Updated: Apr 21, 2020
The muffled sounds of the camp echoed in his aching head. Thousands of men snored or kept watch under the heavy tent of night. More would come tomorrow. More who trusted that Gideon knew what he was doing. Under a twisted blanket, Gideon tried to slow his breathing, counting each breath as it expanded his chest. His weary leg twitched and he frowned without opening his eyes. All day long he had been too busy to think, but now that his body was at rest, his anxieties plowed deep furrows in his mind while his worries planted seeds of doubt.
Was he doing the right thing? What if he had misunderstood, or worse yet, had imagined everything? In the murkiness of elusive slumber, his imagination toyed with him, teasing him that he was delusional, or that it hadn't been the angel of the Lord speaking to him at all. His eyes snapped open at that thought. What if all these men were following him to their deaths?
He kicked off his blanket and pulled on his tunic. He tugged his fleece over his shoulders to ward off the chill. As he tied the belt around his waist, he heard a soft voice.
“Is everything all right?” Purah, his servant asked. In the feeble light of a dying fire, Gideon saw the young man had stretched himself across the doorway to the tent. He felt a mixture