Elijah & the Widow of Zarephath

I have been reading through 1 Kings recently and came across the portion of Scripture that speaks of Elijah and the destitute widow of Zarephath.

In a time of great famine and drought, Elijah came to the widow asking her to make him a cake, using the last of the flour and oil she had. She knew that this little amount of flour and oil stood between her son's and her own starvation; however, because this request came from the Lord, she obeyed and offered all she had, not questioning the Lord's goodness to her but trusting in His character, His infinite mercy and His overwhelming desire for her ultimate good--in the midst of suffering and even potential death for her self and her son. (...and, not to mention, without understanding why God would ask her to make Elijah a cake when her and son had nothing more to eat and really nothing to give another?!) Oh, to have a trust like hers, to obey without reservation. I pray that this characterizes me one day!

The widow at Zarephath never imagined the far-reaching effects of her obedience. "There was food for him and for her and her family for a long time. The jar of flour did not give out nor did the flask of oil fail" (1 Kings 17:15-16). God is so good--and does far more than we can ever imagine with our suffering, our loss, our heartache, our weaknesses, our poverty, our misery!

Amy Carmichael wrote a poem that provides an incredible analogy between suffering and the poverty of the widow of Zarephath.

Nothing in the House

Thy servant, Lord, hath nothing in the house,
Not even one small pot of common oil;
For he who never cometh to spoil
Hath raided my poor house again, again,
That ruthless strong man armed, whom men call Pain.

I thought that I had courage in the house,
And patience to be quiet and endure,
And sometimes happy songs; now I am sure
Thy servant truly hath not anything,
And see, my song-bird hath a broken wing.

***

My servant, I have come into the house--
I who know Pain's extremity so well
That there can never be the need to tell
His power to make the flesh and spirit quail:
Have I not felt the scourage, the thorn, the nail?

And I, his Conqueror, am in the house,
Let not your heart be troubled: do not fear:
Why shouldst thou, child of Mine, if I am here?
My touch will heal thy song-bird's broken wing,
And he shall have a braver song to sing.

The Lord redeems our pain, our misery, our hurt. He heals our broken wings and gives us a braver song to sing--if only we will trust, if only we will risk. The Lord can bring such beauty from even the worst pain and hurt. Will we trust Him to do that? Will we offer him that which exposes us and leaves us so vulnerable before Him and even others? I pray that I too can offer what I believe is my last bit of flour and oil with a heart believing that Christ, in the midst of the heartache and the pain, is doing far more than I ever can imagine with my finite, little mind.