My grandmother noticed my growing interest in religion around this time and bought me a King James Bible. Grandma suggested the stories of Saul and David in the books of Samuel. I dug in, enchanted by the language and the history.
And I was appalled.
David, King of Israel, was having an affair with a woman he saw bathing on her roof? Then he sent her husband off to die so he could marry her instead?
I was appalled.
I called my grandmother.
“What was David doing with Bathsheba?” I asked.
“What was Bathsheba doing on the roof?” she replied.
“Bathsheba wasn’t the King of Israel,” I said.
Rather strict I was about my prophet’s morals, me.
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