Foreword
The life of Abigail and Nabal, recorded for us in 1 Samuel 25, is a brief account of an incident. So this story is just that — a story. It is based on Scripture insofar as 1 Samuel 25 tells us, but the rest of the story is filled out with what is hoped are reasonable conjectures. The reader is not asked to believe that this is exactly how it happened, but simply that this is how it may have happened. Bible quotations are from the NIV.
The Story Begins
As I looked upon his lifeless body, I was overwhelmed with such pity and sadness for both of us, but especially for him. What a wasted life! Nabal and I were married just a few years, but those years seemed like centuries. For us there had been no “happier times”. Mostly it was sullen days and drunken nights for Nabal, and days of fear and nights of dread for me.
Let me introduce myself. I am Abigail, widow of Nabal, now wife of David, recently anointed king over Judah and Israel.
My story is a short one, for my life is not of great importance as men usually count these things. I came into David’s life for a few short moments in time. Before that, I was, as I told you, Abigail, wife of Nabal.
I prefer to remember the time before Nabal, when I was the daughter of a poor family in a tiny village. Yes, in many ways my family was very poor, but my parents were also very rich. They were rich in their love of each other and their whole family, and in their faith upon their Heavenly Father. His ways were deeply ingrained in parents and children, and I imagine in my grandparents also, although I never knew them, since death claimed all four of them while I was very young.
My parents struggled daily to feed and clothe their growing children, but their knowledge and love of the one true God flowed easily from their lips as they pursued the common tasks of daily life. My mother constantly told us that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding” (Prov 9:10).
She told us over and over again that God had set before us life and death, and that we must choose life. We must obey all the commandments passed down to us from God through Moses, to generation after generation of Israel; that we must love the Lord our God and obey His voice and cling to Him, for He alone is life and length of days in this land of promise.
Yes, my parents taught us diligently, talking of God’s ways at home, as we walked along well-trodden, dusty village paths, or before we lay down to sleep, or when we arose early in the morning. His words were always before us, written not only on a doorpost or a gate, but also, more importantly, in our hearts and minds.
In the evening hours when mother was still busy with the little ones, father would take the rest of us and tell us fascinating stories of our nation’s past. How we loved to hear him tell about the creation, the fall of Adam and Eve, the saving of Noah and his family by water, God’s covenant of the rainbow, the call of Abram. The stories of Joseph, Moses, the plagues in Egypt, and Israel’s departure from slavery came to life in my father’s words, and then in our own little minds.
He would fill us with wonder and some fear as he told us of the giving of the Law to Moses at Sinai, and how the mountains quaked and smoked, and of how the heavens trembled with great thunder and crackling lightning. Then he would tell us sadly of Israel’s faithless walk, their constant complaining about their desert life, their failure to enter the Promised Land, and finally their wanderings in that great and terrible wilderness.
How sad we were each time we thought of Moses’ disobedience at Meribah, and of how he begged our Heavenly Father to allow him to accompany the children of Israel into that Promised Land. Sadly, we listened as father told us how Moses ascended Mount Nebo, viewed the chosen land, but never entered. We wondered where the angels of God had buried the great leader. How relieved we would be when it came time, by father’s account, for Joshua to take the nation into the new land — a land of brooks of water, a land of wheat and barley and vines and fig trees… yes, a rich land.
Once again father’s stories would have us sitting, wide-eyed and on the edge of our mats, as our imaginations followed the stories of our judges: Ehud and the fat Eglon, Deborah and Barak, the hammer and nail of Jael, the reluctance of Gideon, and the God-given strength of Samson and of many others.
The stories were a wonderful part of my childhood, a way to remember our nation’s deeds, a way to remind all of us and those of new generations of the magnificent ways of our God, the mighty God of Israel.
Apart from the stories there was also the well-kept traditions of the Sabbath and all the feast days. My parents remembered the commands and the details well, and I treasured the special times together with others who had the same strong beliefs and customs.
As I grew older, my family duties increased.
I, and later, my younger sisters learned much from my mother of the daily household tasks. There was the care of the younger ones, the cooking, the cleaning, the spinning, and the weaving. These tasks were ours… we had no servants to perform them; therefore I had to learn them well. My mother viewed a wise woman as a priceless treasure, and she was determined that I would learn the care of a household for a future husband and children. Not for us were the ways of idleness and foolishness; “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised” (Prov 31:30), mother always said.
But the evening hours were kept special for father’s talks; now it was the younger children’s turn to hear his stories. I must admit, I continued to listen as I did my chores, and I enjoyed seeing and hearing the excited responses of my brothers and sisters. After the little ones’ time with father, I would sometimes listen in on the conversations of my father and his friends who stopped by to visit.
