Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Grace (09/03/26)
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TITLE: Unexpected Welcome | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
09/08/26 -
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As the grandson of a fallen king, his former privilege evaporated like dew in the morning sun. His own family had hunted David through caves and valleys. The ‘king’s champion’ had successfully hidden from vengeance, but there was no place to hide now for the son of Jonathan.
He glanced for his attendant, but no one came. He’d been five when his nurse stumbled and dropped him, breaking his feet. News of the deaths of his grandfather, King Saul, and his father, Jonathan, had spread, sending everyone into a panic.
Pounding on the door prefaced a towering warrior stepping inside. “Mephibosheth, son of Jonathan?”
His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Words evaporated. He could only bow his head and nod.
“The king commands your appearance in Jerusalem.”
Powerful arms dumped him inside a carriage for the endless journey. How would he plead for mercy, for grace? The new sovereign dispatched giants, enemy kings, and rebels with no more hesitation than if he were swatting flies.
Familiar scents blanketed him in the new palace. Cedar, oil, burning lamps, roasting lamb. Servants flitted like shadows between rooms. Soldiers towered like pillars beside closed doors. A child peeked curiously from behind a curtain.
The room bustled. The king strode through the space behind the throne and perched on it, arranging his majestic robes. Fans of ostrich feathers, held by servants, bobbed up and down around him.
Mephibosheth, cowering on his knees, fell forward, hands extended toward the terror before him.
“Mephibosheth!”
“At your service,” he stuttered, trembling to the core of his being.
“Don’t be afraid,” the king said. “Look up. I’ll show you kindness for your father's sake. I will show you grace by restoring to you all the lands of your grandfather, and you’ll eat at my table.”
Had he heard right? Restoration. Not execution. For the sake of his father! A fading image of the man with powerful hands, a booming laugh, a guardian who gifted him a wooden sword, fought to surface. Could the grace designed for one who is worthy be passed on to the life of one who is unworthy?
Mephibosheth pushed himself back up to his knees. “Why would you take notice of a dead dog like me? Makir, son of Ammiel, cares for me, and it is enough.”
The king turned toward Ziba, a former servant of King Saul. “Ziba, Mephibosheth now controls all of the lands of Saul, and you and your family will serve him and see that he gets all he needs.”
Ziba? The man had fifteen sons and twenty servants. He wouldn’t have time for a cripple. Could this really be happening? Had the king uttered an irrevocable decree?
Ziba bowed. “Whatever the king commands, I will do.”
Mephibosheth swallowed. Dust clung to his robes. His twisted legs lay beneath him. He was broken, forgotten, worthless, a remnant from a defeated family. How long would this servant cater to his wishes? At least he would eat at the king’s table. Having enough food was a grace.
That evening, servants carried him to the dining hall. The laughter and conversation filled the air. He was used to silence, emptiness, aloneness. Lamps cast warm light when he was used to darkness. Roasted meat filled the tables, along with bread, olives, cheeses, herbs, and more delicacies than he had imagined curled up on his straw mat in Lo Debar.
Perhaps this was grace. Sharing a meal with the one you thought was your judge and executioner. Gaining an inheritance you had done nothing to earn. Recognizing that the one who knew all about your family, your weakness, and your shame, welcomed you anyway.
Years passed, and although his feet did not heal, something else inside did. Fear of soldiers discovering him slipped away. Anxiety about the king’s motives and judgment faded. Terrifying dreams about falling, being abandoned, and being left at the mercy of those wanting revenge emptied.
Grace had discovered him, surrounded him, elevated him, and never left him alone.
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The ending seemed to be cut off without the thought being finished.