Reimagining the King David Story as a Political Thriller: Free Excerpt

Slingshot by Judah Lamb

Chapter One ...

The sizzle of pancake batter on the griddle mingled with the chatter of volunteers as David Shepherd entered the homeless shelter kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves and nodded at Joe, the head cook. "Smells great in here. How can I help?"

Joe grinned and tossed him a spatula. "Flip some flapjacks, preacher man."

David caught the spatula and stepped up to the stove, his movements practiced and efficient as he turned the golden circles. Beside him, a teenage girl ladled more batter. Her hands shook slightly.

"You're doing great, Emily," David said softly. "It gets easier with practice."

She glanced up, surprise and gratitude in her eyes. "Thanks. I was so nervous to volunteer, but I want to make a difference, you know?"

"That's why we're all here." And it was. A sense of purpose washed over David. Helping the poor was a big part of it. Giving people a chance to help, to participate in the love God has for them? It could be life-changing. As an ex-soldier, David knew what it was like to trust in someone else. He knew even more what it meant to trust that God would take care of him. What he hadn't realized at first, but learned over time, was that the brother at his side was more often than not how God watched over him.

Because God loved to wear masks. The faces of common people. Because in God's world, there were no common people. Not everyone had the eyes to see it. But God did His most extraordinary work through what never stood out, through the ordinary. Normal people made in His Image—made to reflect His image and care for the entire creation, especially for those the rest of the world overlooked and left behind.

It was more than that, though. For David, helping people in a way that didn't involve tactical missions and guns was oddly therapeutic. He'd seen things in war—things he'd rather forget. He really had two choices. Stay in his head, and get lost in haunting memories, or get out of himself and do something that might make someone else's day a little better. Even if all it meant was flipping flapjacks.

The door swung open as the first residents arrived, the aroma of fresh coffee beckoning them inside. David handed his spatula to Emily with an encouraging nod and stepped out to greet them.

"Bill! Good to see you, my friend." David clasped the older man's shoulder. Lines of hardship creased Bill's face, but his eyes lit up at the welcome.

"Wouldn't miss pancakes for anything. Within reason. Tempt me with a pretty little lady who's interested in marrying an old washup like me, well in that case, you can keep your breakfasts." Bill chuckled.

David laughed. "Well, at least I know what I should add to your name on my prayer list. Dear Lord, if such a woman exists who can put up with him, I pray you send her to Bill."

Bill chuckled as he shook his head. "You still owe me a rematch in chess."

"I won't go easy on you this time," David teased. "If I hadn't let you take my queen like that, I would have wiped the board with you."

"Ha!" Bill billowed. "You didn't let me take anything. You're just not such a hotshot on the board as you'd like everyone else to believe."

David chuckled a little as he turned to the next resident, a teenager hovering uncertainly in the doorway. "Malik, you made it! How's that book I lent you?"

"I stayed up all night reading it," Malik admitted, ducking his head. "I can't believe he risked everything. Like, what's the right thing to do in a situation like that?"

David shrugged. "I see you read the biography in the introduction. Bonhoeffer had to face a difficult situation. His faith told him to obey the authorities, and that murder was a sin. But what's a greater sin when you're living under an evil like Hitler? To do what you can to fight injustice and advocate for the persecuted, or to obey the commandment?"

Malik sighed. "At what point is evil so great that the right thing to do becomes what would have always been the wrong thing to do before?"

"Dietrich Bonhoeffer was an incredible man. A lot of theologians argue about whether he did the right thing. He didn't take any of his choices lightly. Sometimes, in a broken world when we're left with only two choices—and either choice is a sin—all we can do is rely on God's grace, and try to think about which option best upholds Jesus' teaching to love thy neighbor, to do for the least of these." David squeezed Malik's arm, sensing the flicker of inspiration taking root.

"I like what he said. When Christ calls us to follow, he bids us to come and die. Doesn't really fit with what everyone else out there tells us to do. Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. Do whatever it takes to get ahead. Win at all costs."

David nodded. "True enough. However, the point isn't that you shouldn't work hard, doing what you need to do to provide. We all have vocations, and God provides for us through other people doing their daily callings, just as you do what you can to provide for them. There's a reason we don't talk about our daily tasks as a job, though. It's not about what we're getting done. It's about who we're doing it for. Every situation is an opportunity to show Jesus' love to others."

