Then there’s Nebuchadnezzar—the big man in Babylon, golden statue, forced worship, all eyes on him. But three young men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, stood firm. They wouldn’t bow. And what did he do? He lost it. That’s narcissistic rage. His ego was so fragile that their faith felt like rebellion.
All these examples point to one thing: our rage erupts when the narcissist is challenged, confronted, or rejected. If you’re in the middle of it, it can feel like you’re losing your mind. Calm down, but I promise you this: rage is not your fault; it is a symptom of a deeper sickness within the narcissist.
Friend, don’t let their storm define your worth. You were never meant to shrink just to survive someone else’s brokenness, but you were not created to be collateral damage in another person’s war with their own reflection.
The story of Saul and David hits deeper than most—not just because of what happened, but because so many of us have lived it without wearing a crown. It’s a story of favor turned to fury, of love warped into hate. If you’ve ever been blindsided by someone who once adored you, you’ll feel this in your bones. David wasn’t just some footnote in Israel’s history; he was the hero of the hour—the shepherd boy who struck down a giant with a stone and a shout. He should have been celebrated by all, including the king. At first, he was. Saul brought him close, loved him, welcomed him into the palace. David brought music into the halls and peace into the king’s troubled soul.
But here’s where the ground shifts. The people, especially the women, came dancing into the streets. They sang their joy, their relief, their pride: “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” Just two lines, just one chorus—that was all it took. That song didn’t just wound the narcissist’s pride; it shattered it. From that moment on, Saul’s heart twisted. Jealousy grew into bitterness, admiration soared into suspicion, and rage bloomed like a curse. Saul started watching David, not with affection, but with that cold dark stare—the kind that measures a man, not to bless him, but to bury him.
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