by Cliff Graham
“Sholem!” Caleb called.
Everyone quieted immediately.
“Sholem!” he called again.
A few people shuffled to the side and made way for a man walking forward.
“My lord,” Sholem said as he moved toward Caleb hesitantly.
Caleb walked up to him and, without pausing or slowing his movement in any way, swung his staff at Sholem’s leg.
The crack sound was sharp in the night. Several women gasped. Sholem cried out and fell to his knees.
“You are relieved of your duties. Forever.”
“Why?” Sholem gasped.
Caleb’s voice was steady. “You were commander of the watch. They got through our lines easily. Many lost their lives tonight because of you.”
Without another word, Caleb struck Sholem on the head savagely with the knobbed staff. Sholem crumpled forward into the mud.
“If he is still here by morning, I will execute him,” Caleb said to the group, and then walked away, holding the staff in his right hand as the head of Sheshai dangled from his waist.
By the time he made it back to his tent, he felt like only a memory of himself.
“Disaster tonight,” Caleb said as he peeled off his wet cloak and tunic. Someone had lit his fire again, and he stood over it, relishing the warmth.
“You killed three giants in a single battle, including one of their chiefs,” Othniel said.
“There are dozens more, and that was the weakest chieftain,” Caleb answered.
Caleb’s breathing became labored. Each of his joints seemed to hurt in unison. The warmth in his blood was gone now. As always, when the battle was over, he felt his age again, and the frustration of it clouded his mind. He muttered silent curses to himself, but then stopped, recognizing the discouragement in the wake of battle.
“If you get any closer to those flames, Uncle, I’ll have to sweep up your ashes,” Othniel said gently.
“That man, Heliphet. His wife. A terrible loss.”
“It could not be helped.”
Caleb frowned. His bushy eyebrows hung low as he shut his eyes. When he opened them again, Othniel noticed how tired he looked. He had to know . . .
“How did you move like that tonight? So fast and fluid.”
“How did you expect me to move?”
“Well . . . with all respect, like how you are moving now.”
Caleb chuckled wearily. “That would have offended me if anyone else had said it.”
“Please tell me, Uncle.”
“Tomorrow, if we have time.”
“Please. Now.”
Caleb sighed. The storm shook the tent against its ropes. The wind whistled and roared.
“I do not know what it is,” Caleb admitted at last, “but whenever I am engaged in battle, and I know it is the will of Yahweh for me to be in it, he gives me strength.”
“What kind of strength?”
“Just . . . strength. My muscles become strong. My joints move the correct way. My mind is alert. Heat covers me, and it feels as though I could take the city alone. I feel like I am sixty years younger.”
“What is this strength called?”
“I do not know. But he always seems to give me what I need, when I need it. Never more, never less. Sometimes it is not there and I just have to fight through the pain and weariness. Other times I feel like I could capture a fortress by myself. Either way, the Lord is faithful.”
“Why does Yahweh allow us to be weak at times?”
“You should always find yourself in situations where you have no choice but to trust in Yahweh. The greatest victories come when you never have the most powerful chariots or most numerous armies. You should always have to depend on him utterly and completely, because he loves to demonstrate his power.”
Othniel wanted to keep on questioning his uncle. But no. It had been a long day. Another one tomorrow. It was time for him to leave.
“Please get some sleep, Uncle. I am sorry I have kept you up. I will be back in the morning for the first briefing.” He then left, stepping out into the night.
Caleb went over to the corner of the tent where his sleeping blankets were stacked. He wished he could drag them closer to the fire, but burning to death would get in the way of his capturing Hebron.
He spread out the blankets, slid himself under them and clutched his legs close to his body. His skin felt clammy. Never warm. Always cold.
He sat up suddenly.
“Othniel was going to let me forget. I have the first watch tonight,” he muttered to himself, then started pulling back his blankets. He winced as he put on his wet tunic. He was angry at his nephew for trying to keep him inside, but not terribly so. He understood the sentiment.
“Yahweh, my God, I need more of you now. I am tired and cold, and my heart is heavy with grief for my people who were lost today.”
No flood of strength came. He waited a moment longer. Nothing.
No matter. He would dress and depart regardless. It was his duty. He could do it, he decided. It was only pain.
“Praise you, God of victory. You give and you remove. I will trust you.”
After a long time, he was dressed and ready again. He ignored the welcoming, warm coals and picked up his staff and a bronze short sword from his weapons rack.
