“As surely as the Lord your God lives, ... I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.” -1 Kings 17:12, NIV
I understand why she wanted to give up. She every reason to do so.
She could’ve abandoned her son in the arms of a stranger- but she didn’t.
She could’ve stolen some bread from someone who had a bit too much- but she didn’t.
She could’ve taken her own life- but she didn’t.
In her heart, she knew everybody in her town faced drought and foreclosure. They were losing jobs, families, huts, dreams. There was no way, no human way, to stretch her budget.
“Don’t be afraid”, he said. Would she actually bake that bread?
It kept ringing in her mind: “Don’t be afraid…Don’t be afraid…Don’t’ be afraid…” The more she kept thinking about it, the more afraid she was. One moment, she was preparing her family’s last meal; now, she had to sacrifice it for a Tishbite. A Tishbite, out of all the people! Had it been for the king, that she could’ve done; at least there would be some recompense for her effort. But for a Tishbite who randomly waltzed in her home…
The God of the Tishbite was definitely right.
The pantry was full of oil and water and silver flour. Her kitchen was squeaky-clean, topped with a bowl of edible, Mediterranean fruits and vegetables. Her kid was playing wooden airplanes with a smile on his hand. The desert noon cooled over. And in her face, the Tishbite saw a tear confused with a smile.
It was the smile the God of Hosts always wanted to see on her face.
I’m sure that God loves miracles…