What do you think about David from the Bible?
If you’re new to his story, you might not have strong opinions. But if you grew up on David stories, odds are, your David feelings are deep and passionate. I know this, because “What do you think of David?” is one of my favorite get-to-know-you questions. How you answer reveals an awful lot.
I’ll show my hand right away and say, I’m a fan. People who are not fans of David are quick to remind me of David’s exploits in battle, his bad parenting, that time he lost his temper with Nabal, and of course, the affair (possibly rape) of Bathsheba culminating in the murder of Uriah.
David was not a good guy, they say.
Yes, I’ve heard that. Maybe not.
But I’ve also heard what God said about him: “I have found David son of Jesse, a man after my own heart.” A thousand years after David lived, God would send His “only begotten son” to be born in the same city David called home. He’d be called a king and a shepherd just like David had been, and in the first verse of the new revelation, Matthew 1:1, God would introduce His son as “Jesus the Messiah, the son of David.”
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Growing up, I lived with my grandfather. My grandmother had died of cancer, and Papa had a big empty house, so my mom and dad and brother and I moved in while my mom finished college. Living with my grandfather was like living with a movie character.
Son of a poor Irish drunk and good church lady, Bob Martin grew up in a shack on a creek outside a small Alabama town. His dad once pointed a loaded gun at this head. His much older sister worshipped him.
Papa was the kind of handsome that makes women swoon. He played basketball. He went to boys state. He was charming, strong, articulate, and hungry. He loved women and adventure and proving himself. He had a hot temper. Sometimes he was mean.
He moved with his family to Florida after high school when his dad sobered up and started a masonry company. He worked laying cinderblock three days a week and as a fireman the rest. He won a weight lifting competition—and also Firefighter of the Year. One day he’d decide to change paths and become a preacher. He married a model and had three boys and one girl.
Did I mention he played guitar and sang like someone on the radio? He sang or whistled or hummed constantly. He danced as he walked.
He also smoked and ate sausage biscuits from McDonald’s every morning, sometimes sitting on the kitchen counter in his underwear.
Papa loved to laugh and loved to win. He told slightly naughty jokes and bragged about the length of his second wife’s legs. I’ve never known a man to wink quite so often (other than perhaps my husband). “Impish” fits so perfectly well it might have been his name.
He was also impatient, often selfish, sometimes vain, and not the very best father, though he tried (He was a much better grandfather).
For years, Papa and I were inseparable. He picked me up from school. I rode with him on cross country trips to the family reunion. I pretended to be his secretary at church. We made up songs in his van. He told me stories before bed. He baptized me when I was nine and married me when I was 19. He was the first of my family members to hold my first baby.
(That’s me with the sign that hung outside my childhood church—the church where my papa preached. It’s still hanging in my house in TX.)
More than perhaps anyone else, Bob Martin taught me how to walk with God. And walking with God with my imperfect Papa gave me a taste for remarkable, flawed heroes.
Like David from the Bible.
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My husband and I are leading this parenting workshop this summer. It’s not what you’d expect from a parenting workshop, I don’t guess. It’s more about how to tell a story and why it’s so important to tell our kids stories and how to help our kids understand their place in their family’s story and the kingdom story God’s writing. We’ve found that stories are magic—so much better as guides for living than laws or tips.
As we were working on the concept (the design, name, logo, tagline), I came up with the phrase “a workshop for heroic parents.” I asked Justin what he thought, and he said, “I hope it doesn’t put anyone off. We don’t like to think of ourselves as heroes.”
After a bit of back and forth, we went with it anyway. Here’s why: Maybe it’s my training as a literature teacher, but to me, a hero is just a mostly ordinary person at the center of an extraordinary story—think Odysseus or Huck Finn or the beetle/cockroach in Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Maybe the hero has some special power or position (superheroes come to mind), but she is always, always flawed. A perfect hero is no hero at all (even Superman has kryptonite).
Turns out my definition is #2 in the Cambridge dictionary: “the main character… in a book or film, who is usually good.” “Usually good” sounds totally doable.
Definition #1 is the one that makes us nervous: “a person who is admired for having done something very brave or having achieved something great.” Even that definition, intimidating as it is, doesn’t mention perfection. And doesn’t raising a living, breathing being qualify as doing something very brave?
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Here’s something I’ve learned from reading Bible stories in the actual Bible: Heroes (especially Bible heroes) are all kinds of messed up.
Shall we make a list?
Noah—got so drunk he took off all his clothes and passed out.