He stood at the flap and gazed out, just as he had that morning. The wind blew relentlessly, the rain steady.
He closed his eyes to brace himself.
He was on the ship, and the ship was passing into darkness. The plagues raged around him. The screaming of mothers. The sounds grew dimmer. And dimmer. Then they were gone altogether.
The Destroyer still moved in the darkness. Caleb was afraid.
He opened his eyes.
Gone now.
He drew a deep breath, then exhaled.
He walked outside and made his way to the perimeter, ready to admonish whoever was trying to take his place on the watch.
Author’s Note
It’s not usually considered “good form” to explain yourself as an author, but the nature of the subject matter I write about demands it.
Caleb is mentioned only a few times in the Bible. The first time we see him is when he goes on a mission with Joshua and ten other men to search the land of Canaan for strategic information that Moses would use to consider his approach.
Before that dramatic entrance on the scene, absolutely nothing is known about his life.
I have fictionalized those early years in the extreme. My purpose is not to invent an elaborate backstory because I felt the Bible was insufficient; it is to create a way for the reader to encounter the events of Exodus as the Egyptians themselves might have known them. I wanted to help the reader be there in the halls of the palace at Memphis when Moses and Aaron stood before the king, and also after they left. What terrors did the Egyptians undergo as the Lord held out his arm? What would it have been like to be in darkness so complete that you could feel it?
There is mystery surrounding Caleb’s origins as a Kenazzite. That term is used to describe several potential clan and tribal areas. I have chosen to portray him as the foreigner his name implies, hoping the picture of God’s grace toward a non-Hebrew would be all the more potent for it.
The Bible is always more interested in the meaning of the narrative than the details of the narrative itself. My attempt to fill in the gaps is in honor of the Word that I believe is sacred.
Perhaps by the end of this series, you will come to the same conclusion that I have: our modern focus on a comfortable retirement needs to change. May we still be planning the assault on walled cities filled with giants when we are in our eighty-fifth year.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for so many people—people who continue to believe in what I am doing and putting their time, talents, and resources behind it. I have been blessed to be able to wage hard battle with good comrades. That’s all a man can ask for in this life.
I cannot list them all, and even th
is list must be kept to names only, but my prayer is that everyone who has ever helped out in any manner with this vision would experience the peace and grace of the Covering and understand just how much they have meant to me.
In no specific order, for those who have had a particular hand in this project:
Jesse and Janie Ewing, Felipe and Georgina Zamora, Michael and Leah Altstiel, Nic and Sherri Ewing, Jeremy and Stephanie Banik, Adam and Lauren Haggerty, Chris and BreeAnn Duran, Margo Milianta, Adam and Kate Ritter, Jeff and Katie Doerksen, Mitch and Amy Wheeler, Andrew and Alexis Potter, David and Natalie Bruce, Ken and Elizabeth Blume, David and Judith Cunningham, Ryan and Krista Gray, Lee Rempel, Todd and Mo Hillard, Greg and Erica Schut, all the members of Five Stones First Battalion, Justin and April Becker, PK and Lindsey Carlton, Beau and Sandra Rogers, Dave and Donna Shellenberger, Ernie and Cindy Mecca, Holly and Jeff Martin, Matt and Lauren Chandler, Jane Walker, David and Shirley Walker, my parents Robert and Becki Graham.
The team at Bethany House for being brave enough to tackle this with me in the market and for patience while I worked through it. It has been an exceptionally challenging book.
Rachel McRae and the team at LifeWay for believing that there is a need for this type of content.
My loyal readers who have become more like battle buddies. Thank you for enduring every scheme and sticking by us through it all, because this is your story too.
Thanks to my arrows in the quiver for being patient with me when I am buried in projects and reminding me what motivates me: Joshua, Levi, Evan, and Audrey.
And of course, the “Spartan Queen.” Thank you for your love, your grace, your dedication to excellence, your high standard set for me as a man, your willingness to let me embrace risk and challenge, and your faithfulness to call the best out of me. You have no match.
Cliff Graham is a former soldier and officer in the United States Army who now spends his time writing, speaking, and operating a growing number of media franchises. A graduate from Black Hills State University with degrees in political science and military science, he did his graduate work in theology and military ministry through Liberty Seminary and the U.S. Armed Forces Chaplain Center and School at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Cliff currently lives in the mountains of Utah with his wife, Cassandra, and their children, and speaks at churches, conferences, and to men’s groups all over the United States. To learn more, visit www.cliffgraham.com.
