A Seat at the King's Table for a Forgotten Boy

Once there was a boy named Mephibosheth.

It is a big name for a boy whose life had grown very small.

When he was little, his feet were hurt, and they never got better. He could not run. He could not dance. He had to be carried wherever he went. And he lived far away, in a place with a sad, dusty name. Lo-debar, it was called. It means "no pasture." A place where nothing much grows. A place where forgotten people go to be forgotten.

Mephibosheth's grandfather had once been a king. But that king was gone now, and a new king sat on the throne. His name was David.

All those long years in Lo-debar, Mephibosheth was sure of one thing: the king would want him gone. "I am the old king's family," he thought. "I am broken. There is no place for me. If the king ever remembers I am alive, it will only be to be rid of me."

So he stayed small. He stayed hidden. He waited for the worst.

But up in the palace, King David was not trying to forget. He was trying to remember.

"Is there anyone left?" David asked. "Anyone from the old king's family? I made a promise to my dear friend Jonathan, long ago. Is there anyone I can show kindness to? Anyone at all?"

God had just made David a promise that would last forever, a family and a throne that would never end. And now David wanted to keep a promise of his own. He was hunting for someone to love, the way most kings hunt for someone to punish.

And they told him: there is one. A boy. His feet are hurt. He lives far away, in the place where nothing grows.

"Bring him to me," said the king.

So they went and got him.

Imagine it. The soldiers come. They carry Mephibosheth all the long way from Lo-debar. And the whole time his heart is pounding, because he is sure this is the end.

They set him down before the king. He falls on his face, trembling, waiting.

But David leans toward him and says his name. Gently. "Mephibosheth."

"Do not be afraid," says the king. "I am going to be kind to you, for the sake of someone I loved. I am giving back everything your family lost. And you will eat at my table. Always. With me. Like one of my own sons."

Picture that table, night after night. The king's grown sons, strong and tall. And right there among them, carried in and seated in the place of honor, the boy from the place where nothing grows. The boy who was sure there was no place set for him. Now he was a son at the king's table, for good.

And under the table, where no one could see, his feet were still hurt.

But it didn't matter anymore. The tablecloth covered them. He was a son now. He belonged.

Do you ever feel like Mephibosheth? Sure that you are too broken, too forgotten, too far away to ever have a place?

A day was coming when another King would go looking for people just like that, so he could carry them home and love them. He would walk all the way to the places where nothing grows. All the way to the broken and the hidden. All the way to you.

That King is Jesus. And even back then, in David's kindness to a frightened boy, you can hear him coming. A seat was being set. A son was being made out of someone the whole world had crossed off.

You don't have to be strong enough to walk to the table. The King carries you in himself.

Every evening after that, in the bright palace hall, a servant set one more plate, and the boy from Lo-debar sat down among the sons of the king. One day the King of kings will set his table too, and there will be a seat with your name on it.