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“God, would you move the sun out of my eyes?” 

I’ll never forget that moment. I was a young girl, playing by our family’s clothesline when that sun nearly blinded me. So, without a moment’s hesitation, I uttered a short prayer for God to move the sun out of my eyes. I even added “please” to my prayer for an added benefit.  

To a young girl who grew up in church, it seemed perfectly reasonable for me to ask God for such a thing. I mean, if God created the heavens and the earth in seven days, He could certainly move the sun out of my eyes, right? I was so confident God had answered my request I proudly declared my miracle to my class at school, how my God had moved the sun out of my eyes for me. I’ll never forget the reaction of my classmates.  

It was dead silent. 

Then, I heard it. A stifled chuckle came out of someone’s mouth. I looked, and I saw that it wasn’t just someone—it was the one. A boy I fancied had laughed at me. (And, I hadn’t said anything funny, so I knew it was a mocking sort of laugh.) I. Was. Mortified. I wanted to crawl into a hole pronto. At that point, I realized a couple of things. Number one, I should keep God’s miracles to myself. Number two—and this one bothered me the most—did God really move that sun for me? Or was I being silly in thinking He did? This was the first time I remember feeling something like doubt. Someone’s reaction, perhaps not even a believer, had talked my little girl mentality out of her big faith.  

This memory, tucked way back into my mind, came back afresh when I was studying the widow  of Zarephath. I wondered if she felt the same. When we first learn about her on the pages of 1 Kings, she’s not a believer . . . but I suspect she had heard about Yahweh. The reason I say this is because when Elijah the prophet comes knocking on her door for food—during a famine, I might add—she doesn’t kick him to the curb as most of us might be tempted to. Most likely, she recognized he was God’s prophet. Perhaps she had heard about the plagues in Egypt. Perhaps she had heard of Yahweh parting the Red Sea. Perhaps she had heard about the walls of Jericho that came tumbling down. Perhaps she had heard about how the sun and moon stood still for Joshua. Or maybe she heard about a God who was real and saved His people time and time again out of His great love for them.  

You see, she was desperate. She and her son were starving to death when Yahweh’s man showed up with a request and a promise: make him some food first, before making her and her son the last of their food, and she would have an unending supply of flour and oil.  

This mama was just desperate enough to believe in a God who does the impossible, so she obeyed Elijah’s crazy request . . . and God blessed her with an unending supply of four and oil throughout the famine. A miracle.  

Now, this story could be tied up nice and neat with this ending: “After that, the widow of  Zarephath praised God’s provision to everyone she met all the days of her life. Her and her son lived happily ever after. The end.” 

But that’s not what happened . . . quite the opposite really. You see, God knew something the story doesn’t say. Though she had seen, with her own two eyes, a miracle, it wasn’t enough for a complete heart change.  

How do I know? Well, long story short: God wasn’t done with her yet.  

Elijah stayed with this mama for some time. Then, perhaps her biggest fear since the death of her husband hit her: her son became sick. He grew weaker and weaker until he died.  

Death had come to our mama’s house not once but twice now—a mother’s worst nightmare.  This grief-stricken mama lashed out at Elijah and God. That’s when Elijah springs into action. I  can totally imagine Elijah saying something like, “Not today, Satan!” right before he took the lifeless boy upstairs, where he asked God for something that has never been done before: a  resurrection. He tried to warm the boy up with his own body, and he blew his breath into the boy’s lifeless body.  

Elijah asked for the impossible . . . a request in which God said, “Yes.” 

Elijah brought back down our mama’s son, alive and well. And, it’s this miracle, the second  miracle, that our mama says something beautiful: “Now I know you really are a man from God.  I know that the Lord truly speaks through you!” (1 Kings 17:24). 

Now, she knows.  

Where a famine and the loss of a husband may have added layers of doubt, now she knows there is a God. Where her story about an unending supply of flour and oil may have gotten her snickers at the well, now she knows God can provide for her. Where she faced the worst case scenario not once but twice, now she knows God can do the impossible. Where doubt may have abounded, now she can have hope. Real hope.  

But what I love about this story is that God wooed a woman whose heart was calloused with  doubt. God revealed Himself to her by providing for her and taking care of her in such a way, her life is forever changed. 

Jesus referenced our mama in the New Testament. In Luke 4:25-26, He indicated that she lived out the rest of her days as a follower of the Lord.  

Oh friends, you’d better believe she knew.  

And all these years later, I know, too. Maybe God really did move that sun out of my eyes.  Maybe He didn’t. Or maybe He loved that I believed He did (that is, until my future husband made fun of me). Either way, God wooed that little girl who struggled with doubt her whole life, revealing Himself time and time again. Doubt doesn’t take us out of God’s love or reach. As  much as I wish I had a dramatic miracle like our widow did, I don’t. (But, I also don’t want the drastic life circumstances that she had that called for a dramatic miracle.) What I do have are countless times in which God stepped in the gap and took care of me, the countless times I know 

He was in the details of my life. My miracles come quietly in daily decisions I choose to trust Him.  

Oh friends, our God is in the big moments of life—that’s for sure! But He’s also in the small moments as well. He’s in the quiet surrender, the desperate pleas, and the teary-eyed whispers of  “I can’t do this anymore.” Our doubts don’t turn Him away; in fact, they seem to attract Him all the more. He chases us down our whole lives to remind us not only does He love us, but out of the fullness of this love, He can do the impossible. He’s a God after our own hearts. And He loves to flip the script of our lives in such a way that we too can declare, “Now I know . . .”.