NorthStar Church Blog

There are moments in life when we make plans, but things don’t go the way we expected. I remember one college ministry event where nearly everything that could go wrong did. The schedule got mixed up, the food didn’t arrive on time, and we were scrambling to make it all work. We even considered cancelling the event. But by the end of the night, students were laughing, sharing stories, and connecting in ways I hadn’t anticipated. In the middle of the chaos, I couldn’t see the bigger picture, but God, somehow, was weaving something beautiful out of the confusion.

That’s a small picture of what’s happening in 1 Kings. After the brook Cherith dries up, God tells Elijah to go to Zarephath. Elijah obeys. The story seems simple. God is providing food and water through a widow. But when you look closer, God is doing so much more than Elijah sees, or than the widow sees.

John Piper has a famous quote that says, “God is always doing 10,000 things in your life, and you may be aware of three of them.” At first glance, we might see only three things in this story: Elijah is hungry, the brook dries up, and the widow provides food. But God is working far beyond those visible actions. He is preparing the widow’s heart. He is teaching Elijah trust. He is setting up a moment that will ripple far beyond their immediate circumstances. The widow herself has no idea that she’s about to be used in a story of blessing for generations.

It’s easy for us to feel like our lives are small, insignificant, or invisible. Maybe you’re waiting for God to show up in obvious ways, and it’s not happening. Maybe you feel overlooked, underprepared, or completely unqualified. That’s exactly the space God often chooses for His work. The ordinary, quiet, messy areas of life are where He does His biggest work.

Think about the widow for a moment. From her perspective, she had almost nothing. A little flour, a small jar of oil, and a hungry child. She couldn’t have imagined that the very act of giving what little she had would become a miracle. She couldn’t see the ten thousand things God was orchestrating: the way He was teaching trust, forming faith, and creating a story that would inspire people for centuries. She only knew what she could see. She only knew the three things in front of her.

We are often in the same place. God is orchestrating dozens, hundreds, maybe tens of thousands of unseen events around us. He is protecting, preparing, redirecting, and providing in ways we cannot perceive. And yet, our attention lingers on the three things we can see… maybe the lack, the obstacle, the waiting.

This truth is both humbling and comforting. Humbling, because we realize we are not in control and our understanding is limited. Comforting, because we know God’s control is perfect even when we cannot trace His hand. The provision that seems small, delayed, or inconvenient may be part of a larger plan we can’t yet see.

So how do we live in that tension? How do we trust God when we can only see three things while He is doing a thousand? Start by taking the next step He calls you to, like Elijah walking to Zarephath or the widow opening her home. Obedience doesn’t require knowing the whole plan. It requires trusting the One who knows.

Pay attention to the small blessings, even if they seem ordinary. Ask God to reveal glimpses of His work, not because you’ll understand it all, but so you can participate faithfully. And remember that sometimes being a blessing means showing up in a quiet, unseen way, trusting that God can multiply it far beyond what you imagined.

Elijah went to Zarephath and saw one thing… a widow who could feed him. The widow saw her own poverty. But God saw everything. He was preparing, providing, teaching, and blessing in ways neither of them could fully comprehend. And in that invisible work, both lives were changed forever.

The question for us today is simple: are we willing to walk in obedience, even when we don’t see the full story? Are we willing to trust God with the unseen thousand things while we focus on the three we know? The answer is found in quiet faithfulness, small acts of trust, and the patient expectation that God is at work, even when we cannot see it.

Because here’s the good news: God is always working far beyond what we can perceive, and in His timing, what seemed small, invisible, or insufficient can become a story of faith, provision, and blessing for generations.

Some moments hit you out of nowhere. One minute you’re relying on something that feels steady, and the next it’s gone. Maybe it’s unexpected car trouble, the Wi-Fi cutting out during an important deadline, or a carefully planned weekend trip falling apart at the last minute. There’s a panicked feeling that everything is off track, and you wonder if you’ll ever get back on course.