"I like that!" Malik's smile was so wide David thought the top-half of his head might slip off.

David chuckled a little. "Dying to self doesn't mean neglecting your duties. It means letting go of whatever false securities, whatever lies you've told yourself, whatever idols you've made for yourself, so that you can walk free of all of that, dead to sin, alive in Christ."

Malik scratched his head. "Makes sense. Some things aren't so easy to let go of. You know?"

David took a deep breath. "No one ever said discipleship was easy. That's the whole point of the book, Malik. Following our Lord always comes at a cost—but the biggest cost was paid by the Father, who offered his Son for your sake. Nothing we could give up comes close by comparison."

As more residents filed in, David greeted each one by name, a warm smile and kind word at the ready. He listened intently as they shared updates, triumphs and struggles alike. A woman celebrating thirty days sober. A man anxious about an upcoming job interview. Several veterans haunted by memories of war—men just like David, at least like he used to be.

For David, the memories of war remained. He couldn't get rid of them. But they weren't so haunting as they once were.

For each, David offered encouragement, drawing on reserves of empathy and wisdom that ran soul-deep. It wasn't a hope born from mere study or an easy life. David hadn't always had it so easy. It wasn't so long ago that he was in similar dire straits, overwhelmed by debt, and out of house and home. He'd had his own bout with alcohol after he left the army. He proposed to his old girlfriend, a girl he'd known since High School, but she left him later—because of his drinking. He'd never laid a hand on her. It wasn't any single thing he did that drove her away. It was his absence that broke her heart, his soldier-like invisible armor that refused to let anyone else in.

If David had any regrets at all, it was that he hadn't hit rock bottom faster and that he hadn't realized that the "escape" he was looking for with the bottle wasn't solving his problems. It never really silenced the voices of his fallen brothers. It just made their screams all the louder the next time he heard them.

David knew, though, that despite what he'd gone through, the Lord saw him through it all. He hoped to give these people the same home he'd found, something steady and reassuring amid the chaos of shattered lives.

With everyone seated, David took his place at the front of the room. He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself, then prayed.

"Heavenly Father, we come before you this morning with hearts full of gratitude. Thank you for another day on planet Earth. For the gift of today, for the roof over our heads, and the food we are about to receive."

His voice was steady and sincere, each word imbued with quiet conviction.

"We ask your blessings over this meal, that it may nourish our bodies and spirits alike. And we ask your blessings over each person here, that they may feel your love and grace surrounding them, lifting them up, giving them strength for the journey ahead."

Around the room, heads bowed, eyes closed. A few sniffles punctuated the silence; tears wiped away with furtive gestures.

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"Guide our steps, Lord. Help us to see each other through your eyes, to love as you love. And when we falter, as we surely will, help us to lean on your everlasting arms. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," echoed the residents from their respective tables.

David clapped his hands together, dispelling the solemnity of the moment. "Alright, friends, let's eat!"

Laughter rippled through the room as David and the volunteers began serving up heaping plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. The aroma of syrup and coffee mingled with the buzz of conversation, the scrape of forks against plates.

David moved among the tables, refilling mugs, and cracking jokes, his presence a catalyst for the easy camaraderie that flowed like honey.

"David, man, these pancakes are killer!" Lamar held up a forkful of fluffy golden deliciousness. "Never thought I'd say that about pancakes!"

"Secret recipe," David winked. "Passed down from my great-grandma. I'll show you how to make 'em sometime."

Lamar's eyes widened. "For real? I thought the recipe was a secret."

David raised his fork over his plate. "Don't tell anyone—but the best secrets are meant to be shared."

Lamar laughed at the irony of David's comment—which David hadn't really thought through all that much before he said it. At the same time, there was something to it that resonated. He used to have secrets, and they nearly killed him. But a pancake recipe wasn't that kind of secret. It was a secret that added a little enjoyment to a person's morning. In either case, though, what good was a secret if keeping it did nothing good for anyone? It may have been his grandmother's recipe—but she'd understand. Nothing would have given David's great-grandmother more joy than the knowledge that her recipe was adding a little joy to hundreds of people's lives—people for whom joy was often elusive.

At the next table, David paused to admire a sketch one of the residents was working on. "Sheila, this is incredible. You've got a real gift."

Sheila blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's nothing special."

"Don't sell yourself short." David tapped the edge of the drawing. "Never hide your light. The world needs it."

