But Barzillai answered the king, “How many more years will I live, that I should go up to Jerusalem with the king?“
2 Samuel 19:34 (NIV)

I turned 60 at the end of April. Suddenly, Wendy and I are having more purposeful conversations about how we want the “third phase” of our life journeys to look. What’s the timeline for phasing out of careers and into retirement — and what does that phasing out look like? What does retirement even mean to us? What calling or purposes does God have for us on the road ahead? Where do we invest our time, energy, gifts, and resources?

Those are big life questions. Yet along life’s road, we encounter seasons when big life questions must be answered. Today’s chapter is a testament to that.

David has survived his son’s coup, but he still finds himself living in exile with a generous old man named Barzillai. Barzillai gave David shelter and provided for the king and his men.

But upon news of his rebellious son’s death, David had cycled into a paralysis of grief for Absalom. It gets so bad that General Joab confronts the king with a harsh rebuke and reminds David that he still has a responsibility to lead. Joab essentially says, “You are grieving the dead son who tried to destroy you to the point you are neglecting and dishonoring the living who risked everything for you.”

The rebuke is harsh, but true.

David composes himself, sits at the city gate, and resumes his duties as king. Leadership sometimes requires showing up—even when your heart doesn’t want to. David rises from his grief and despair to take up his responsibilities and do what needs to be done.

David needs to return from exile to Jerusalem. He must begin the process of healing the political and relational wounds that almost tore the nation in two and nearly lost David his throne. As he prepares to leave, he makes his host, Barzillai, a generous offer. David invites the wealthy old man to a place of honor in his palace, where David promises to always provide for him.

Barzillai politely declines. I find his response beautiful:

“I am now eighty years old. Can I tell the difference between what is enjoyable and what is not? Can your servant taste what he eats and drinks? Can I still hear the voices of male and female singers? Why should your servant be an added burden to my lord the king? … Let your servant return, that I may die in my own town near the tomb of my father and mother. But here is your servant Kimham. Let him cross over with my lord the king. Do for him whatever you wish.”

At eighty, Barzillai declines luxury. Instead of seeing old age as loss, Barzillai contentedly embraces the wise perspective it offers. He understands what matters. He chooses home over prestige. Few characters in the Great Story exit the stage with such quiet dignity.

As I meditated on both David and Barzillai this morning, it struck me that they have for me a beautiful lesson about what is required at different stages of this life journey.

David has every reason to remain upstairs in his room. His son is dead. His family is shattered. His kingdom is fragile. His own failures helped create this catastrophe. Who could blame him for staying behind closed doors?

Yet eventually he stands. He walks downstairs. He sits at the city gate. He becomes king again. Not because the pain is gone, but because his calling remains.

Along this journey, I’ve encountered seasons when grief, betrayal, disappointment, or exhaustion make me want to withdraw from the world. I want to stay in the upper room with my tears and brood. Returning feels impossible. But God has always offered me the same invitation David received—not to deny my grief, but to carry it with me as I get back to work.

Maturity doesn’t mean I never break. Maturity means walking back to the gate and doing what needs to be done — even with a broken heart.

Barzillai and David leave me with two complementary images. David teaches me that sorrow does not cancel my calling. Barzillai teaches me that faithfulness also means knowing when to hand the work to someone else.

Both are acts of humility. One rises from grief. The other rests in contentment. Both are required on life’s road. Faithfulness is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is simply showing up for today’s assignment— other times it is graciously entrusting tomorrow’s assignment to someone else.

Today, the former is my calling — but it won’t be long before I will be invited to embrace the latter. Which means there are more purposeful discussions ahead for Wendy and me to enjoy.

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