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Alliance Defending Freedom Representative
Colorado is at it again, trying to silence free speech. A law in Colorado forces businesses to use customers preferred pronouns even if they're biologically inaccurate and even if using those incorrect pronouns would violate a person's religious beliefs or conscience. That's a violation of free speech. But as Colorado has proved time and again, it has little concern for the First Amendment. At Alliance Defending Freedom were challenging the law on behalf of a Christian bookstore and a Colorado based sports apparel company, but a court recently ruled against them with ADF's help. They appealed the ruling and they'll continue fighting to ensure Colorado doesn't get away with this next attempt to skirt the First Amendment. Your gift helps protect free speech in cases like this all over the country. And for a limited time, your first gift to ADF is doubled by a special matching grant while funds last text Pray to 83848 or go to joinadf.com Pray to have your gift doubled previously
Narrator
on the Chosen People.
Jonathan
I love you more than a brother. Giant Slayer. Thanks for having my back.
David
At your service, my prince.
Narrator
Jonathan sat across from him, silent, thoughtful. Jonathan, the son of a king. The prince of Israel was born to lead men. Yet Jonathan knew that the Lord's hand was resting not on him, but on the young shepherd boy who now stirred the coals in front of him.
Jonathan
These are yours now, my royal armor and robe. Take care of them as you would your flock.
David
Why are you giving me these? Are you leaving?
Jonathan
Not because I must. Because I love you as my own soul.
Narrator
Let there be a covenant between us.
David
Under the eyes of God, we swear loyalty to one another. Our bond will be stronger than ambition, jealousy, marriage or crown.
Jonathan
The covenant of brotherhood. May God grant us favor.
Narrator
The fire crackled softly between them as the night stretched on. They spoke of many things. Of Israel's future, of war and peace, of God's power and grace. David's heart, long scarred by rejection and loneliness, began to heal in Jonathan. God had given him not only a friend, but a brother.
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Feeding America Representative
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you more of what you value.
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Nursemaid
Wake, my prince. Wake.
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The woman's hands trembled as she shook the boy, her voice sharp and terrified. Mephibosheth opened his eyes. His nursemaid tore the furs from his bed and thrust his tunic over his small arms with frantic fingers.
Nursemaid
We must go. There is no time, sweet boy. No time at all. Come now.
Narrator
Up the halls were choked with smoke. Shouts echoed beyond the door. The boy stumbled as she pulled him along, bare feet slapping against the cold flagstone.
Nursemaid
The Philistines. They've come. The borders are broken. Your father. Your grandfather. They've fallen. We must flee, my prince. You are all that remains.
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The child pulled at her hand, small and desperate. They burst onto a balcony overlooking the upper tiers of Gibeah. The city was bleeding fire.
Nursemaid
Your father. He's gone. Sweet child. This isn't the time for tears.
Ryan Reynolds
Tears.
Nursemaid
Now we run. We run for our lives.
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The nursemaid scooped Mephibosheth up in her arms. The boy writhed and kicked, blinded by tears and terror in his flailing, he slipped from her arms. His body tumbled through the air and struck the stairwell hard, bones crunching like snapped branches. The nurse made screamed. She leaped after him, cradling him in her arms where he lay on the stone steps, his legs twisted beneath him at angles no child's limbs should bend. The world around them burned. The banners of Saul no longer flew above the citadel. Screams echoed from the lower city, and ash began to fall like snow. Mephibosheth, son of Jonathan, was scooped up and taken to safety, and no one came back for him. His birthright was taken, his legs shattered and his name lost to history. From the rooftop of his palace, David watched the evening fall like a velvet curtain. Below him, the streets murmured with the slow life of twilight, merchants closing stalls, children shouting their last games before being called in, the scent of bread and burning oil wafting up to the heights. The City of David, they called it now, a monument to his triumphs, carved in cedar and stone. David tilted his head to the sky where the sun kissed the horizon with a bleeding orange. He breathed deep, and the air filled his lungs with the scent of lavender and dust. Yet it was not peace that filled him, only longing. His thoughts, as they often did, wandered back to Jonathan. David remembered his voice. Steady, noble, unwavering. He remembered the clasp of his hand, the strength in his arms when they embraced. He remembered a brother, not by blood but by oath. And he remembered the promise. That night in the wilderness, when the world had turned against them and Saul's madness hunted them both, Jonathan had spoken with the clarity of a prophet.
