My father died when I was very young. I don’t really remember him, but my mother talked about him often. She loved him very much. To honor him, she wanted me to grow big and strong so that I could carry on his name.
She was a nervous woman, always calling after me –
“Be careful!”
“Wash yourself!”
“Eat your dinner!”
Like most moms, I guess.
But she was mostly concerned about sacrifices. She was afraid that if she didn’t keep God’s favor, he would take her life. Or worse, mine.
This is how I grew up in Zarephath. Just me and my mom. I would help her prepare food and keep the house clean. Even though I was only six years old, she needed my help. Of course, I needed her more.
And then one day, it stopped raining.
I didn’t mind at first. This meant I could play outside in the early morning before it got too hot. My mom didn’t like me to go outside if it was wet.
But after a long time, my mom started to look worried. We had to eat less and less each day. I started to feel hungry and when I told my mom, she would just shake her head. I stopped complaining, and my mom didn’t have to remind me to finish my dinner anymore.
She sat me down one day and looked me in the eye. She normally did this if I was in trouble, but this time she didn’t look angry. She looked like she was sorry.
She told me that her God had spoken. He had commanded her to go out to gather sticks for a fire and that she would meet a man by the town gate. She was supposed to give that man food. I asked her what food she could give him. She told me that we only had enough food left for one meal – “Only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug.” She didn’t know what food she could give this man, but she couldn’t upset her God.
She told me to be a good boy and that she would be back soon.
And then she left.
I wasn’t sure what to do.
I was very scared.
I was only six years old.
What could I do?
Nothing.
But then I thought of someone who could do something. If my mom feared this God enough to offer sacrifices and honor his messages, then he must be very powerful. So I prayed. I knelt down and covered my head the way I saw my mom do. Later I would learn this was not the way for a man, but it was all I knew.
I tried to be strong and to ask God to save my mom, to send some food. But I couldn’t. I fell to the ground and I cried. I cried to the God of my mother. I didn’t know the words to use to ask for comfort and protection. So I cried instead.
And in the middle of my tears and sobs and screams,
A still,
Small,
Voice
Washed through me.
It didn’t really say words, but it comforted me, and let me know that we would be okay. I trusted that voice, and tired from worry, I fell into a peaceful sleep.
I woke to the smell of baking bread. My mother was back from her journey, and she was baking our final meal.
“Did you find him?” I asked my mom, asking about the man she was supposed to feed.
“Yes!” she replied, overjoyed, “and I am making a meal for him with the last of our flour.” I didn’t understand why this would make her happy. But I decided to wait and see.
I walked with her out of the house to feed our guest. He was an older man. He said hello to me, said his name was Elijah, and that he was a prophet of God. He thanked us for the meal, and said that because of our faith, “The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD gives rain on the land.”
It was amazing! My mother’s God – who I now accepted as my own – had saved us! We would not die.
Well,
We would not starve.
About a year later, when I was seven, I fell ill. Not the kind of sickness that little kids get all the time that makes you sore and sleepy. The kind of sickness that can kill you.
When I finally did stop breathing, my mother became angry. She ran to Elijah, who had been staying at our house since we met him. When she found him, she cried, “What do you have against me, man of God? Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?”
She did not understand why God would save her son only to take him away again. But Elijah comforted her, saying, “Give me your son.” She showed the prophet my still and ashen body and he took me to his room. Elijah stretched himself out over my body and he cried desperately to the LORD, much as I had when I thought we might starve. Between sobs he managed the words, “O LORD my God, let this boy’s life return to him!”
It’s an amazing thing to feel life leave and then return to your body. It was like being born all over again.
And I guess I was.
My life of faith was only beginning.
1 Kings 17
Neglected Word 