For Elijah, the brook Cherith drying up was that kind of moment, but on a much higher stakes level. This wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was his daily source of water and sustenance. He had obeyed exactly as God instructed. He had trusted God day after day. And yet, the very source of provision God had faithfully provided disappears. In that moment, Elijah faces a hard truth: the drying of the brook is not a failure of faith. It is part of God’s design.

The same God who caused the water to flow now allows it to stop. God’s provision is often seasonal, but His presence remains constant. When the brook dries, God speaks again, directing Elijah to a new place and a new form of dependence. The loss of provision becomes the doorway to deeper trust.

This moment reveals a crucial truth: we do not survive hard seasons by a single act of willpower or a burst of adrenaline, but by long-term abiding in God. Elijah does not grit his teeth and force himself forward. He listens. He responds. His confidence is not in what God gives, but in who God is.

Abiding is not passive. It is active attentiveness. Elijah’s life is marked by listening for God’s voice and moving when God speaks. When the brook dries, he does not panic or cling to what once worked. He waits, trusting that God has not abandoned him.

Hard seasons often expose the depth of our faith. If our trust is rooted in consistency, comfort, or predictability, change will shake us. But if our trust is rooted in the character of God, even loss can become an invitation to deeper reliance.

It’s tempting in difficult seasons to try harder, push longer, or rely on sheer determination. But willpower has limits. Eventually, it runs out. Abiding, however, is sustained by relationship. It is nourished by ongoing communion with God.

Elijah’s faith endures because it is relational, not transactional. He does not follow God for guaranteed outcomes, but because he knows God. When one season ends, Elijah trusts that God will meet him in the next.

Abiding may look ordinary most of the time. It’s continuing to pray when answers are delayed. It’s obeying when results are unclear. It’s trusting when circumstances shift. It is faithfulness stretched over time.

For us, abiding means returning to God again and again through Scripture, prayer, repentance, and obedience. Not as religious duties, but as relational practices. Long-term faith is not sustained by emotional highs, but by steady communion.

Elijah’s story reminds us that God often changes the method without changing the mission. When one brook dries up, God is already preparing the next place of provision. Our security is not found in stability or predictability, but in staying close to the God who leads us faithfully through every season.

Have you ever tried to assemble furniture with no clue how to do it? Years ago, right before Emery was born, I found myself surrounded by pieces, screws I could not identify, and an instruction manual that seemed to be written in another language. Halfway through, I sat on the floor, staring at a pile of wood and thinking, “How on earth am I going to get this together before she arrives?” It felt overwhelming, uncertain, and completely out of my control. Yet I knew I had no choice but to start, piece by piece, trusting the instructions would work if I followed them.

That is a little like how obedience can feel sometimes. God asks us to do something, and we are not given the whole picture, just a single step to take today. That is exactly what happens to Elijah after he delivers God’s word to King Ahab.

One of the most challenging parts of Elijah’s season at the brook Cherith is not the loneliness, danger, or even the hunger; it is the uncertainty. God does not sit Elijah down and walk him through a long term strategy. There is no timeline, no list of supplies, no backup plan tucked away “just in case.” Elijah is given no explanation beyond a simple promise that there would be water in the brook and that the ravens would feed him there. What God provides is not excess. It is enough. And it comes one day at a time.

Each morning, Elijah wakes up needing God again. Bread arrives. Each evening, meat comes once more. The brook continues to flow. But nothing is guaranteed beyond that day. Yesterday’s provision does not eliminate today’s need for trust. Elijah has to wake up every morning and choose, once again, to believe that God will be faithful.

That rhythm can feel unsettling, especially for those of us who crave certainty. We like plans. We want clarity. We prefer knowing how things will work out before we step forward. But God seems intentionally comfortable with just enough. He is not merely keeping Elijah alive; He is shaping Elijah’s heart. Before Elijah confronts the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, he must learn what it means to depend on God in obscurity. Before public faith comes private trust.

Daily provision forces daily dependence. Elijah cannot rely on a past encounter with God to sustain present faith. He cannot say, “God showed up yesterday, so I will be fine today.” Instead, every day becomes a fresh invitation to trust God again. This kind of faith does not feel dramatic or impressive. It does not draw attention. But it is deeply formative.

