ravens and widows

Being a prophet of the Lord was a rough gig. In 1 Kings 17 is the story of Elijah, who brought Israel news of years of drought. And then, in verses 5-6: “So he did what the Lord had told him. He went to the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan, and stayed there. The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook.”

Picture him there, by the brook in this rocky ditch. No internet, no TV, no library. What did he do? Those twice-daily visits from the ravens must have been the highlight of his day. The bread was probably dried out and the meat was either raw or cold, depending on where the ravens got it. And once he was done with the ravine, it was on to the widow’s upper room. House arrest, as it were.

I wonder why God didn’t just send a legion of angels to protect Elijah. I wonder why he didn’t just strike down the king. This is the God who chased away the Midianites with the sound of marching in the treetops; he made enemies of Israel lose their minds and fight each other. So why did Elijah have to go on the run?

I read once that in all things God is either working through me, or he’s working on me. Maybe the time in the ravine was something Elijah needed in order to grow. Maybe God’s plan to get the attention of Israel once again also included blessings for the widow.

I can seldom see what God’s doing with my life. Most of the time it seems routine, nothing special, to the point that I feel guilty. Often, though, I look back and see how something prepared me for something else. Even my greatest sin has shaped me in a way God has used to empathetically help people. Even so, there are still things I wonder about. 

I guess that’s why they call it faith. I can’t see God’s plan for me. I don’t get why my life goes the way it does. I have thought more than once that I must be a particularly headstrong and willful child, because my plans seem to be thwarted more often than blessed. I should thank God for that. I think I’m where he wants me, but I wouldn’t be here if I’d done my own thing.

So praise God for those times he’s sentenced me to the ravine, or confined me in the widow’s upper room. Even though I still struggle to make my life all about him, at least he’s kept it from being all about me.