Dedicated to: My Mom, Renate
Thank you for teaching me how to give thanks even when there's not much there. This is the secret of abundance. Thanksgiving ushers us into HIS presence!
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A woman once lived in a little town. Usually seen wearing a faded bandana as a bonnet around her dark hair, and a kind timid smile playing at her lips, this woman was called "Ima" (Ee-ma) by her two sons. If anything could be said about her, it was that she was the hardest working housewife to be found in the neighborhood, and one look into her tender eyes would tell you of the great depths of love this woman possessed. Early in the mornings, her kitchen lamp would be visible from the street as she kneaded the dough that would be baked into sweet smelling but simple biscuits for her husband and eldest son to take to work. After brief farewells, she waved them off to their jobs and her youngest to school, and would be found in the back of their house beating out the laundry by hand to wash the clothing for the next day of work. Those that found her doing quiet tasks during the day would recall hearing her voice murmuring
words quietly. Other times, it seemed she worked intensely with her brow
furrowed occasionally pausing to fold her hands and bow her head. After sweeping the rooms inside with a broom made from twigs, dusting with an old bit of burlap, feeding and milking the goat tied to a post in the barren yard, gathering bits of coconut husk for kindling, visiting the market, trading her goats milk for wool, and starting a simple meal of flat bread and beans for the family she would prepare to greet her loved ones. Washing her face and retying her bonnet always helped make her feel beautiful for her husband, as most expressions of femininity were more extravagant than what she could afford.
Day after day, the repetition of daily chores and quiet pauses for prayer and thanksgiving continued.
The day came when great sadness visited this humble hearth. The husband and father that had so dutifully supported his family was crushed from a capsized wagon bearing bricks being transported from a neighboring town. The widow and sons mourned for the loss of their beloved husband and father, but as reality so often does, the financial implications of this disaster came to grips with this woman called Ima and her two boys all too soon. A man dressed in clothing a little brighter than what the neighbors wore came knocking at her door one morning. She set down the dripping shirt in her hands and carefully approched the front door where she had heard the noise. As she came around the corner of the house, she met a man with greasy black hair that fell into his eyes. He began to speak in a nasally voice,
"I've come to inform you that the total payment for the goat in your yard is due in a week.
He paused to rake his fingers through his hair, failing to remove the hair from his eyes. Scrunching up his face he said, "He seems to be quite a bit thinner than I remember at the time of our sale so I will not be accepting him as repayment. I will, however, will be taking him to ensure there is no temptation to not meet my, herrm, request.
He sniffed the air with a crooked nose and grunted.
"If you cannot pay, I will take your sons as payment instead."
He stepped back to untie the goat, and with the rope in his hand he spun on his heel to leave. Just before he stepped out onto the street, he turned back to say, "Too bad to hear of your loss," then disappeared down the street and melted into the blurring scene of folks going about their monotonous tasks.
She slumped to the ground, feeling more hopeless than she had in years. With no husband, no goat milk, and barely a quarter of the income they used to receive from her husband there seemed to be no way they would be able to repay their creditor the amount remaining for the goat they used for milk.
When both sons were home, she solemnly shared the news. They then bowed their heads together as Ima lead them in a prayer of thanksgiving just as they had done each evening prior.
"Yahweh, we thank you for your bounteous gifts. We thank you for your constant protection and care. We ask that the hands that continue to receive from you, bless just as we have been blessed."
Ima tenderly kissed each son on the head, and each one found their mattress praying for something to happen.
Three days later, with the clock still ticking until the payment was due, she had not been able to purchase food for her sons as she had carefully counted every coin in the house and sold everything he could at the market to pay back the creditor, all the while hoping for a miracle.
Out of habit, but mostly to distract herself from the imminent situation, Ima went into town on her usual route. A crowd had gathered around the well near the fruitstand in the middle of the market and she saw that people were listening to a man speak. Bits and pieces of what the man was saying met her ears, and as she heard more she began to understand who this man was. She asked the the person pressing into her from behind, "Is this the prophet from Samaria?"
"Yes!" came a curt whisper. "Elisha!"
Elisha! This man of God had followed the prophet Elijah until the day Elijah was taken away into the sky. The story went that Elisha carried a double portion of the annointing that Elijah had carried, in all the mighty miracles he had performed. Calling down rain from heaven, resurrecting a dead young boy, being feed by ravens; these were just a few of the miracles that Elijah had performed through the power of God. What could Elisha, with a double portion of that blessing, have to offer this tiny town?
