2 Kings 1-4
Tonight I’ve been reading about the prophet Elisha, who followed in Elijah’s footsteps. It seems to me that Elisha was more of a prophet who served individual people. The Lord used Elijah to perform huge miracles that everyone could see. But Elisha helped individuals.
In fact, I’m struck by the story I just read of Elisha feeding a hundred people from just twenty loaves of bread. He told his helpers to feed the men, saying:
For this is what the LORD says: ‘They will eat and have some left over.’ ” 44 Then he set it before them, and they ate and had some left over, according to the word of the LORD.”
No wonder the people in Jesus’ day thought that he was Elisha or Elijah coming back to life! He was much, much more…
I’m in one of those moods where I just want to crawl into my own little cave and stay there for awhile. I need some solitude with God, but I don’t know how to find it or even how to ask for it. As I get older, I’m getting more and more compulsive about things. I’m starting to think that my family and friends are right when they tell me I need to go talk to someone about it. But I don’t want to go share all my craziness with a strange doctor. I’m tired of doctors. Why can’t Jesus just heal me?
Here’s a look inside my head:
Tonight our daughter went to spend the night with a friend, so my husband and I went out to dinner together at a casual burger place….sort of in-between a fast food joint and a sit-down cafe. It was the kind of establishment where you order and pay, receive a pager, and grab a table to wait for your food.
I ordered a junior burger because I have a small appetite. When I got my order, I realized that I forgot to tell them to hold the onions. So I spent a couple minutes picking off tiny pieces of purple onion (my fingers still smell like onions, by the way!). I noticed right away as I picked that the meat was not steaming hot. Instead, it was closer to room temperature.
I am a germaphobe. I like my hot food to be hot, and my cold food to be cold. So I was afraid to eat my “evil” burger. I had a couple of bites and then lost my appetite completely.
I’m ashamed to admit this horrible behavior of mine; somewhere out there is a hungry person who would have gladly dug this burger out of the dumpster. But I couldn’t eat it because I was afraid it had been sitting out too long and would therefore make me sick. When I say “couldn’t,” I mean it. When I get panicked like this, I shut down. Sometimes I can’t even swallow my own saliva, much less a bite of food.
For lunch today, I had one croissant and one bite of fruit. That’s it. We were at a restaurant that serves sandwiches and soups; however, I did not want to order a sandwich this time or soup because the last few times I ate at that establishment, I ended up with a stomach that didn’t feel well. My family loves it, though, so I just went along and tried to be as bland as I could be in my food choices.
In fact, I am beginning to have a hate affair with food. I know this is not what God intended. I know that he gives us good things to eat. Why, then, do these good things that he gives us make me feel so ill all the time?
My large meal of the day has always been breakfast. But lately I haven’t even been able to eat much of that before my stomach feels overfull and on the verge of queasy.
I’m the only person on the planet, I think, who gets heartburn at night from drinking water.
My mom tells me I inherited my dad’s stomach.
I wish I could be normal. I wish I could go eat sushi with my husband and enjoy Indian food and other exotic fare without having a panic attack at the strange spices (what will they do to me…how will they make me feel?)
A doctor will want to medicate me. If I could get over the fear of taking medication (what will it do to me…how will it make me feel…will it make me nauseous to discontinue it) then maybe medication is what I need.
I’m still holding out hope that the Lord will send me a prophet like Elisha who will throw salt in my mind and make me good. Oh, wait…that’s Jesus!
Even if I don’t get over these germaphobic tendencies in THIS life, I will not have them in the next. It’s that thought that keeps me putting one foot after the other. One day I will win the battle against the evil burger…or milk…or tomato…or ice cream…or pizza…or carrot…or cake…or doughnut…or processed meat… (all things I’ve eliminated from my diet due to the discomfort they bring me after I eat them).