Jonathan
Do you remember what I told you the night I gave you my armor?
David
You said I would be king.
Narrator
I still believe it.
Jonathan
And I'm certain my father believes it too. That's why he hates you. When that day comes, when my father is dust and you sit on the throne, I ask only this. Show mercy to my house. Protect my wife, my children.
David
I swear it by the Lord's name. I will show your house kindness.
Narrator
David pressed his lips together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The house of Saul had crumbled, burned by war, shattered by its own pride. Yet if any thread remained from Jonathan's line, David would find it. He would keep his word. He had failed friends before. He would not fail this one.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
I will keep my promise. You're gone, Jonathan. But I will not break my covenant with you.
Narrator
The morning was quiet save for the faint scratching of quill upon parchment. David sat beneath a latticed window, the warm light of the sun falling upon scrolls, maps, and trade contracts. His crown lay unworn upon the table. A knock broke the silence. One of his guards opened the chamber door and an old man shuffled in. He was grey bearded and stoop shouldered, dressed in the humble linens of a house servant, but he carried himself with the careful grace of someone once accustomed to courtly halls. His name was Ziba, once chief steward to the House of Saul, once servant to a dead king, now displaced and forgotten like so many relics of the old order.
Ziba
You summoned me, my lord?
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David rose, motioned the man forward, and gestured to the seat across from him. His voice was gentle, but there was a tension in his shoulders.
David
Yes, Ziba, I need your men memory. You were a steward in the House of Sol, yes?
Ziba
Yes, my king. My served Saul of blessed memory and his children.
David
Tell me, does any soul yet live
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
from the House of Sol?
David
Any child? Any heir?
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Ziba turned flush at that question. His fingers twitched nervously and his eyes darted to the left. David could sense his nervousness.
David
I don't seek Enemies but kin. For the sake of Jonathan, I would show kindness.
Ziba
My lord. It is not often that new kings seek to bless the blood of those who once sat the throne. More often, the cleanse.
David
I am not Saul. And Jonathan was no rival. He was my brother in all but blood. If there's anyone left of his house, I must know.
Ziba
The Philistines were ruthless when they marched on Gabaea. Merciless, like animals. I barely escaped with my life. And
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Ziba trailed off, weighing the cost of the information he held. Then he looked at David. There was an earnestness in his eyes.
David
Ziba, I loved Jonathan more than anyone else in this world.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
Please, please, tell me what you know.
Ziba
There is us a son. Jonathan's youngest.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
He lives?
Ziba
He does, though he is broken, my lord. Crippled in both feet since childhood. The nursemaid fled with him the day your enemies took Saul in. Jonathan. In her haste, the boy fell down a stairwell. He has never walked correctly since.
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The king's breath caught in his chest.
David
All these years, all this time, I had no idea. Where is he now?
Ziba
He lives in Lo Debar. In the house of Makir, son of Amiel. A quiet place, forgotten by most. The boy is no prince there. He tends animals, sleeps among the straw. A servant, not a sovereign. I assure you, my king, he is no. No threat.
David
I didn't ask you out of jealousy, Ziba. Please believe me. I asked out of love.
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Ziba bowed once more.
David
Bring him to me. I must look upon him with my own eyes. I must do what I swore to do. So many, so many. So many winters.
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As the steward departed, David walked to the window. The sun had climbed higher now, warming the stone beneath his feet. But the king felt cold. He placed a hand over his heart and whispered, forgive me, Jonathan.
David
I'm late. But I have not forgotten.
Narrator
Mephibosheth crawled from barn to well and back again, dragging behind him a small wooden cart bearing two sloshing pails of water. His arms, wiry and bruised, bore the burden with dogged resolve. He had grown strong in his own way. Not the strength of swords or spears, but the quiet, stubborn strength of one who refused. His legs, twisted and useless since the fall, ached with every motion. His palms were thick with calluses. But Mephibosheth offered no complaint. He was like his father in that way, stubbornly optimistic against the tragedies of life that wouldn't relent. Since the war, he had lived here, in the shadows of another man's fields. Makir of Gilead had taken him in and clothed him, given him food, shelter, and quiet. But charity has its limits. Even when kindly given, he was tolerated. Not quite family, pitied, not quite loved. Mephibosheth did not begrudge it. That was the way of the world. Kingdoms fall, and with them princes crawl. He was halfway through his eighth journey from the well when the door to the house creaked open. Makeir's voice echoed across the yard.
