David. King David. My beloved. Michelangelo’s David.
He was that large for the viewing, that stunningly breath-stealing. 17 feet of glistening marble. His curls spun of gold and his eyes of piercing strength, softened only by the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Three angels to his left and three angels to his right would lift the corners of his lips until his cheekbones lifted into heaven—and me with them.
He was 6 years old, I was 5, but my crush was the substance “curiously wrought” before we were born (Psalms 139: 15-16). Sunday morning church primary was my only time to see him. And so, David, a man after God’s own heart, King David: the second king of Israel, after my father’s reign, became ruler.
Look: Evolve 