My Son, My Son

Transcript

Hello, my friend… so glad you're with me today. This is By God's Call — day 95, My Son, My Son.

Second Samuel 18, verse 33. Steady your heart, because this is one of the most painful cries in all of Scripture:

"And the king was deeply moved and went up to the chamber over the gate and wept. And as he went, he said, 'O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!'"

To understand the size of this grief, you need to remember what Absalom had done. This was not a small falling-out. Absalom had rebelled against his own father, the king, tried to seize the throne by force, gathered an army against him, and driven him into fleeing Jerusalem like a fugitive in his own land. And yet — even with all of that — as war was about to break out, David pulled his generals aside and pleaded, "Deal gently for my sake with the young man Absalom."

And when the news comes — Absalom is dead — David does not celebrate the military victory. He climbs, alone, to the chamber above the gate, and collapses.

Notice the language. He cannot form whole sentences. "My son." "Absalom." "My son, my son." The name repeats, stumbles, comes back, as if the grief is too large to fit inside complete sentences. Have you ever cried like that? The kind of crying where words simply stop making sense and all that's left is repeating the name of the one who's gone? That is exactly what is happening here. This is raw grief, unfiltered, with no royal ceremony left in it at all — just a shattered father.

And then comes the line that cuts deepest: "Would I had died instead of you." Think about what that means. This was the son who had turned against him. Who had tried to take his throne, destroy his reign, perhaps even kill him. And still, in the final moment, David's wish was not vengeance or relief — it was exchange. He would have traded his own life for Absalom's, without hesitation.

That is the portrait of a love that is not measured by what the child deserves. Absalom's betrayal was real, and its consequences were real. But none of that shrank the father's love. Real love does not calculate merit before it hurts. It simply hurts, because it loves.

And I cannot help but see, in this scene, a distant echo — small, human, imperfect, but real — of God's own heart. Because there is something in David's cry that whispers about a Father who also watches children rebel, drift away, choose paths that destroy them, and who feels genuine pain over it — and still never stops loving. The difference is that God, unlike David, actually found a way to trade places. He sent His own Son to die in the place of rebellious children like us.

So today, I want to ask you: is there someone in your life who rebelled, who drifted away, who made choices that caused real pain? A child, a sibling, a friend? Maybe you've rightly set necessary boundaries. But love can still exist alongside boundaries. David wept for the one who had turned against him — and that is not weakness. It is proof of a love that refuses to die along with the relationship.

So pray today, by name, for that person. Ask God to sustain your love for them to the end, even if reconciliation feels distant or impossible right now.

Stay close to God. Pray — then act. I'll see you tomorrow, my friend.