Amongst all the disarrayed thoughts, the account of Elijah at the brook of Cherith has been lodged in my mind for several days now. Some how I keep having reoccurring encounters with this story. My sister brings it up during a conversation and then my devotional book just happens to have a passage of scripture from this particular event in the Bible. Seems as if someone has been flashing a neon light at me that I need not flippantly pass by.
After a while the brook dried up because there was no rain in the land. And the word of the Lord came to him: I kings 17:7-8 (AMP)
While I have heard of Elijah’s experience at the brook before, I had never considered how he must have felt as he sat and watch the brook come to a dry dust bowl. In my mind, I imagine him wondering how exactly did he get here. After all, he was following God’s command. But after a while that place no longer provided provision. I wonder if he might have become antsy and was tempted to get moving elsewhere when in noticed the continually dwindle water supply. Had he possible cooked up his own plan B? Did he wonder if he had some how “missed” God on this one?
To remain steadfast beside the brook until it dried up displayed Elijah’s trust in God’s ability and willingness to provide for his needs. To stay when tempted to run out and do our own thing reveals our refusal to be lead by our own understanding.
One thing I noticed was that Elijah only received his next instruction after the brook dried up. Which brings to mind how I’m often trying to figure out the next steps along the path rather than just trusting that the Master will direct my footsteps.
Here’s an excerpt from Streams in the Desert:
Most of us would have become anxious and tired, and would have made other plans long before God spoke. Our singing would have stopped as soon as the stream flowed less musically over its rocky bed. We would have hung our harps on the willows nearby and begun pacing back and forth on the withering grass, worrying about our predicament. And probably, long before the brook actually dried up, we would have devised some plan, asked God to bless it, and headed elsewhere.
Have you found yourself sitting along you own brook of Cherith recently? Did you step out into something in which you felt was spirit-inspired only to see it dwindle away? Were you able to sit patiently as it dried up or did you find yourself gravitating to cooking up your own options?