Feeding Birds for Prophet...

It's cold.  The week before Christmas and 5 of the last 7 days never made it up to zero.  The below zero wind chills have enough digits to legally drink in any state in the Union. 

It's cold.

I'm leaning up against the counter, sipping the Elixir of Knowledge, watching chickadees zip back and forth from tree to feeder to tree.  Little balls of fluff that maintain an internal temp of 120 degrees while living in external temps of 11 below.  I guess I'd be zipping, too.

The Elixir short-circuits a neural synapse that sparks into another.

Huh.

"Bird feeding" jumps to "people feeding birds".  Another sip.  More sparking.

"Birds feeding people".  Well, really just one people - Elijah.

(The Prophet....not the guy who played Frodo)

Elijah was to tell the king he had done more evil than all the kings before him.  And if that didn't get Elijah in trouble, his next statement did.

"No rain until I say so."  This simple phrase started a drought that lasted over three years.

He was then instructed to do a wise thing.  Hide.  Right now.  By the brook.

And not to worry. 

The ravens will feed him.

The Elixir sloshes up images of crows and ravens I've seen.  Almost all the images involved roadkill.

Flattened-splattered-baking-in-the-sun roadkill. 

But the story says the ravens showed up like clockwork.  Every morning, every evening.  And they brought meat...and bread.

Another question pops up.  Where are ravens getting bread?  Huh.

Let's be honest.  I know you're thinking the same thing I am.

The man is getting roadkill and moldy bread off a garbage dump.  Right?

But if God is sending ravens to feed a hiding prophet, would He give him...garbage?

I don't think so.

The Elixir runs rampant, sparks fly, synapses pop like firecrackers on Chinese New Year.  A scenario develops.  A scenario with absolutely NO theological verification at all.

Reuben is grilling out, early in the morning, the smell of roasting meat wafting into the house.  The son, Raymond, wakes up to stagger sleepily toward his father with a Pavlovian mouth-watering, lip-smacking expectation.  He reaches for a piece of meat on the corner of the grill. 

Smack.  A wooden spoon knocks his hand away.  He is now completely awake.

"Owww.  Can't I have some?"

"No, it's for the ravens."  

Quiet.  Then a question.

"The ravens?"

"Yeah"

"Uh, why?"

"'Cause God told me to."

"Why?"

"I dunno."

"Mommmmmm!"

"Shhhh.  Let her sleep.  Hand me that loaf of bread, will ya?"

"But Mom made this last night!"

"Yeah.  It's delicious.  Hand it over."

"But you're giving the good stuff to birds."

"Yeah."

"Because God told you to?!"

"Yeah.  And when He tells you to do something, you give your best.  Right?"

"Well, sure, but - wait a minute - where'd you get this meat?"

"Eddie."

"Eddie?!  You killed the fatted calf to give 'im to birds?!  He was for my bar mitzvah!"

"Pipe down, son, you're gonna scare the birds.  God will provide.  Pass me the sage, will ya?"

Well, OK, it might be a little far-fetched but I think the premise is sound.

Obedience to God isn't "supply and demand".  It's "demand and supply".

He demands our obedience and, if we obey, He supplies our needs from places we could not even imagine.  Even in our wildest dreams.

So if He tells me to do something, I should do it and trust Him. 

For all I know, lunch has already been airmailed.