We can relate to that tension. We often want God to give us more than we need, more clarity about the future, more resources, more margin, more assurance. We assume that having more would make us feel safer or stronger. But Scripture consistently reveals that God values dependence over abundance. Excess can quietly lead us to rely on ourselves. Daily dependence keeps us close.

This pattern appears throughout the Bible. In the wilderness, Israel gathers manna one day at a time. Any attempt to store extra results in rot. Later, Jesus teaches His disciples to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11). Not weekly bread. Not long term bread. Daily bread. God’s economy is not built on stockpiling or control, but on trust.

Daily obedience is easy to overlook because it lacks drama. It does not feel bold or heroic. It looks like showing up again. Praying again. Trusting again. Choosing obedience when nothing feels new or exciting. But this is how faith is actually formed. Elijah’s confidence before Ahab did not come from a single courageous moment. It was shaped by countless ordinary days of relying on God when no one else was watching.

We are often tempted to despise just enough. We interpret it as scarcity rather than kindness. We assume that if God cared more, He would give us more. But just enough keeps our hearts soft and attentive. It reminds us that God Himself is our source, not our circumstances, not our savings, not our sense of control.

Living on just enough also trains us to stay present. When we are given too much too soon, we are tempted to live in the future. This often leads us to not trust today because we think tomorrow is already covered. But God meets us in the present. Daily provision anchors us where we actually are, teaching us to notice His faithfulness in real time.

Obedience, then, is not a one time decision or a dramatic spiritual breakthrough. It is a rhythm. A daily choice to trust God’s word over our fears. A willingness to wake up again and depend on Him once more. And in that rhythm, God proves Himself faithful, not all at once, but day after day.

After Elijah delivers God’s word to King Ahab, the story takes an unexpected turn. Instead of public momentum, affirmation, or visible results, God tells Elijah to leave. “Go away from here,” the Lord says, “and turn eastward and hide yourself by the brook Cherith.” From a human perspective, it feels backward. Elijah has just confronted the king. Now would be a great time to stay visible, build influence, and press the advantage. But God leads him away from the spotlight and into obscurity.

If we are honest, many of us struggle with this part of obedience. We are willing to follow God when it feels productive or noticeable, but it is harder when obedience leads us somewhere quiet, hidden, or unimpressive. Yet Scripture shows us again and again that public obedience is often followed by private formation. Before Elijah can stand boldly on Mount Carmel, God shapes his trust beside a quiet brook.

God sends Elijah to Cherith not to sideline him, but to sustain him.

The Lord does not give Elijah a long explanation or a step by step plan. He gives him a direction and a promise: “You shall drink from the brook, and I have commanded the ravens to feed you there.” And Elijah responds with simple, costly faith: “So he went and did according to the word of the Lord.” No negotiation. No delay. Just obedience.

And that obedience becomes the doorway to refreshment.

Elijah’s refreshment is practical and physical. There is water from the brook, bread, and meat every morning and evening. That is practical. But it is also deeply personal. Day after day, God proves Himself faithful. Elijah wakes up and discovers that what God promised yesterday is still true today. In the quiet rhythm of obedience, trust begins to grow.

This challenges how we often think about refreshment. We tend to associate it with ease, clarity, and comfort. We assume rest comes when life slows down or circumstances improve. But in Scripture, refreshment often flows from surrender. Obedience does not remove all strain from life, but it places us where God’s provision meets us.

One detail in this passage stands out. God tells Elijah, “I have commanded the ravens to feed you there.” That word matters. God’s provision is tied to God’s direction. Outside of obedience, we can exhaust ourselves searching for fulfillment. Inside obedience, even difficult or lonely places can become spaces of renewal.

God’s choice of ravens is surprising. Ravens were considered unclean and unreliable. They are not the creatures we would expect God to use to care for His prophet. Yet that is often how God works. He provides in ways we would not choose so that our trust rests in Him, not in the method. When God sustains us through unexpected means, we are reminded that He is the source, not the system.

Obedience does not eliminate hardship. Elijah is still living in a land under judgment. He is still isolated. The drought is still real. But he is not abandoned. There is a profound difference between a life free from difficulty and a life filled with God’s presence. Obedience does not always change our circumstances immediately, but it changes how we experience them.

