The Widow of Zarephath - William Lyons (fun to read .TXT) 📗

the small cake he too ate very slowly. Finally, for what she felt would be the very last time in her life, she made herself a small cake.
As she broke the cake open to eat it, she hesitated and started to give half of it to her son, but he stopped her. “Mother, I’m full!” He then added happily, “You eat all of that one, Mother. I’m not hungry now.”
She stared at the boy in utter surprise. “Are you sure?”
Nodding vigorously, the boy said, “Yes, Mother, I’m full!
Then she saw the old man smile at the boy and reach out to tousle the lad’s hair. Giggling, the boy turned to his Mother and said, “Go ahead, Mother, eat!” With tears once more in her eyes she ate the cake. To her utter surprise, she too had a full stomach!
Having a full stomach in the midst of a famine tends to mellow ones fears. Looking at the old man she asked, “Have you somewhere to stay tonight?”
“No. Might I stay here?”
“We would be honored.”
With that, they all settled in for the night. Despite all her fears, Miriam slept well that night cuddled up next to her young son. With the morning light came once again the realization that there was no food in the house and starvation was only days away.
She had to force herself to get out of bed. For some strange reason, once she woke up, she went to the meal barrel, took off the lid, and looked in. To her utter amazement, there was meal in the bottom! She replaced the lid and sat down hard on the floor in front of the barrel. Her thoughts were a confused jumble. “Surely I’ve gone mad! I used all the meal last night! But, there’s meal in there! But, . . .!”
Unseen and unheard the old man had come up behind her. He said quietly, “There is meal in the barrel isn’t there.”
She started mightily at the sound of his voice; then recovering, she turned to face him and stammered, “There is, but . . . there can’t be . . .I mean . . .”
He nodded, then, pointing to the cruse, the old man said quietly, “Look there as well, for there will also be oil in the that cruse.”
She did as she was bidden. She picked up the cruse and, the moment that she did so, she knew by the weight that there was oil in the vessel, but she looked into it anyway. Where there should have been nothing, there was now enough oil to make them a single meal once again. Carefully, she set the jar down and turned to face the old man. “How can this be? I used all of the meal and all of the oil for our supper last night!”
“Do you not remember what I told you yesterday?”
“Yesterday?”
“Did I not tell you the words of the Lord? Did he not say, ‘The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sends rain upon the earth?’”
After thinking hard for a moment she said slowly and in great confusion, “Y- e - s . . . I think I . . . remember you saying something like that, but . . .” At the time she had thought the statement the old man had made was just the product of the addled mind of a starving man, or perhaps, simply a ploy to get a meal. At this point, however, she pointed in great astonishment at the now not empty vessels and stammered, “B . . . b . . . but . . .”
Smiling, the old man put his hand upon her shoulder. He said nothing, but she felt the fear leave her as though it had melted. She did not know why; but, there was something powerful in this old man.
The days passed. Soon the days became weeks; and, the weeks turned into months; but, each and every morning when Miriam looked into the barrel and the cruse, there were meal and oil enough for one more meal. There was also a subtle change in the home. At the beginning, in the evening, when the old man blessed his small cake, Miriam and her son simply watched quietly; but, as time passed, they joined in. After a time, as the prayer was said, they could feel the presence of the Lord in their home. They knew that all would be well with them.
One morning, after several months, Miriam came in from doing some chores to find her son lying on the floor of their home. This was very unusual, as he was a very active lad. Concerned, she ran to him and soon discovered that he was feverish and was having difficulty breathing. Frantically, she bathed him in cold water; but, to no avail. His skin stayed hot and then suddenly he quit breathing. She felt his chest and there was no heartbeat either. Realizing that he was dead, the poor woman began wailing in her grief.