Ima's voice called out in words that did not seem like her own, "My husband is dead, and you know how he served the Lord. Now a creditor has come, threatening to take my two sons as slaves!" She covered her mouth as soon as the words had come out, just hoping that no one had heard. But Elisha had stopped and was looking directly at her. She looked down, embarrassed that so much attention was now drawn to herself.
Elisha asked,"What can I do to help you?"
She froze, her head tingling from the shame she felt from her desperation. Her throat tightened as she struggled to think of anything to say.
He then asked, "What do you have?"
Her mind raced. She had just swept out the cupboard, removing the last earthly things they owned to sell earlier that day.
"Nothing at all," she feebly replied, but suddenly an image flashed through her mind.
"Nothing, except a flask of olive oil."
Elisha's sun tanned forehead crinkled with a raised brow, "Go to your neighbors' homes with your sons, and borrow as many empty jars as you can. Then go into your house with your sons and shut the door behind you.
He switched the smooth walking staff he was holding to the other hand and motioned as he spoke,
"Pour olive oil from your flask into the jars setting each one aside when it is filled."
She met his eyes meet briefly as her brain tried to understand what he was commanding her to do, and just as suddenly as her voice had interrupted him earlier, he continued on in what he had been saying to the crowd.
She numbly pushed her way back out, and began the walk back to her home.
Both sons had already arrived from work and school when she stepped inside the kitchen. She leaned against the doorpost with her hands wrapped around her middle as she explained what they were about to do. With wide eyes, they were astonished as each of their neighbors and friends graciously lent them pitchers and jars, and mugs, and bowls. When each house had been visited, they quickly walked back to their home and shut the door behind them.
"But we barely have enough oil for one meal, Ima!" the youngest protested as she lifted the flask and began to unscrew the the top. Her lips were taunt and bit between her front teeth as she lifted the flask above the first jar to be filled. How could this work? She wondered. How could it not work? And then she poured.
It didn't stop. All evening, the jars, mugs, pitchers, and bowls, were filled to the top and some (accidentally) to overflowing as mother and sons followed the prophets instructions. Finally, Ima asked for another container and eldest proclaimed, "That was the last!" and the last drop came out and the flask stopped pouring.
The next day, her sons stayed home to help bring the many containers to the market to sell the oil that Yahweh had provided. There was so much profit made that day that the goat was paid off, and a new goat purchased alongside the old, and enough money to provide meals for months as the eldest continued to work.
In the following days, the bounty of the Lord increased as their faith had been brought to new levels. The son found favor in the eyes of his employer and was able to care for his mother as long as her days went on. She never forgot how the Lord had been faithful, and had come through in abundance when they had nothing. Nothing, except a flask of olive oil.
Day after day, the repetition of daily chores and quiet pauses for prayer and thanksgiving continued.
The day came when great sadness visited this humble hearth. The husband and father that had so dutifully supported his family was crushed from a capsized wagon bearing bricks being transported from a neighboring town. The widow and sons mourned for the loss of their beloved husband and father, but as reality so often does, the financial implications of this disaster came to grips with this woman called Ima and her two boys all too soon. A man dressed in clothing a little brighter than what the neighbors wore came knocking at her door one morning. She set down the dripping shirt in her hands and carefully approched the front door where she had heard the noise. As she came around the corner of the house, she met a man with greasy black hair that fell into his eyes. He began to speak in a nasally voice,
"I've come to inform you that the total payment for the goat in your yard is due in a week.
He paused to rake his fingers through his hair, failing to remove the hair from his eyes. Scrunching up his face he said, "He seems to be quite a bit thinner than I remember at the time of our sale so I will not be accepting him as repayment. I will, however, will be taking him to ensure there is no temptation to not meet my, herrm, request.
He sniffed the air with a crooked nose and grunted.
"If you cannot pay, I will take your sons as payment instead."
He stepped back to untie the goat, and with the rope in his hand he spun on his heel to leave. Just before he stepped out onto the street, he turned back to say, "Too bad to hear of your loss," then disappeared down the street and melted into the blurring scene of folks going about their monotonous tasks.
