The God of Rain Has Not Forgotten

From 1 Kings 17

The boy followed his mother to the edge of the town. As usual he was hungry. The dust was dry between his toes, and even the leaves on the trees were withering. “I will bake us some bread after we have filled our jug at the well,” Mother told him.

Bread. That was all they had left to eat these days. Once they had eaten cucumbers from the garden and sweet juicy grapes. The vines beside their house were all dead and brown now. “Why does the garden not grow any more?” the boy asked.

“The god of rain has forgotten us,” Mother said.

“Is Baal the god of rain?” the boy asked.

“I do not know,” Mother said with a sigh. “Since Princess Jezebel married the king of Israel, everyone is praying to Baal, but it doesn’t seem to help.”

“Do the people in Israel have rain?” the boy wondered.

“No,” Mother said slowly. “Some people say that their Lord God is angry that they are praying to Baal, and so he took away the rain. Who knows? Maybe he is the god of rain, after all.”

“Will the water in the well go away, too?” the boy asked, as he watched his mother let down the water pot. He could not see the water, but he could hear the splash far below in the darkness.

“I do not know,” Mother said. Her words were jerky as she hauled up the rope. “I just—wish—I—knew—who—could—help us.” She looked at the barren fields and shook her head. “There is no grain to grind for flour, and our olive oil is almost gone.”

The water helped fill the empty place inside. But Mother’s words were troubling. Would there soon be nothing left to eat?

The boy was helping Mother gather some sticks for the fire when a stranger stopped next to them. “Please, lady, could you fetch me a little water to drink?”

The man must have come up the road from Israel. He clothes were dusty and faded, and he looked like a tramp. He smiled kindly as the boy stared at the him.

Mother didn’t say anything, but hurried back to where she had left the water pot. The man called after her. “Bring me a bite of bread, too, will you?”

Mother stopped and looked at the stranger. “As sure as the Lord your God lives, I don’t have a bit of bread in the house,” she said coldly. “The fact is, we only have a handful of flour and a little oil left. I was gathering a couple sticks to make a fire so that I could make one last meal for me and my son. After we eat that, we’ll just have to die.”

Mother’s lips trembled, and the boy scowled. But the man didn’t back off. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Go ahead and make your meal. But first give me a little bit, and then you and your son can eat.”

The boy looked quickly at Mother. She wouldn’t let this stranger take away their last bread, would she? But the man was still talking. “The Lord God of Israel has promised that your flour bin will not be empty and your oil will not run out, until the day He sends rain on the earth.”

The boy studied the man’s confident face. Did he really know the god of rain? He heard his mother take a deep breath. “Come to our house,” she said, picking up the water jug. “You may have a drink and rest while I bake the bread.”

The boy followed his mother with the sticks, but he was not happy. His stomach ached from hunger and he did not want the stranger from Israel to stay with them. “But Mother, there is not enough food for three people,” the boy whispered, as he watched her build a fire in the little clay oven. “The flour bin is almost empty, and there isn’t much oil left.” He tipped the oil cruse and looked inside.

“I know,” she said, kneeling by the mixing pan. “It is all we have.”

“And will you give it to the stranger?” the boy asked.

Mother didn’t say anything. She scooped a handful of flour from the bin and sprinkled a few drops of oil over it. Then she poured in some water and kneaded it into a little loaf of bread. The boy looked at it hungrily. “For the man of Israel,” said his mother, setting it on a baking pan.

“But what about us?” asked the boy.

“We will serve him first, like he has asked. Perhaps his God will have pity….”

The boy turned the flour bin sideways, and looked up in surprise. “Mother, look!” There in the bottom was a mound of flour. “It is enough for our bread!”

Mother laughed softly. “The man spoke the truth. We will live!” she said. Sure enough, when she tipped the oil cruse, more oil drizzled out. “See? The God of rain has not forgotten us!”