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Broken Record

My brother’s like a broken record.  He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.

King Rehoboam

As I rode on my chariot to Jerusalem like my life depended on it, the report of Hadoram’s stoning still haunting me, I wondered what had gone wrong. I had followed my friends’ advice, after all. The people of Israel had implored me to lighten the “burdensome service” of my father, King Solomon, and then they would serve me. I told them to come back in three days so I would have time to think about it. I asked the elders for advice. Surely, they would see the error of the Israelites’ ways.

But no. Instead the elders said, “If you are kind to these people, and please them, and speak good words to them, they will be your servants forever.”

“In other words, you want me to…listen to them?”

“Yes. That would be the best thing for you to do,” one of the elders said.

Why would I listen to the people when I was their king? I was the one running everything. What right did the people have to ask me for their labor to be lightened? Those elders obviously didn’t know what they were talking about. I asked my friends for advice instead. My buddies would give way better advice than a few old, feeble kooks. We had grown up together, so they’d understand.

My friends said, “Tell them, ‘My little finger shall be thicker than my father’s waist! I will make my yoke even worse than my father’s; my father chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scourges!’”

Okay, looking back on it now, that does sound a little harsh. And I guess it may not have been the best way to go about things. But it’s not like I was that mean to the Israelites when they returned on the third day. It was just something that would keep them in line.

Except it didn’t.

Instead they said, “We have no inheritance in the son of Jesse. Every man to your tents, O Israel! Now see to your own house, O David!” Then they had the nerve to leave.

I had sent Hadoram to keep them in check, but they stoned him to death! If they were willing to stone him, what’s going to stop them from doing the same thing to me?

In retrospect, maybe I should have listened to the elders, as annoying as that would have been. But what else was I going to do? Let the people I ruled walk all over me? Anyway, I don’t have time to regret my actions. Israel has made Jeroboam king instead of me! As soon as I’m safe in Jerusalem, I’m going to gather up an army and reclaim Israel to restore my kingdom, and no one’s going to stop me!

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