Note: This story has sensitive/mature content, but don't let that scare you away. The Bible has that stuff, too. :)
From A Broken Line
I need to explain some things to you. About the way things happened, about the choices I made and the ones that were made for me. I need to explain about the boxes I’ve been put in and the pieces of my story that don’t fit on a felt board. It isn’t as simple as all that.
Some people tell my story with my back arched and my breasts full. They describe me in a tub in the middle of the day, my hair swinging in the wind like a Vidal Sassoon commercial. I wanted the king to find me on the roof top; I had been waiting for him in my nakedness. He was falling into my trap.
More likely I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. I was doing what God asked me to do, the ritual cleansing, the purification. I was obeying the Lord, I was honoring the law.
Is that the piece of my story that people are uncomfortable with? You aren’t always protected by your own purity, honoring the law doesn’t always save you. That is sometimes what they teach in Sunday school, isn’t it? God has rules, you follow them. Following God’s laws keeps you safe.
Except for when it doesn’t. Sometimes doing the right thing at the right time leaves you naked and vulnerable. Sometimes, the king calling you to his bedroom quarters has nothing to do with you at all.
My part of this tale is written nowhere else but on my heart. Did I run to the bedroom and leap into the kings arms? Did I hang my head in shame at the touch of hands not belonging to my husband? Did I cry in ecstasy or agony? I suppose it depends on who is telling the tale.
One thing everyone seems to agree about: my relationship with David was conceived in sin. Even if it wasn’t my sin, it was a sin none the less.
And yet… And yet my name is uttered as the forebearer to Jesus. Jesus was sewn from my broken line. I wish that was the story that was told. Sin you caused and sin you are a victim of, all of sin can be redeemed. Jesus is sewn into broken lines.
But that story doesn’t fit on the felt board. It doesn’t fit in the boxes they want to stuff me in, so instead I am Bathsheba: temptress, victim.
I wish they would call me what I am, forebearer to the King, fully redeemed.
Drawn from the story of David and Bathsheba from 2 Samuel 11.
Abby Norman lives and loves in the city of Atlanta. She has two hilarious children and a husband that doubles as her copy editor and biggest fan. If two in diapers and a full time job teaching English at a local high school don’t keep her busy, you can find her blogging at accidentaldevotional.com.