Many of us want refreshment without obedience. We want peace without surrender, renewal without trust, provision without dependence. But Scripture consistently shows that God meets His people on the path of obedience, not because obedience earns His favor, but because it positions us to receive what He freely gives.

So the question this passage gently presses into our lives is this: where has God asked us to trust Him, even when it feels hidden, inconvenient, or unremarkable? Where might obedience feel less like advancement and more like retreat?

God knows where the brook is. He knows where refreshment waits. Our calling is not to understand everything in advance, but to go where He sends us and trust that obedience will lead us exactly where we need to be.

Have you ever had a moment when you were truly parched? Not mildly thirsty, but desperately in need of water. Maybe it was after a long run, sleeping through the night, or after your third cup of coffee that day. Your mouth feels dry, your head feels foggy, and your body sends clear signals… you need water to survive.

God designed our bodies that way. Thirst is not a flaw; it is a warning system. If there is one place you would not want to be when thirst hits, it would be the desert. Yet throughout Scripture, God repeatedly uses the desert and wilderness as places of spiritual clarity, dependence, and transformation.

That is not accidental.

The words desert and wilderness appear over 300 times in Scripture. While geography plays a role, the repetition is theological. God intentionally chooses barren, quiet, uncomfortable places to reveal Himself. The wilderness strips away distractions and exposes what we truly depend on. It reveals where we have been looking for life.

We see this pattern again and again. Hagar flees into the wilderness after being cast out by Sarai, and it is there that God meets her and names her pain (Genesis 16). Israel wanders in the wilderness for forty years after fearing the Promised Land, learning daily dependence on manna from heaven (Exodus 16). David hides in the desert while fleeing Saul, discovering that God is his refuge (Psalm 63). John the Baptist prepares for ministry in the wilderness, calling people to repentance and renewed devotion (Matthew 3). Jesus Himself spends forty days in the wilderness, fasting and resisting temptation, declaring that “man shall not live by bread alone” (Matthew 4:4). And in 1 Kings 17, Elijah enters the wilderness as well.

Elijah’s story begins abruptly. In 1 Kings 17:1, he appears before King Ahab and declares a drought over the land. This declaration directly challenges Baal, the false god Israel trusted for rain, fertility, and provision. God removes the very thing Baal promised to provide, exposing the emptiness of false saviors. And immediately after this bold moment, God sends Elijah into obscurity, into the wilderness, where water will eventually dry up.

Why? Because before Elijah can confront a nation publicly, God forms him privately.

The wilderness is not just a place of scarcity; it is a place of revelation. When everything else is stripped away, God makes Himself known. Psalm 107:5–6 says, “They were hungry and thirsty; their soul fainted within them. Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them from their distress.” Desperation has a way of clarifying who we truly trust.

This truth confronts us with an uncomfortable reality: our souls thirst, whether we acknowledge it or not. And we are constantly tempted to satisfy that thirst with things that cannot sustain us. Success, approval, relationships, comfort, control, even good things become substitutes for God. But Scripture is clear: created things were never meant to carry the weight of the soul.

The issue is not thirst; it is the source. We were created by God, for God. Only the Creator knows what truly satisfies His creation. Augustine famously wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” Restlessness is often a mercy, not a mistake. It exposes misplaced trust and invites us back to the true source of life.

Jesus echoes this truth when He stands and cries out, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink” (John 7:37). Later He tells the Samaritan woman, “Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again” (John 4:14). Only God can satisfy the soul because only God is eternal. Everything else eventually runs dry.

So the question becomes deeply personal: have you been in a place recently where you can truly hear from God? A place where distractions are silenced and your soul can recognize its thirst? The wilderness does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like intentional solitude, turning off your phone, opening God’s Word, and sitting quietly before Him.

If you have not found yourself in that space recently, consider creating it this week. Put your phone on “Do Not Disturb.” Leave it in another room. Find quiet. Open Scripture. Pray honestly. And see what happens.

Because when everything else is stripped away, one truth remains: only God can satisfy your soul.