Saul and David
Many were the times when the talk centered on our king, Saul of Benjamin. What was happening, my father and his friends would ask, to Saul? Why was he so preoccupied with chasing his former army officer, indeed, his own son-in-law David, son of Jesse of Bethlehem, Judah? Saul was hunting David like a man hunts a partridge in the mountains, or like a dog hunts a flea, with a fierce obsession. Had Saul gone quite mad? What was happening to the nation while Saul chased throughout the land seeking David? Who was in charge? Was he not turning neighbor against neighbor as he begged for people to spy for him?
What was David’s sin anyway? It seemed like there was no longer any help for Saul… from man or from the LORD. Samuel had retired from him. The priests of Nob had all been murdered by Doeg at Saul’s command. There was no other prophet, no Urim or Thummim where Saul might inquire after the LORD. There was a famine in the land — not a famine of bread or water, but of hearing the words of the LORD. Indeed, some asked if Saul had ever really sought the Lord in earnest? Had not God taken His kingdom from Saul because of Saul’s disobedience in the matter of Agag the king of the Amalekites?
Now, filled with rage and jealousy, Saul sought David’s life because it had been whispered to him that David, not Jonathan, his own son, would be the next ruler in Israel. Apparently Saul’s miserable life was made even more difficult because he knew that Jonathan and David had a deep friendship, a friendship bound together with a love of the God of Israel. We had heard the rumors that Saul had tried, several times, to kill David — and maybe his own son Jonathan also.
My father wondered how long such a pitiful condition could last… when would the day come that Saul would die, and David might become king and reestablish God’s ways in Israel? There was so much that needed to be set right. On the national front alone, Israel was in deep distress: the Philistines were constantly making daring raids into Israel’s towns and villages. This, of course, affected the economy of Israel: crops could not be harvested because of such raids; there was little produce in the markets; hard-working people had to borrow money they could not repay; highways were deserted; no one felt safe.
Some families had actually left their homes and villages to join David and his men in the wilderness. Stories came to us of what a difficult life it was, out there on the edges of the land — the life of a fugitive: scarcity, fear, constant moving from place to place, hiding in caves and valley recesses, posting lookouts. O Israel, what was happening to you and your king?
My father would remind his visitors of Samuel’s words about the nation’s desire for a king. Israel had wanted to be like all their neighbors; they had wanted a king to fight their battles. Israel had, in my father’s estimation, forgotten the LORD, their true King. Now they had their earthly king, who took their sons for his army, and their daughters for his cooks. This king took the best of their crops while they became his servants, all just as Samuel had said. But what, my father would ask, was Saul doing for his people? My father and his friends could only shake their heads in despair and pity for this sad example of a kingdom and its king.
Nabal Appears
Thus the conversations went, and thus life continued in our peaceful village. We seemed far away from David and his problems. So for us, day followed day, month followed month, and years passed in set patterns. Life was simple. And what could children know of their parents’ concerns, about crops failing, or illness keeping father from work?
Sunrise followed sunset, harvests followed plantings. Babies were born; the aged died. There were feast days, solemn occasions, festivals, and weddings. Most parents seemed eager to have their eldest sons or daughters marry and start families. I attended a number of weddings for my friends. But for me there seemed to be only friends… no one young man in particular. And my parents did not seem too inclined to rush me into marriage. At times I was content, but at other times I felt an uneasiness about the future. Sometimes it loomed dark and fearful ahead of me.
Then one day, he appeared in our village. It was not the first time he had come. This time, we were told, he had come looking for more servants. His name was Nabal, a descendant of Caleb, son of Jephunneh… a very wealthy man of Maon and Carmel. He had enormous flocks of sheep and goats, well-maintained vineyards, much land, and by far the grandest house in this area of Judah. He lived well. But those whom he hired were heard to mutter about his mean disposition and stingy ways. He worked his servants long hours with little pay. His whole way of life seemed to have changed, it was whispered, after the loss of his wife and son.
I saw him when I was visiting with some friends at the well. He stared long and hard at us, as he slowly passed by. His eyes traveled from girl to girl, woman to woman, examining each of us. I felt uneasy. At last, he turned to his head servant, spoke and then continued into the village on his business. The uneasiness I felt remained, like an ache in my body, long after he was gone. I tried to shrug it off, but something deep within me warned of grief to come. My friends and family laughed at my negative thoughts, so I ceased all mention of the incident. After all, Nabal was gone… wasn’t he?
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One