There is a pretty fascinating story about Gideon in the Bible. If you are not familiar let me catch you up. He kind of dares God to prove that he has been chosen to fight for Israel. First he places a fleece on the ground and challenges God to make the fleece wet, leaving the ground around it dry. Which He does. Then as if that is not enough, Gideon asks God to leave the fleece dry, and the ground around it wet with dew. Done. 

 

I admit to having longed for such a tangible sign of providence, at some of the more bumpy junctures in my life. But I relied on prayer instead. 

 

Gideon has an army of 32,000 men, but God opts to increase the odds against the Midianites, whose numbers were "impossible to count". First he is to send away those who are afraid, and 22,000 went home. But God wanted the victory to be even more spectacular, so He created a test in which the soldiers drank from the stream. Those who crouched low were excused, leaving just three hundred men. 

 

There is Gideon, with a small but dedicated army, facing an encampment of enemies that stretch out like locusts across the land. With a ruse of clay pitchers, torches and trumpets the Israelites stir up such a frenzy of fear that the Midianites wake up from a dead sleep and flail their swords at each other. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers either slay each other or run for their lives. 

 

Conquered. 

 

If I were to imagine the evil forces that surround me, trying to undermine my family and community, this would be an effective strategy. By tricking me into tearing into my husband, or children, or neighbors they defeat all of us without lifting a finger. Except to cup their hands and whisper divisiveness in my ear.