As he moved on, he caught sight of a new face at the far table, a young woman huddled over her plate, shoulders hunched as if to make herself invisible.

His heart clenched. He knew that posture, that look of frightened exhaustion. How many times had he seen it in his mother's eyes, before she'd found the strength to leave his father?

Grabbing an extra mug of coffee, he made his way over.

"Hi there, I'm David." He set the mug down and extended his hand. "I'm the chaplain here. I don't think we've met yet."

The woman hesitated a long moment, searching his face for any hint of threat or ulterior motive. Finding none, she reached out to shake his hand, her grip tentative.

"Carly."

"It's good to meet you, Carly. I'm glad you found your way here."

He kept his tone light, his body language carefully non-threatening. The last thing she needed was another man looming over her.

"If there's anything you need—clothes, toiletries, someone to lend an ear—just ask. We're here to help, in whatever way we can."

Carly studied him in silence, as if gauging his sincerity. Finally, she gave a jerky nod.

"Thanks. I... I'll keep that in mind."

It wasn't much, that flicker of connection. But it was a start.

David moved on, but his thoughts kept circling back to Carly, to the shadows in her eyes and the way she flinched at sudden movements.

He couldn't fix her past. Couldn't erase whatever pain and trauma had driven her to this point. But maybe, with time, patience, and steadfast compassion, he could help her build a new future.

One where she felt safe. Valued. Loved.

That was his mission, the driving force behind everything he did. Not just here at the shelter, but in every aspect of his life.

He'd been given so much—a strong faith, a keen mind, a gift for connecting with people. And he was determined to use those gifts to make a difference, however he could.

Even if it was just one pancake, one prayer, one soul at a time.

As David moved to the next table, he noticed an older man, Joshua, staring intently at his coffee mug, his brow furrowed in deep thought. David slid into the seat across from him, offering a warm smile.

"Everything alright, Joshua?"

Joshua glanced up, his weathered face etched with uncertainty. "I've been thinking about what you said during the prayer, about God's love and mercy. But I can't help wondering... after everything I've done, all the mistakes I've made... how can He possibly forgive me?"

David leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Joshua, there's nothing you could have done that puts you beyond the reach of God's grace. The Bible tells us that if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us."

"But I've strayed so far," Joshua whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I've hurt people, David. I've let them down. How can I ever make that right?"

"I've been there." David nodded. "I know what that's like."

"Really?" Joshua's eyes were glazed with incredulity. "But you're nothing like me."

David shrugged. "Many out there will tell you that people don't change. They want to hold everything you've ever done against you. I don't know, maybe people don't change. But what's impossible with man is always possible with God. We don't change. God changes us."

Joshua rubbed his brow. "Will he do it, though? Will God change me?"

"He wants to," David said with a resolute nod. "If God isn't changing us, it's usually because we're holding onto something that He wants to remove from our lives. I'm not just talking about sins, or habits, or whatever. I'm talking about the guilt and shame. There's nothing that weighs on us more than that, but most of us wear our guilt like some kind of security blanket."

Joshua chuckled a little. "Sounds like you have been through what I'm dealing with."

"All our stories are different," David admitted. "But It starts with accepting God's forgiveness." David reached out to clasp Joshua on the shoulder. "And then letting that forgiveness transform you from the inside out. It's not about trying to earn His love—it's about receiving it as a gift. It's not about what we deserve. It's about His heart—you're in his heart, Joshua. You've always been in His heart."

Joshua nodded slowly. "I want that, David. I want to start over, to be the man God wants me to be."

"And you can," David assured him, his voice ringing with conviction. "Because the gift God wants to give you is already yours. Jesus purchased it for you. He paid a pretty hefty price for it, too. He paid for it with his life. He's written your name on the label. He's been holding that gift out, ready to place it in your open hands, for your entire life. It's not about what you need to do to get started, Joshua. Just leave those hands open, stop pulling them away so you can wrap yourself back up with that blanket of guilt. And then, well, one day at a time. Our old lives die with Jesus when we receive His gift. But we also die with Him every day. That's what we do here. We walk with Jesus daily."

As he spoke, David felt a familiar sense of purpose settling over him, a quiet certainty that this was what he was meant to do—to be a beacon of hope in the darkness, to point people toward the light.

