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Story 2
At last the day came
when Elijah woke up and found that even the trickle had dried
up. And it was on that same day the raven stopped visiting
Elijah with his packet of food. Once again Elijah became
irritated with God. Now what was he supposed to do? As he
paced the rocky terrain, he heard God's voice: "Arise, get thee to Zarephath…and dwell there:
behold I have commanded a widow woman there to sustain thee."
(v. 9)
Historical setting:
Time:Around 875 B.C.
Places: Zarephat
Persons: Elijah, a
widow, and her son
Scripture: I Kings 17:17-24
Elijah
began his long, hot trek from the brook Cherith, close to the
river Jordan, all the way north towards the Great Sea, to the
city of Zarephath, in the land of Phoenicia. During this time
of travel all he had to go on was God's word that there was a
widow in that land who had been instructed to look after him.
As he entered the city of Zarephath, he saw a woman picking
up sticks. He went up to her and said, "Please bring me a little water in a cup, that I
may drink."
Although the water was scarce here as well, the woman made
no protest. She headed to the house to bring a cup of water to
the rough, dirty stranger. As she neared the house, she heard
the man speak again. "Please bring me a
morsel of bread in your hand."
Who did this vagrant think he was! Not only had he asked
for water, now he was asking for bread! "Sir," she replied, "I
have no bread. I live alone with my young son. I was out here
today gathering sticks to make a fire so that I could use my
last flour and my last oil to make a last cake for my son and
myself, before we settle in to die. Surely you must know there
is a drought in the land and no one has food or water to
spare--"
Elijah cut her off. "Don't fear, my good lady. Go make the
cake you were going to make, but make me a small cake first,
and bring it to me. After you have done that, then go and make
a cake for yourself and your son. As my God lives, the flour
and oil that you now have will not be used up, not until the
day that God sends rain on the land again."
As the widow entered the house to make this rough looking
traveler a cake, it dawned on her that this must be the
prophet God had told her to look after. A mixture of thoughts
tumbled around in her head as she stirred up the cake for
Elijah. While he was eating, the widow went upstairs to fix a
room for God's prophet, as she now recognized him to be. She
knew he would be her guest until the day that God told him to
leave.
Life went along more smoothly now for the widow. In fact,
she liked having Elijah around. He entertained her young son
while she went about doing her housework. The burden and pain
of seeing her little boy suffering the pangs of hunger were
lessened. She even found herself singing, once again, as she
did her house work. She no longer had that ache in her
heart--that ache that mothers get when they know that their
children are suffering. She had run out of excuses to give to
her boy, about why she could not allow him to eat all he
wanted, about why he could not drink until his thirst was
quenched. She had been dreading the day that she would have to
tell the lad to eat slowly, as he was having his last meal…
But then tragedy struck. On this particular morning, the
widow went in to wake her son for breakfast, but she couldn't
awaken him. She shook him, thinking that he was exhausted from
his playing the day before. She shook him again. Panic struck
her. Putting her head to his chest, she listened for a
heartbeat. She couldn't hear it. She put her hand on his
forehead. It was stone cold. Her little boy was dead!
Picking up her dead son she went running to Elijah. "Is
this how you repay me for my hospitality? Look at my son! He's
dead. Why have you killed my son? Why did I have anything to
do with you, you man of God? Have you come to my house to
remind me of my past sins? Why punish my innocent little boy.
Why have you allowed this to happen? Oh, my son! My son!" She
hugged her dead son to her, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Give me your son," said Elijah, in his gruff manner. Then
gently he removed the dead boy from his mother's clutch and
carried him to his own room, laying him on his bed. Almost
angrily he began to talk to God. "Oh Lord, why have You done
this? Why have You brought tragedy on this widow who has so
kindly taken me in and shared with me of her meager supplies?
Why have you killed her son?"
Then Elijah stretched himself out on the boy, crying out to
God. "O Lord my God, I pray, let this
child's soul come back to him." The boy did not
respond. Again Elijah lay on top of the boy, willing his soul
back into him. And again he cried out to God, "O Lord my God, I pray, let this child's soul
come back to him." But still no response. Elijah
stretched himself on the boy's body a third time, desperately
crying: "O Lord my God, I pray, let this
child's soul come back to him." Oh, why had God
done this? What was He trying to prove? What crime had this
little boy committed—or his mother? "Oh God," he cried again.
"Hear me! Hear me." He looked down on the white face of the
child, noticing now a slow pinkness creeping into his cheeks.
Slowly, slowly, the boy opened his eyes. Rubbing them, he
looked up at Elijah.
With his rugged old eyes sparkling, and the boy smiling
back up at him, Elijah carried the child down the stairs from
the upper room. "See," he said to the widow, "your son is not
dead." He placed the boy in the arms of his weeping mother.
Hugging her son to her, the widow turned to Elijah. "Now I
know for sure that you are a man of God. I know that whatever
you say is from God and it is the truth."
Elijah stayed with the widow for several more days, until
God told him it was time for him to move on. It was time for
him to go and see King Ahab.
© Helen Dowd
Please read Story 3: The Contest of Fire
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