David
Mephibosheth, come in, my boy. There's someone here who claims to know you.
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Mephibosheth froze. His hands slipped a little on the edge of the cart. No one came to see him. No one even knew he was alive. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and crawled slowly to the house. There, standing amidst the clay jars and linen, was a man he had not seen since childhood.
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Siba.
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The old steward turned and smiled, his eyes crinkling with fondness and regret.
Ziba
It is I, my prince.
Narrator
You've grown. Mephibosheth embraced him. There was an exchange of laughter, followed by the low tone of Ziba.
Ziba
I have come to take you to Jerusalem. The king has summoned you. He wishes to speak with you.
Mephibosheth
He knows I'm alive?
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Ziba nodded. Mephibosheth turned to Makeir, his eyes searching.
Mephibosheth
Is it to kill me? Has the new king found the last scrap of Sol's house and come to sweep it away?
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Ziba shifted uneasily, and Makeir crossed his arms.
Ziba
He says his intentions are good, but who can know for sure? So you're your grandfather. Dedicated the last years of his life trying to kill the king. Called him Serpent, Traitor, Usurper.
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Mephibosheth looked down at his withered legs. He was no threat. He had no sword, no armies, no claim. Only his name.
Mephibosheth
There is no more hiding.
Ziba
No, there is not. Whatever King David intends for you, it's inevitable.
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Mephibosheth winced and tightened his fists. He had to be brave. Brave like his father.
Mephibosheth
Then take me to him.
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the wheels of the carriage creaked as it climbed the hill toward the heart of Jerusalem. Ziba sat still, the reins loose in his hands, his eyes fixed forward. Mephibosheth said nothing. He sat hunched, his twisted legs folded awkwardly beneath him, the heat of the morning sun pressing down through the open slats of the carriage canopy as the city walls rose into view. Mephibosheth's breath caught in his throat. Towers crowned the skyline, and banners of deep red and gold fluttered in the breeze. The City of David. He felt small. The carriage halted before the gates of the palace. Great oaken doors stood open. Benaiah was there to welcome them.
Jonathan
Ziva, thank you for bringing Mephiboshef to us. I will escort him from here.
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Zibar knelt to Mephibosheth and gave him a hug.
Ziba
Be brave, my prince.
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Mephibosheth nodded and followed Benaiah through the palace doors. There was no fanfare, no trumpets. He followed behind Benaiah, dragging his frame on hands and knees. The hallway before the throne room stretched long and golden, lit by torches flickering against tall, polished walls. Once in the halls, Benaiah left. The doors echoed as they shut. Mephibosheth was alone, Waiting. Vulnerable. His eyes were drawn upward to the colors woven into the tapestries. They lined the stone walls like ancient memories stitched in cloth. Heroes and horrors, both. One caught his eye, a boy with a sling and a giant with a spear. Another showed the king, bloodied and roaring amid a circle of Philistines. But it was the final tapestry that stopped him cold. There were two men standing back to back in the thick of battle. One held a sword, the other a spear. Amalekites surged around them like a tide. One was David. Mephibosheth recognized him from the stories. The other wore armor etched with the sigil of the House of Saul. His hair Curled like Mephibosheth's. His stance was familiar, his face.
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Father.
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Mephibosheth reached out his hand, trembling, fingers brushing the cloth. His father stood frozen in the weave of war, forever fighting, forever young. Pain welled up inside him. He wept quietly. A tear rolled down one cheek, carving a path through the grime of travel. As Mephibosheth stared at the tapestry, a voice called from the shadows, low but warm.
David
Mephibosheth.
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He turned. There, a few paces away, stood the King of Israel. The boy dropped his gaze and fell prostrate to the floor. His voice trembled.
Mephibosheth
Please, my lord. I am your servant. I am no threat to your kingdom. Please, I beg you. Do not kill me.
Ziba
Kill you?
David
No, my son. Do not be afraid.
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David approached and the boy flinched. David paused, then did something no king in the known world would ever do. He knelt down to his level, where they could speak eye to eye.
