When my cousin, Steve, was eleven years old, he found himself in the wrong cow pasture, facing the wrong bull—if there is a right bull. His mom watched in horror from the other side of the fence, yelling, “Run, Stevie, run!” Steve quickly realized he couldn’t outrun the large Angus and stopped to pick up some small rocks in his path. He aimed for the bull’s face and threw the rocks with all the force an eleven-year-old boy could muster. The bull stopped in its tracks. Steve, like David before him, defeated the giant with a handful of stones and sheer bravado.