10/5/2023
As I looked down upon my son, he lay motionless, his skeletal system holding nothing more than a thin layer of skin; he was, as was I, physically incapable of little exertion. My clothes, dirty and disheveled, hung loosely and I realized that this morning could possibly be our last. In the quiet of our home, holding my son tenderly, I replayed the loss of my husband, the difficulties that followed and the senses of “alone”, the feeling of helplessness and feeling powerless over that of my daily existence. An eerie quiet held the small home and I could not help but remember the encounter, weeks earlier, also within the quiet, the day I heard with clarity, a still small voice, yet possessing great authority. “Sustain the man that shall come to thee”. Then and even more so now, I wondered if my mind, with lack of nourishment, was issuing a mental breakdown.
My son gently moved as I laid him upon the makeshift bed on the dirt floor, one of our remaining possessions as everything and anything of value had been previously sold, and I heard the hunger pang with its churning and volume. My heart simply broke, once more, and I sat beside him gently caressing his messy hair away from his eyes; the sadness was overwhelming, yet I was void of tears, as they were long ago dispersed as I came to grips with our nearing demise. I lifted my withered frame, slowly, and walked towards the small barrel that held the meal for bread and the cruse of oil and knew, clearly, what would be found; it was only enough for one last humble offering for each of us.
The cool of the morning, once enjoyed, now bit with ferocity as my emaciated body lacked any form of insulation as I shuffled sluggishly near to our home in search of a few small pieces of kindling for a small fire. In the smallness of my mind, it would be my last act of service, preparing the two small cakes for our final meal and we, my son and I, nameless and invisible to the eyes of the world, would succumb to the reality which awaited us.
I was close to my home when I heard from behind, “fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink”. I turned ever so slowly, unsure if I had heard correctly and wondered if my mind was in fact playing with me. Before me, stood, also a bit disheveled, a man of simplicity; he too obviously had been as I, lacking an abundance of sustenance and I felt obligated, though somehow thankful, that I might fulfill his menial request. I spoke not a word but rather gave him a glance and a small shake of my head that would indicate my acceptance of his bidding. As I placed my hand upon the handle of the door, it now possessing a bit of warmth, wavering upon its hinges and creaking from neglect and age, the man called once again and said, “bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand”.
The voice, now as if I was hearing it for the first time, but not audibly, flooded my thoughts once more: “sustain the man that shall come to thee”.
Father, I have purposedly ended the carefully orchestrated, preplanned encounter, possibly too soon, between the widow and Elijah. There is just too much that a short contemplation can glean from the nine verses encompassing the entirety of the story. Witnessing a brief glimpse, a very short moment through the window of her life I have, as the norm, been found wanting; reflecting endlessly upon the unsuspecting, widowed, nameless, mother in the midst of an extremely trying time. I am quite sure we cannot even begin to understand the pain, the suffering, the utter heartache she dealt with as she and her son withered away to the point of death. Yet, amid this compilation of tragedy, we behold her, even at the expense of her last remaining strength, serve another. The lack of “self” is wholly incomprehensible. Recently, with great care, you gently exposed my lack as we met, with one another in the quiet of our time, the fullness of this thought. Jesus himself, so very close to death, intimately sharing his last moments with those closest to him, humbles himself; he lays down his garments, takes a towel, pours water into a basin, and with the greatest of care that one can imagine, washes the feet, one disciple at a time, as a most privileged act of service. Then Jesus, the word of God says… “I am among you as he that serveth”. Father, it is too much! The words drip with such a sense of “selflessness” that I fear attainment is impossible. Our flesh surely hinders greatly but oh scripture, so rich, so very plenteous in encouragement, through the stories of others that journeyed before us, reveal otherwise! Yet, not just in scripture, for I am certain we all have observed one, a selfless individual, live this out. Father, for me, as I am sure you knew her intimately, was my grandmother, Ruby Murphy; she did so Lord. Widowed at the age of 46, with five children, so very poor in the eyes of the world but I know you steadfastly witnessed firsthand, as with many of us that would be so fortunate to know her, the endless acts of service to any that would grace her humble home. She radiated the love of your son, proclaiming Jesus boldly the entirety of her life, yet not so much with the volume of her voice but rather with that of her life, and like your description of John the Baptist she too “was a burning and shining light”.
Father, thank you, for your compassionate ability to teach us with great care, to love us endlessly and without condition as we seek the intimacy you so long desire. As each day passes, even as our eyes begin to dim from age, I am confident, we see a bit more clearly. Might we all find ourselves, in your stead, with this verse etched deeply into our very hearts, and with unwavering determination, to live it out daily, with great expectation, as opportunity presents itself in service, as if it were unto you…
“I am among you as he that serveth”!
Daniel
1 Kings 17:8-16 “And the word of the Lord came unto him, saying, Arise, get thee to Zarephath, which belongeth to Zidon, and dwell there: behold, I have commanded a widow woman there to sustain thee. So he arose and went to Zarephath. And when he came to the gate of the city, behold, the widow woman was there gathering of sticks: and he called to her, and said, fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink. And as she was going to fetch it, he called to her, and said, bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand. And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it, and die. And Elijah said unto her, Fear not; go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, the barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth. And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house, did eat many days. And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by Elijah.”