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It wasn't always easy, this path he'd chosen. There were days when the needs seemed overwhelming, when the brokenness felt too deep to heal.

As the last of the breakfast dishes were cleared away, David felt a familiar stirring in his soul. It was time.

"Friends," he called out, his voice carrying across the room. "Let's gather for a moment."

There was a shuffling of chairs as the residents made their way to the center of the room, some moving eagerly, others more hesitant. David waited until they had all settled, his gaze sweeping over the assembled faces.

"I want to talk to you this morning about resilience," he began, his tone measured but passionate. "About the incredible strength that lies within each and every one of you."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.

"I know that life has dealt many of you some tough blows. Addiction, homelessness, broken relationships... it can feel like the odds are stacked against you."

Nods of recognition rippled through the room, some residents shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

"But here's the thing," David continued, his eyes alight with conviction. "Our God is a God of second chances. Of fresh starts and new beginnings. Nothing that's happened, nothing you've done or that's happened to you, has to be the end of your story. But it can be the end of a chapter. With God, we can turn the page. We can become new."

He began to weave in stories from his own life—moments when he had felt lost and alone, when the future had seemed bleak and hopeless. But through it all, he had clung to his faith, to the belief that God had a plan and a purpose for his life.

As he spoke, David could sense the atmosphere in the room shifting, a palpable sense of hope and possibility taking root. Some residents leaned forward in their seats, hanging on his every word. Others wiped away tears, their faces etched with a mix of pain and longing.

"The road ahead may not be easy," David acknowledged, his voice softening. "But you don't have to walk it alone. That's the beauty of community, of surrounding ourselves with people who will support us and encourage us and hold us accountable."

He gestured around the room, taking in the faces of the volunteers and residents alike.

"This place, these people... they're a testament to the power of community. To the incredible things that can happen when we come together, when we bear one another's burdens and celebrate one another's victories."

David could feel the energy in the room crescendoing, a sense of unity and purpose taking hold.

"So let's lean into that today," he urged, his voice ringing with conviction. "Let's choose resilience, even when it feels impossible. Let's choose to believe in the power of second chances, in the God who makes all things new."

As he spoke, David felt a sense of awe washing over him, a humbling realization of the privilege it was to be a part of these moments, to see lives being transformed in real-time.

It was a feeling he knew he would carry with him long after he left the shelter—a reminder of the incredible work God was doing, and the small but significant role he got to play in it all.

David's fingers found the familiar chords of his guitar, the opening notes of Psalm 23 filling the room. His rich, soulful voice joined the melody, the lyrics flowing from a place deep within his heart.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."

As he sang, David watched the faces of the residents, their expressions softening, shoulders relaxing. A few hummed along, tentative at first, then growing in confidence.

"He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters..."

The room swelled with voices; the residents joined in, their harmonies weaving together in a tapestry of sound. David felt a lump forming in his throat, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the moment.

"He refreshes my soul, He guides me along the right paths for His name's sake..."

As the chorus built, the barriers between the residents seemed to dissolve, their voices rising as one. For a few precious minutes, their differences faded away—their struggles, their pasts, their uncertain futures—replaced by a shared sense of hope and unity.

"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me..."

David's eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of the people he had come to know and love. There was something sacred about this moment, something holy in the way their voices mingled and their hearts beat as one.

"Surely Your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life..."

As the last notes of the song faded away, David felt a deep sense of gratitude washing over him. This was why he did what he did - for moments like these, where he could witness the tangible presence of God moving in people's lives.

He knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy and that each person in the room would continue to face challenges and setbacks. But he also knew that they wouldn't face them alone - that the bonds forged in moments like these would carry them through, reminding them of the unshakable hope they had in Christ.

With a final strum of his guitar, David looked out over the room, his heart full to bursting. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for reminding me of what really matters."

As the service concluded, David set his guitar aside and made his way through the room, shaking hands and expressing his gratitude to each volunteer individually. "Thank you for your dedication and hard work," he said, his smile warm and genuine. "What you do here matters more than you realize."

He clasped the shoulder of an elderly man, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Your steadfast presence is a beacon of hope, my friend. Never underestimate the power of a consistent, loving presence."

Turning to a young woman, he took her hand in both of his. "Your gentle spirit and compassionate heart are a balm to the weary souls who come through these doors. Thank you for being a channel of God's love."

