devotion towards my God is concerned,I wouldn't even question it for a second. I must say, I sought the LORD with the eyes of my heart that I saw Him everywhere and in everything. That's what made me to blurt out in songs and dance around joyfully whether I was leading my sheep in the fields or returning to my city  in a victory parade.

My deepest regret, which I weep over even to this day is how I grieved the LORD, by my foolish acts. Even though I had the assurance of His forgiveness, I cannot still forgive myself for what I did. .

I presume, power and prosperity must have boosted my ego to block God from my view for a while. And how quickly a mere look at another man's wife over the balcony led me to commit the horrible sins I had never imagined myself doing. Me...an adulterer and a murderer? But, I did become one, and didn't even feel guilty about it till Nathan pointed his finger at me. That was the worse part.

I do not know how many days more I'm going to live. I had chosen Solomon over Adonijah to be the king after me, because he's much wiser, and fears God as I do. However, I warned him about the trap of temptations and told him if he ever backslides in his commitment to God, His  favor would surely depart from him as it did with king Saul.

If you ask me what advice I want to give to the future generation before I go,  I'd say the following:

"Seek the Lord with full adoration. Love Him for who He is  and not for what you can get out of His hands.

Let your love be genuine towards Him and towards others. Trust Him at all times, even when He seems too faraway to heed to your cries.

Temptation can come in any form. Never say, you wouldn't fall for it. I too overestimated myself like that at one time. See what happened. So,watch out your steps !"

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord - David (Psalm 150:6)

 

A Little Child Shall Lead Them - Sulo Moorthy

This morning, I was reading the Classic Writings of Billy Graham, where Mr.Graham had tried to explain, that despite how sincere we may be in our desire to serve Christ, that does not make us perfect nor fault-free. To simplify his point, he chose a letter written by a five-year-old to her dad, a Scottish preacher, who was away in New Zealand on a mission tour.

'Dear father, I wrote all this myself. I send you a kiss from Elsie.' the child wrote. The father did see the crooked strokes, his child's struggle to print large capitals, and the absence of a single properly formed letter. Yet, that didn't annoy him nor make him blame the child for her poor writing. Instead, he chose to treasure the letter like an art piece. He knew for sure it was the best his darling five-year-old could do to convey her love to him.  She had put her whole heart into the letter, sealed it with a kiss and sent it to him from far away. How could anything be more precious to him than that ?

As I was reading the story, my thoughts reeled back to the time when I wrote somewhat a similar letter to my father, whom I lovingly called Papa.  I would have probably been around the same age as the little girl in the story. That summer, my mother, two older sisters and I were holidaying at our aunt's house in the hilly countryside, skirted by cocoa and pepper plantations. Because of work, my father couldn't accompany us on this trip and that made me, the youngest of five, to miss him the most.


Whenever the postman brought my father's letters, I awaited eagerly on my mother's lap to hear her read the part where my father had inquired about me.  I made sure that in return, I would draw a picture or scribble something on a piece of paper and sent it along when my mom posted her letter to my father. Then, one day, I was playing in the backyard with my cousin, when my mother came and handed me an envelope addressed to me. A letter for me? I couldn't believe my eyes.  My chubby cheeks beamed when I saw the handwriting of my dear father on the envelope. The fact that he had written especially to me made me squeal and run around the house, showing the letter to everyone.

Today, I cannot recall what my father had written in that letter, but I do remember carrying the letter all day long in my frock pocket (yes, we did have cute pockets in our dresses) and reading it again and again.  In a day or two, I could easily recite the entire letter by heart. It became a pastime for my sisters and cousins to call upon me to recite the letter in front of others. Shy, I might have been by nature, but when it came to reciting my father's letter, I didn't shy away at all. My curly hair pinned up in two colorful barrettes, I stood there with my chin up and my eyes gleaming, and recited my father's letter for my onlookers amusement.


I wish I could say that I read my Heavenly Father's letter (God's Word) too with the same fervor and devotion. Maybe at times. But mostly, I do it because I ought to, rather than I love to. Life somehow interrupts and dampens the passion I long to have. But, that doesn't make my Heavenly Father to love me less nor restricts His grace towards me.  However, it's my sincere desire that I will regain my childlike trust and devotion, and make His Word alive in me for His delight.