Abraham—said his wife was his sister, seemed unconcerned that his lie might lead to his wife’s being raped.
Jacob—lied about his identity to steal from his father.
Moses—killed a man.
Rahab—prostitute and very good liar.
Samson—sucker for sex with women who served foreign gods. Killed thousands of people. Broke just about every promise he ever made to God.
Gideon—fashioned a gold ephod that lead his entire family into idolatry.
Jephthah—made a hasty oath and killed his daughter.
David—aforementioned sins of many kinds.
Every single one of these people, by the way, is mentioned in Hebrews 11 as a person of faith.
There’s something for us to see here, and I’m convinced it’s this: God’s people aren’t perfect. They’re just living in a story, trying to be “usually good” and trusting God. They’re heroes.
The same way we are.
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I’ve had a few people message me about this workshop Justin and I are doing—The Storied Family. They think maybe this isn’t for them. Maybe their family isn’t “storied.” Maybe the story they’re passing down is better left untold. And if it should be told, we probably didn’t have complicated stories like theirs in mind.
Actually—this workshop was custom built for complicated.
In the promotional copy for The Storied Family I’ve quoted Bruce Feiler, author of The Secrets of Happy Families (it’s one of two seeds from which this workshop’s grown). Summarizing research from psychologist Dr. Marshall Duke in a New York Times article, Feiler wrote,
“The more children knew about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem and the more successfully they believed their families functioned.” Knowing their family stories “turned out to be the best single predictor of children’s emotional health and happiness.”
Does it matter which stories? Actually, it does.
Here’s what Dr. Duke told Feiler: “The most healthful narrative is… called the oscillating family narrative: ‘Dear, let me tell you, we’ve had ups and downs in our family. We built a family business. Your grandfather was a pillar of the community… But we also had setbacks. You had an uncle who was once arrested. We had a house burn down. Your father lost a job.”
According to Duke, the most resilient kids were the kids who knew about both their family’s successes and their hardships and struggles. Knowing life involves ups and downs (and that their family members had survived struggle and failure) helped kids weather traumatic experiences with more confidence and greater emotional stability.
I’m convinced this is why God fills the Bible with flawed heroes and so, so many ups and downs.
God didn’t have to share the shady parts of His heroes’ journeys—the murder and rape, racism and misogyny, promiscuity and gore. He didn’t have to tell us about all the times Israel walked away from Him. He didn’t have to show Jesus on the cross in such graphic detail—naked, thirsty, blood and water flowing from his side—all of it God’s people’s fault.
But He did.
The family of God hasn’t always gotten it right. Sometimes we got it really, really wrong. Knowing that—seeing the shadows—matters. It matters (sure, partly to help us avoid the mistakes of our past), but also, and perhaps more powerfully, because it reminds us that the point of the story isn’t getting everything right. In so many ways, our good family story of grace and love and reconciliation is shaped by our absolute inability to get everything right on our own.
That’s a story our kids need to be told. It’s the only story God’s telling.
-JL
If you’re interested in learning more about The Storied Family, you can find more info (including session topics and dates) HERE. We’ll be in cities across the south this July AND we’re offering an online option for all of you folks not within driving distance of Round Rock, TX, Dallas, TX, Wichita, KS, Florence, AL, Cookeville, TN or Henderson, TN.
You can grab tickets HERE. See you this summer!
P.S. We’re absolutely serious about this workshop being a safe, powerful event for all kinds of parents—single parents, adoptive parents, foster parents, guardians... Whoever you are, if you’re raising kids, this workshop will keep in mind your particular context.
We’ve also begun scheduling workshops for summer 2022—let us know (just reply to this email) if your church might be interested. We have limited spots and are already filling up. Exciting!
Last thing: If you’re looking for a way to share the dappled true stories of scripture with your family, check out Holy Ghost Stories, the podcast. I’m addicted. Yes, my husband created it, but I’m an enneagram one so I don’t say nice things just because. It’s truly, truly goooood.
Are you a hero?
Jennifer! I love this. Sometimes I think we wouldn't have such hot/cold feelings about Biblical characters if we actually knew them and loved them as family members or close friends. The same way you loved your Papa, no matter what! Doesn't mean you didn't see his flaws. It just means you loved him enough to see past them and still call him a "believer" or a "person of faith." My dad is super into genealogy right now & I think it has a lot to do with this idea. He wants to know where he came from, because our families and our stories MATTER. Hoping to make it to the workshop one way or another. Excited for you & Justin!