The sound of the woman’s grief brought the old man down from the loft where he stayed. Seeing her and the child, he understood immediately. Softly, he approached her; but, before the man could say anything she angrily turned on him in her grief. This was too much. First the famine and the fear that it brought, now this? All the anguish, pain, and remorse of things present and long past, some of which she had kept bottled up for years, came out in an angry, unfair accusation toward the kindly old man that had seemingly been responsible for her and her son surviving the severe famine of the land. “What have I to do with you, O man of God? Are you come unto me to call my sin to remembrance, and to slay my son?”
Tears came to the eyes of the old man. He understood her grief and the other emotions flooding through her and did not take offense. Instead, he quietly and lovingly said to her, “Give me your son.”
She looked up into his eyes and the anger drained out of her, seeing a pain in his eyes that mirrored the agony she was feeling. She released her hold on the boy and numbly watched as this strange old man took her dead son and went to their loft with him. For a short time all the woman heard was the sound of the old man carrying her son up to his place in the loft. Then, faintly, she heard him say with distress in his voice:
“O Lord my God, have you brought evil upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by slaying her son?” There was silence for a time and then she heard him cry out to God again. “O Lord my God, I pray, let this child's soul come into him again.”
After this, there was silence in the house once again. To her, it was the silence of the tomb. Just as she had begun to force herself to think about burial preparations, the sound of footsteps came from the upper part of the house. In a short time, the man appeared and walking beside him was her son! Pointing to the lad he said, “See, your son lives!”
She was astounded beyond measure and, for a time, could do nothing but weep and gape at her revived son. Then she rushed to the boy and enfolded him in her arms. After a time, and after several failed attempts to speak, she managed to say, “Now by this I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth!”
Several more months passed, and Miriam was at the well with several other women. The famine was, as always, the main topic of conversation. Usually, she ignored it all, made polite comments and left; but, something today caught her attention. She was surprised when one of the women said, “I have heard that this famine was the fault of the King of Israel.”
“Really?” Responded another.
“Yes! They say that a prophet of God cursed the land so that no rain will fall because of things the king and his people did.”
Another woman asked, “What did the king do to this man for doing this?”
“Nothing! He vanished. Everyone in Israel is looking for him.”
One of the other women said, “Is there a reward for finding this foul magician?”
The first replied, “Probably, but who would be fool enough to try and collect it? The man would probably turn anyone trying to earn the reward into stone, or a pig or something!”
There was a general agreement to this rejoinder. Finally Miriam asked, “What is this prophet’s name again? I’ve heard it before, but I have forgotten it?”
Fearfully, (as though the mere mention of his name could bring a curse upon her) one of the women said, “They say that his name is Elijah. Elijah theTishbite.”
Miriam made her way home thoughtfully. Who was this fiery individual? He was supposed to be a man of God, but the more she heard of the man the more fearful of him she became. He seemed more a foul magician to injure so many for the sins of so few.
When she arrived home, she saw a sight that brought tears of joy to her eyes. The old man had made some rings out of the small dried reeds that were along the banks of the (now almost dry) stream near the town. Then, he had driven a couple of sticks into the hard ground of their house’s small dirt court yard. She found her young son quietly giggling and playing ring toss with the old man. “How like him!” She thought. “He is one of the kindest men I’ve ever met.”
That he was a man of God there was no doubt in her mind. Then she thought about this Elijah person in Israel. He was supposed to be a man of God too. If he was, he had to serve another God, not the one this kind old man served. To her mind, this Elijah person served a cruel God like the infernal Baal her people liked to worship. Thinking about that god made her shudder. He was a god of death! He certainly did not give her the wonderful warm feeling this old man’s God gave her. His God was a giver of life, a kind and loving God that fed people, not starved them or cast them into flaming furnaces!
Many more months passed. Finally, one evening as they sat eating quietly, the old man said sadly, “I must leave and return to Israel.”
“You are from Israel?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, I came here after the famine became sore in the land of Israel, but now I must return.”
Very timidly she asked, “Is your God sending you there?”
“Yes. It is time for me to go and do as God commands there.”
With fear in her voice she asked timidly, “What of us? How will we live when you are gone?”
Gently the old man placed his hand on her