The fire had long since died, but my fingers still remembered its warmth.
I was just a servant then, one of the many who helped feed and house the prophet Elijah when he returned from Mount Carmel. You probably know him as the one who called fire from heaven—who stood against the prophets of Baal and watched God prove His power in the most terrifying blaze I’d ever seen. I was there for that. But what stayed with me... what changed me... came after.
It was just after Queen Jezebel sent word that she would kill Elijah for what he’d done. She was furious—her gods humiliated, her prophets dead. Elijah didn’t argue. He just ran. I didn’t understand it. How could someone who stood in front of thousands and faced down evil lose courage from one threat?
Still, I followed as far as I could. He dismissed me near Beersheba—a town at the edge of the wilderness far to the south of Jerusalem. He told me he needed to be alone. I watched him disappear into the desert and, for the first time, I didn’t see a prophet. I saw a man who was completely broken.
I waited two days before sneaking out after him, thinking maybe... maybe he needed someone.
It took time, but I found the cave. I only got close once—I didn’t want to disturb him. I heard him crying out to God. Not with anger, but with a quiet ache I’d never heard before.
“I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life.”
I backed away in fear. Was the great Elijah asking to die?
Later, I watched from a distance as wind tore through the mountains—but Elijah didn’t stir. Then an earthquake, shaking the ground beneath me. Still, Elijah stood at the cave’s entrance, quiet. Fire followed, and I thought, “This is it. God is here.” But Elijah didn’t move.
And then… a sound so soft I wasn’t sure I heard it. A whisper, like the rustle of linen. And Elijah covered his face.
That whisper—whatever it was—was God.
Later, Elijah passed me in silence. He looked… different. Not strong like on Mount Carmel. But calm. Like a storm had passed inside him.
I asked, “What did God say to you, master?”
He stopped and looked at me. “He said I’m not alone,” he whispered. “There are still thousands in Israel who have not bowed to Baal.”
Elijah wasn’t afraid anymore. He had work to do—he would call Elisha, he would anoint kings, he would go where God told him.
From that day, I thought less about fire and earthquakes. Instead, I waited for the whisper.
It reminded me that God doesn't always come through thunder or fear. Sometimes, He finds us in our silence, when all we have left is our need for Him.
The fire had long since died, but my fingers still remembered its warmth.
I was just a servant then, one of the many who helped feed and house the prophet Elijah when he returned from Mount Carmel. You probably know him as the one who called fire from heaven—who stood against the prophets of Baal and watched God prove His power in the most terrifying blaze I’d ever seen. I was there for that. But what stayed with me... what changed me... came after.
It was just after Queen Jezebel sent word that she would kill Elijah for what he’d done. She was furious—her gods humiliated, her prophets dead. Elijah didn’t argue. He just ran. I didn’t understand it. How could someone who stood in front of thousands and faced down evil lose courage from one threat?
Still, I followed as far as I could. He dismissed me near Beersheba—a town at the edge of the wilderness far to the south of Jerusalem. He told me he needed to be alone. I watched him disappear into the desert and, for the first time, I didn’t see a prophet. I saw a man who was completely broken.
I waited two days before sneaking out after him, thinking maybe... maybe he needed someone.
It took time, but I found the cave. I only got close once—I didn’t want to disturb him. I heard him crying out to God. Not with anger, but with a quiet ache I’d never heard before.
“I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life.”
I backed away in fear. Was the great Elijah asking to die?
Later, I watched from a distance as wind tore through the mountains—but Elijah didn’t stir. Then an earthquake, shaking the ground beneath me. Still, Elijah stood at the cave’s entrance, quiet. Fire followed, and I thought, “This is it. God is here.” But Elijah didn’t move.
And then… a sound so soft I wasn’t sure I heard it. A whisper, like the rustle of linen. And Elijah covered his face.
That whisper—whatever it was—was God.
Later, Elijah passed me in silence. He looked… different. Not strong like on Mount Carmel. But calm. Like a storm had passed inside him.
I asked, “What did God say to you, master?”
He stopped and looked at me. “He said I’m not alone,” he whispered. “There are still thousands in Israel who have not bowed to Baal.”
Elijah wasn’t afraid anymore. He had work to do—he would call Elisha, he would anoint kings, he would go where God told him.
From that day, I thought less about fire and earthquakes. Instead, I waited for the whisper.
It reminded me that God doesn't always come through thunder or fear. Sometimes, He finds us in our silence, when all we have left is our need for Him.