David continued to make his rounds, offering specific words of encouragement and appreciation to each volunteer. He understood the importance of acknowledging their individual contributions, and of making them feel seen and valued. It wasn't some cheap motivational trick. It was about speaking God's heart to them—because to God; they were seen and valued.

As the morning activities wound down and the residents dispersed, David found himself drawn to a quiet corner of the shelter. He sank into a worn armchair, his mind buzzing with thoughts and emotions.

He closed his eyes, replaying the events of the morning in his mind. The laughter shared over breakfast, the heartfelt prayers, the voices raised in song—each moment felt like a sacred gift, a reminder of the transformative power of love in action.

David's heart swelled with a sense of purpose, a deep conviction that this was the work he was called to do. Yet even as he savored the joy of the present moment, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to be done.

"Lord," he whispered, his head bowed in prayer, "I am grateful for the opportunity to serve in this way. But I know the needs are great, and my reach is limited. Show me how to extend Your love and compassion to even more people. Use me as your instrument of hope and healing in this broken world."

As he sat in the stillness, David felt a gentle stirring in his soul, a quiet whisper of guidance and encouragement. He knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and obstacles, but he also knew that he wouldn't walk it alone.

With a deep breath, David rose from his seat, his spirit renewed and his resolve strengthened. He may not have all the answers, but he had faith in a God who did. And with that faith as his guide, he knew that anything was possible.

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As David turned to leave the quiet corner, he found himself face to face with Marcus, a resident he'd come to know well over the past few months. The older man's weathered features lit up with a smile, his eyes shining with gratitude.

"David, I just wanted to catch you before you left," Marcus said, his voice rough but warm. "I've been meaning to thank you for everything you've done for me, for all of us here."

David shook his head, his own smile humble and sincere. "It's not me, Marcus. It's the love of God working through all of us."

Marcus nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I know that. But you're the one who shows us that love every day. You listen to us, you care about us. You make us feel like we matter."

David placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. "You do matter, Marcus. Every single one of you. And I'm just grateful to be a part of your journey."

For a moment, the two men stood in silence, their connection speaking louder than words. David saw in Marcus' eyes a flicker of hope, a glimmer of the man he was meant to be. And in that moment, he knew that this was the reason he did what he did.

"I won't forget this, David," Marcus said at last, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't forget what you've done for me, for all of us. And I'll be praying for you, that God will use you to do even greater things."

David's heart swelled with gratitude, his eyes misting over. "Thank you, Marcus. That means more to me than you know."

With a last squeeze of Marcus's shoulder, David turned to go, his steps light and purposeful. He may not have the power to change the world on his own, but he knew that every act of love, every moment of connection, was a step in the right direction.

As he walked out into the bright morning sun, David felt a renewed sense of calling, a deeper conviction that this was the work he was meant to do. No matter where his path might lead, he knew he would always carry the love and hope he'd found here, in the hearts of those he served.

David stepped out into the sunlight, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. The warmth of the sun on his face felt like a gentle reminder of God's presence, a subtle assurance that he was on the right path. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp morning air, and felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins.

As he walked away from the shelter, his mind raced with possibilities. The conversations he'd had, the lives he'd touched—they all seemed to point to something greater, a higher purpose that he was only beginning to grasp. He knew that his work at the shelter was important, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more he could do, more ways he could make a difference.

Lost in thought, David barely noticed the bustling city streets around him. The honking of horns and the chatter of pedestrians faded into the background as he focused on the stirrings of his heart. He had always felt a call to serve, to use his gifts and talents for the greater good, but now that call seemed to be growing louder, more insistent.

He thought of the people he'd met at the shelter—the single mother struggling to make ends meet, the veteran battling addiction, the teenager who'd been kicked out of his home. Each of their stories had touched him deeply, and he knew that there were countless others just like them, all across the city and beyond.

David's pace quickened as he turned the corner, his destination coming into view. The towering spire of his church loomed ahead, a beacon of hope and faith amidst the chaos of the city. He knew that this was where he needed to be, where he could seek guidance and clarity for the path ahead.

As he climbed the steps to the church, David felt a sense of peace wash over him. No matter what challenges lay ahead, he knew that his faith would sustain him, that God would guide his steps and give him the strength to persevere. With a final glance back at the shelter, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside, ready to face whatever the future might hold.

Copyright © 2025 by Judah Lamb