David
Had I known you were alive, I would have sent for you long ago. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
Mephibosheth
Why would I need to forgive you?
David
Because your father was my. He was the finest man I've ever known. And I swore to him by the God we both served that I would look after his house as if it were my own.
Mephibosheth
You loved my father, didn't you? I remember so little of him.
David
I loved him more than I can say. He was brave, but not brash. He was righteous, but not selfish.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
Righteous.
David
And he saw something in me that nobody else but the Lord saw.
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David saw the longing in Mephibosheth's eyes. David may have lost a friend and brother, but he had lost a father. David smiled and gestured to the hall.
David
Come. Walk with me.
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David slowed his pace to match the crawl of Jonathan's. They crossed the great hall and servants pulled wide the iron banded doors to reveal a long table set with meats, bread, honey and fruit. No royal feast had ever been laid for one such as Mephibosheth. But David bade him sit, and for a long time they dined and talked as family. David spoke of the battles he and Jonathan had fought, of late nights, whispering under the stars, of blood shed and oaths sworn.
David
I vowed I would care for you. Today I make good on that vow. You shall eat at my table like my own son. You shall be one of us.
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Mephibosheth trembled, his calloused hands curled tightly. He bowed his head and tried to speak, but words choked in his throat. At last, with shame and tears, he found his voice.
Nursemaid
No.
Narrator
I'm not worthy.
Mephibosheth
Who am I? That A king would be mindful of me. I'm broken. A dead dog, nothing more. I'm not my father. He was a prince and a warrior, and I'm. I'm no one.
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David stood, walked around the table and knelt again at the boy's side.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
Come with me.
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They ascended to the rooftop, where the wind blew clean and the stars spilled like fire over the sky. It was just David and Mephibosheth, the king and the broken prince. David pointed up to the heavens.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
Look out, my son. What do you see?
Narrator
Mephibosheth was used to looking up, but not like this. He lifted his eyes. For the first time in years, he truly looked, not just with his eyes, but with his soul. The heavens danced with light, and it seemed as if the whole world had been cast in silver. David raised his head and began to recite a psalm of his heart. His voice was a hush upon the breeze.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name. In all the earth above the heavens you set your glory out of the mouth of babes. You've drawn strength when I consider the moon and stars, the work, your hands. What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man, that you care for him, yet you have crowned him with glory and honor.
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He fell silent. Mephibosheth could not speak. David looked at him earnestly.
David
You ask the question of why you're
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
worthy of such honor, Mephibosheth.
David
I asked the same question. Who am I that the Lord will be mindful of me? Who am I that he would consider me at all?
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David knelt again to the boy, tears on the creases of his eyes, glistening in the starlight.
Jonathan (voiceover or memory)
You are not a dead dog. You are the son of Jonathan and a child of God. He has not forgotten you, and neither will I.
Narrator
He called for Ziba, who appeared like a ghost in the torchlight.
David
Ziba. I restore to Mephibosheth all the lands of his grandfather Saul. You and your sons shall tend them, and the prince shall eat at my table all the days the of. Of his life.
Narrator
And Mephibosheth, the forgotten son, crawled to David and threw his arms around him and David held him like a father holds a wounded child for the first
Producer/Announcer
prayer is only made phybo she Our dedicated team of creative talents, Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Schellewager and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People. Narrated by Paul Coltofianu Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato Sarah Seltz Mike Reagan Stephen Ringwald Sylvia zaradoc, Thomas Copeland Jr. Rosanna Pilcher and Mitch Leschinsky. Music by Andrew Morgan Smith. Written by Aaron Salvato, Bree Rosalie and Chris Baig. You can hear more prey.com productions on the pray.com app available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed the chosen people, please rate and leave a review.
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Episode: David & The Broken Prince
Date: June 30, 2026
This episode of The Chosen People explores the deeply moving story of Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan, grandson of King Saul, and the covenant of steadfast love and loyalty that binds him to King David. Through dramatic, immersive storytelling, the episode paints a tapestry of grief, promise, mercy, and restoration, delving into the consequences of war, the trauma of loss, and the transformative nature of covenant faithfulness.
This episode stands as a stirring meditation on grace, legacy, and the steadfast love that bridges loss, pain, and restoration—inviting listeners to consider how God’s faithfulness can redeem brokenness in any era.