(The story of Elijah told from his perspective)

I Remember the Whisper

I had nothing left.

The fire had fallen. 

The prophets were silenced. 

The people bowed. 

But still, I ran.

I ran because Jezebel’s threat wasn’t just political; it pierced something deeper in me. 

It touched a wound I hadn’t named. 

I thought I was strong enough to carry it all, to stand alone. 

But under that broom tree, all I wanted was for it to be over.

“It’s enough, Lord. Take me.”

That was my prayer.

Not the kind they write down or repeat in songs. 

It was raw. 

Tired. 

Hollow. 

The kind that doesn’t come from the lips but leaks out of the bones.

And He met me.

Not with a rebuke. 

Not with a sermon. 

But with a nap.

And warm bread.

And silence.

I didn’t know I needed to rest before I could hear. 

I thought I needed to do more. 

Perform harder. 

Lead louder.

But He kept giving me quiet.

Until finally, I stood in that cave. 

Still trembling. 

Still confused. 

I had seen wind shatter rock. 

I had felt the earth tremble beneath my feet. 

Fire blazed by.

 I knew all those ways. 

I had seen Him come like that before.

But this time…

He wasn’t in any of it.

Then came… the whisper.

Not just a sound.

Not just a moment.

But something that entered me.

It didn’t shake the mountain, it stilled me.

It didn’t answer every question; it dismantled my need for them.

It didn’t fill my head; it filled my chest.

I cried in that silence.

Not the bitter kind that resents life…

But the healing kind; the kind that says, “I’m still here. And so is He.”

Only then did He speak about the next assignment.

“Go… find Elisha.”

Not before the bread.

Not before the nap.

Not before the whisper.

Only after my spirit had been reset.

Because God knew what I didn’t; you don’t pass on knowledge, you pass on spirit.

And if He had sent me too soon, Elisha would’ve inherited my burnout.

My cynicism.

My striving.

My ache.

But He sent me after the healing. 

After the softening. 

After the surrender.

So what Elisha caught was not just my mantle.

He caught my recovery.

He caught my gentleness.

He caught my wholeness.

That’s what the whisper does.

It re-parents the prophet.

It rewires the weary.

It restores the man before He relaunches the mission.

And I see it now.

God wasn’t just preserving me in the cave.

He was protecting Elisha from me becoming a leader still stuck in survival mode.

He made sure I was filled before I was followed.

Because you will pass on your spirit, whether you mean to or not.

And you can’t give what you’ve buried.

You can only give what you’ve let Him touch.