The story about Gideon going up against the Midianites in the book of Judges is a dramatic one. First there is a culling. The number of Israelites in his army is too great, and would diminish the effect of a victory. The Lord tells Gideon to send home everyone who is afraid. Twenty two thousand men take their leave. But the army is still too large to be an indisputable miracle, and God commands that they go down to the water's edge to drink. The men who lap up water like dogs are chosen while the ones who get down on their knees are left behind. Three hundred men are all that is left to go against a huge enemy.

The strategy is simple. They approach at night, encircling the sleeping foe, each with a trumpet and a lit torch inside an empty pitcher. At the signal they blow their horns and break their pitchers, revealing the blaze while shouting "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!"

Confusion erupts among the disoriented Midianites who grab their weapons and slay their companions. Three hundred unarmed men defeat a horde of soldiers in a matter of minutes.

From the safety of my livingroom I scoff at the foolish army. They actually lashed out at the very people they marched with, ate with, slept with. 

And yet.

This morning I woke up Ben and saw that he had slept in his suit. I shook my head and planned to scold John about making sure Ben puts on pajamas. Then the twins asked for English muffins and I found that he had bought the ones with raisins. Doesn't he know they prefer the kind without? Tsk tsk. 

Then I remembered Gideon. 

Here I was criticizing the person I love and live with. He had put Benjamin to bed, which sounded like a prickly process last night. He had gone shopping and brought home six bags of our favorite foods. Why on earth would I lash out at someone on my own team?

I would do well to stay awake and remember who the actual enemy is.