ALONE. . . .

(During Lent, I will be following the photo prompt words from Rethink Church, but using them to create word pictures. Discipline, discipline, discipline.)

There he stood, hood up over his head, cloak pulled tightly around him. He had laughed at lesser gods, taunted and murdered the prophets and really, really ticked off the queen. 

He was running for his life, sleeping in a cave, shivering in fear.

The prophet Elijah had never felt so alone in his life. The few he had loved, he had left behind in his mad rush to flee to safety.

Too terrified even to realize: these were angels of the LORD caring for him, providing him rest and solace. No, he was convinced: there was no one whom he could trust. He prayed to the LORD to die, to join his ancestors. At least then he wouldn't be alone.

But now Elijah is waiting. The LORD has promised to pass by, and Elijah waits in uncertainty and expectation. 

After all, this is the LORD! How will the LORD arrive? With a fanfare of angels and trumpets? In fire and glory? A demonstration of might and power?

Not at all.

As Elijah waited, there was fire and wind and earthquake-- but the Lord was not in any of those things. (Good to remember, eh? Destruction is not God's preferred modus operandi.)

Then, when Elijah's heart grew still, he heard it: a still, small whisper that was the voice of the LORD. A whisper asking a simple question: What are you doing here, all alone? 

The LORD's presence and comfort come not from the world around us, but from within. And we are never as alone as we might feel at any moment.

The LORD was not in the wind . . . or the earthquake . . . or the fire.

Stop. Look. Listen with the ears of your heart.