The Smallest Cloud
This week, I found myself deep in contemplation while driving east on I-90. My husband and I were traveling to visit my grandmother, whose health is failing. On this particular stretch of the journey, I typically look forward to a meteorological phenomenon I call “Toy Story Clouds.” You know, the pristine white ones with the fluffy tops and flat bottoms, brilliant against an endless blue sky—the clouds Pixar perfected.
I had driven this journey many times, but never with such heaviness in my heart. In the town we were departing, my sister was suffering with a sickness that has taken much. In the town we were driving towards, my grandmother was in pain, her body overcome by Parkinson’s disease. On the drive, I found myself both literally and figuratively someplace in between, torn by my inability to offer anything but silence and prayer. Both of these women are some of the strongest people I know. Both of these situations are breaking my heart.
As I drove, I hungrily searched the desert for my favorite clouds, but there was not a cloud in sight. There was just the desert and . . . nothing. I suppose the massive heat wave which has struck the West Coast had something to do with this dearth of clouds; nevertheless, I was disappointed.
“Really God?” I thought.
“Everything feels like it’s going wrong. I’m trying to trust you, but you couldn’t even send a single cloud for this journey?”
An hour later, I saw it: a small, lone puff of a cloud resting atop a distant hill. It was not a Toy Story Cloud, but it was enough to help me remember the presence of God. That single desert cloud reminded me of the story of Elijah, when God revealed his presence and provision in ways Elijah never would have expected.
* * *
In 1 Kings 18, we learn that the Israelites are in a three year drought as punishment for their idolatry. In a contest between 400 priests of Baal and Elijah—the lone prophet of God—God sent fire from heaven to devour the water-soaked sacrifice that Elijah placed on the altar, proving himself as the One True God. Baal sent nothing, though the priests chanted and cut themselves and begged all day for a display of power.
After killing all the false prophets of Baal, Elijah does something a bit odd—especially in the middle of a drought. He tells the evil King Ahab,
“Go get something to eat and drink, for I hear a mighty rainstorm coming!”
(1 Kings 18:41)
Wait, what?
I guess Elijah was feeling a little bold after the fire demonstration—bold enough to promise something he had yet to ask God for.
Elijah then falls on his face on the top of a mountain and begs God to send rain. Six times he prays, and six times he tells his servant to look out over the sea and check on the status of this downpour he has promised—a promise only God could fulfill. The seventh time he prays, his servant returns with an answer to Elijah’s prayer:
“I saw a little cloud about the size of a man’s hand rising from the sea.”
(I Kings 18:44)
You wouldn’t think a tiny cloud would equal “mighty rainstorm,” but soon thereafter a torrential downpour begins. Elijah then runs for his life from Queen Jezebel, who was not quite grateful for Elijah’s killing 400 of her favorite prophets of Baal directly before praying down a literal flood.
After days of journeying alone through the desert, Elijah finds himself hiding in a cave. God meets him there and tells Elijah to watch for him. God sends a windstorm, an earthquake, and a fire. Somehow, Elijah knows that these elemental forces are not the way God wants to speak to him.
It is as if God is showing Elijah,
“Sure—I could give you bold signs and wonders. Wind, earthquake, and fire are at my command. But I want you to look for me in the small and unexpected, for it is there that I speak to you. It is there that I provide all you need.”
Elijah knows it is the voice of God when he hears a voice no louder than a whisper.
At the mouth of the cave, God tells Elijah to do the impossible and seemingly unbearable: Go back the same way—back to the terror you are fleeing, back to certain persecution and likely death.
Didn’t God know the danger Elijah would face in returning to the domain of his would-be murderers?
Nevertheless, Elijah obeyed, and God provided.
After God sent fire from heaven to prove that He—not Baal—is the true God of Israel, it would have made sense if Elijah expected to find God in the wind, earthquake, or fire.
But between the fire and the earthquake, there was a tiny, distant cloud—no bigger than a person’s hand. Between the tiny cloud and God’s provision of a helper (Elisha) in Elijah’s life, there was a still, small voice.
The unthreatening single cloud brought a downpour that ended a three-year drought.
The nearly inaudible whisper brought enough of God’s presence to revive Elijah’s faith, emboldening him to return from the very place he fled and fulfill God’s call on his life.
* * *
There are times in our lives when the presence of God feels like the mighty pillar of cloud which guided the Israelites through the dangerous desert terrain towards their promised home.
At other times, the presence of God may be a nearly imperceptible wisp of a cloud, no larger than a man’s hand—no louder than a whisper in a storm.
When the well of living water dries up, leaving only a few drops left to quench our insatiable thirst for God’s voice, we might wonder:
Can this possibly be it?
Could God be here, even in the midst of darkness and oppression?
Can God really restore a barren wasteland to its former glory?
But in our wondering, it is vital to remember this:
The tiny wisp of a cloud which ended a three-year drought was precisely the preparation Elijah needed to hear and trust the whisper of the Lord.
The little cloud I saw while driving from heartache to heartache this week was enough to remind me that God will provide, his power revealed in small and unexpected ways—a cloud and a whisper.
Because of Elijah’s story, we know that even the smallest cloud could signify downpours of blessing amid drought.
We trust that even the faintest whisper might be the voice of the Spirit of God wanting to speak into our lives, waiting for us to be still enough to listen with our entire heart, soul, and mind.