Three hundred men. That’s all we had. Every time I looked at the other camps, I counted more tents than I could even guess. Midianites. Amalekites. Raiders from the east. Thousands of them. Their fires lit up the hills like stars had fallen from the sky.
I remember gripping my rock tighter. Not a sword. Not a bow. Just a rock. I thought maybe if it came down to it, I’d get lucky and knock someone out.
My name’s Ethan. I carried water for the soldiers. Not a fighter, not even old enough. But I wanted to see what G-d would do.
It all changed when Gideon told the tens of thousands to go home. At first, just the ones who were scared. I expected maybe ten or twenty would leave. But thousands walked away. The air seemed to vanish when they did—I wanted to run after them.
Then, more were sent home. G-d told Gideon, the leader of our army, that there were still too many. So he took the rest down to the river. “Watch how they drink,” he said. I thought it was a test of strength or something. But no—it was about alertness. About obedience.
Only 300 were chosen. My older brother, James, was one of them. That night, he didn’t sleep. None of them did.
I couldn’t stop thinking: Is G-d really going to help us win? Is faith enough when enemies outnumber you a hundred to one?
Then came the strangest plan I’d ever heard. No swords. No ambush. Just trumpets, clay jars, and torches.
“G-d said this battle isn’t ours to win,” Gideon told them. “He will fight for us. All we have to do is obey.”
I watched from behind the line of hills as the men crept down to the edges of the enemy camp in three groups. When Gideon raised his torch, they smashed their jars, blew their trumpets, and shouted, “A sword for G-d and for Gideon!”
Chaos erupted. Enemy soldiers came stumbling from their tents, too scared to tell friend from foe. They turned on each other, running and swinging in every direction. I’d never seen anything like it—thousands falling without us lifting a single sword.
When it was over, we walked into a silent valley that had once been a city of war. No tents. No fires. Just quiet. G-d had delivered us. With three hundred faithful men.
James said later, “I wasn’t brave. I was just willing.” Maybe that’s what faith really is.
We didn’t win because we were the strongest or smartest. We won because we trusted when it made no sense.
And I think about that every time I get scared. Because G-d doesn’t need a thousand to change everything. Sometimes, He just needs one who’s ready to believe.
Three hundred men. That’s all we had. Every time I looked at the other camps, I counted more tents than I could even guess. Midianites. Amalekites. Raiders from the east. Thousands of them. Their fires lit up the hills like stars had fallen from the sky.
I remember gripping my rock tighter. Not a sword. Not a bow. Just a rock. I thought maybe if it came down to it, I’d get lucky and knock someone out.
My name’s Ethan. I carried water for the soldiers. Not a fighter, not even old enough. But I wanted to see what G-d would do.
It all changed when Gideon told the tens of thousands to go home. At first, just the ones who were scared. I expected maybe ten or twenty would leave. But thousands walked away. The air seemed to vanish when they did—I wanted to run after them.
Then, more were sent home. G-d told Gideon, the leader of our army, that there were still too many. So he took the rest down to the river. “Watch how they drink,” he said. I thought it was a test of strength or something. But no—it was about alertness. About obedience.
Only 300 were chosen. My older brother, James, was one of them. That night, he didn’t sleep. None of them did.
I couldn’t stop thinking: Is G-d really going to help us win? Is faith enough when enemies outnumber you a hundred to one?
Then came the strangest plan I’d ever heard. No swords. No ambush. Just trumpets, clay jars, and torches.
“G-d said this battle isn’t ours to win,” Gideon told them. “He will fight for us. All we have to do is obey.”
I watched from behind the line of hills as the men crept down to the edges of the enemy camp in three groups. When Gideon raised his torch, they smashed their jars, blew their trumpets, and shouted, “A sword for G-d and for Gideon!”
Chaos erupted. Enemy soldiers came stumbling from their tents, too scared to tell friend from foe. They turned on each other, running and swinging in every direction. I’d never seen anything like it—thousands falling without us lifting a single sword.
When it was over, we walked into a silent valley that had once been a city of war. No tents. No fires. Just quiet. G-d had delivered us. With three hundred faithful men.
James said later, “I wasn’t brave. I was just willing.” Maybe that’s what faith really is.
We didn’t win because we were the strongest or smartest. We won because we trusted when it made no sense.
And I think about that every time I get scared. Because G-d doesn’t need a thousand to change everything. Sometimes, He just needs one who’s ready to believe.