She slumped to the ground, feeling more hopeless than she had in years. With no husband, no goat milk, and barely a quarter of the income they used to receive from her husband there seemed to be no way they would be able to repay their creditor the amount remaining for the goat they used for milk.
When both sons were home, she solemnly shared the news. They then bowed their heads together as Ima lead them in a prayer of thanksgiving just as they had done each evening prior.
"Yahweh, we thank you for your bounteous gifts. We thank you for your constant protection and care. We ask that the hands that continue to receive from you, bless just as we have been blessed."
Ima tenderly kissed each son on the head, and each one found their mattress praying for something to happen.
Three days later, with the clock still ticking until the payment was due, she had not been able to purchase food for her sons as she had carefully counted every coin in the house and sold everything he could at the market to pay back the creditor, all the while hoping for a miracle.
Out of habit, but mostly to distract herself from the imminent situation, Ima went into town on her usual route. A crowd had gathered around the well near the fruitstand in the middle of the market and she saw that people were listening to a man speak. Bits and pieces of what the man was saying met her ears, and as she heard more she began to understand who this man was. She asked the the person pressing into her from behind, "Is this the prophet from Samaria?"
"Yes!" came a curt whisper. "Elisha!"
Elisha! This man of God had followed the prophet Elijah until the day Elijah was taken away into the sky. The story went that Elisha carried a double portion of the annointing that Elijah had carried, in all the mighty miracles he had performed. Calling down rain from heaven, resurrecting a dead young boy, being feed by ravens; these were just a few of the miracles that Elijah had performed through the power of God. What could Elisha, with a double portion of that blessing, have to offer this tiny town?
Ima's voice called out in words that did not seem like her own, "My husband is dead, and you know how he served the Lord. Now a creditor has come, threatening to take my two sons as slaves!" She covered her mouth as soon as the words had come out, just hoping that no one had heard. But Elisha had stopped and was looking directly at her. She looked down, embarrassed that so much attention was now drawn to herself.
Elisha asked,"What can I do to help you?"
She froze, her head tingling from the shame she felt from her desperation. Her throat tightened as she struggled to think of anything to say.
He then asked, "What do you have?"
Her mind raced. She had just swept out the cupboard, removing the last earthly things they owned to sell earlier that day.
"Nothing at all," she feebly replied, but suddenly an image flashed through her mind.
"Nothing, except a flask of olive oil."
Elisha's sun tanned forehead crinkled with a raised brow, "Go to your neighbors' homes with your sons, and borrow as many empty jars as you can. Then go into your house with your sons and shut the door behind you.
He switched the smooth walking staff he was holding to the other hand and motioned as he spoke,
"Pour olive oil from your flask into the jars setting each one aside when it is filled."
She met his eyes meet briefly as her brain tried to understand what he was commanding her to do, and just as suddenly as her voice had interrupted him earlier, he continued on in what he had been saying to the crowd.
She numbly pushed her way back out, and began the walk back to her home.
Both sons had already arrived from work and school when she stepped inside the kitchen. She leaned against the doorpost with her hands wrapped around her middle as she explained what they were about to do. With wide eyes, they were astonished as each of their neighbors and friends graciously lent them pitchers and jars, and mugs, and bowls. When each house had been visited, they quickly walked back to their home and shut the door behind them.
"But we barely have enough oil for one meal, Ima!" the youngest protested as she lifted the flask and began to unscrew the the top. Her lips were taunt and bit between her front teeth as she lifted the flask above the first jar to be filled. How could this work? She wondered. How could it not work? And then she poured.
It didn't stop. All evening, the jars, mugs, pitchers, and bowls, were filled to the top and some (accidentally) to overflowing as mother and sons followed the prophets instructions. Finally, Ima asked for another container and eldest proclaimed, "That was the last!" and the last drop came out and the flask stopped pouring.
The next day, her sons stayed home to help bring the many containers to the market to sell the oil that Yahweh had provided. There was so much profit made that day that the goat was paid off, and a new goat purchased alongside the old, and enough money to provide meals for months as the eldest continued to work.
In the following days, the bounty of the Lord increased as their faith had been brought to new levels. The son found favor in the eyes of his employer and was able to care for his mother as long as her days went on. She never forgot how the Lord had been faithful, and had come through in abundance when they had nothing. Nothing, except a flask of olive oil.
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Original Story found in II Kings 4
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