Today we begin a new series on the man Elijah.
Let me clarify first—we’re talking about the original Elijah. I know many babies have been named after him over the years, but I mean the Elijah. The prophet, not the professor. And yes, while “Prof” might suggest academia, in Elijah’s case it stands for Prophet—God’s mouthpiece in a time of national crisis.
When we first meet him in the book of 1 Kings, he’s introduced as Elijah the Tishbite from Gilead. As a writer, that detail caught my eye. Why such specific mention of where he’s from?
Imagine someone reporting, “A man named Mugisha from Rwanda.” That feels redundant if you’re already in Rwanda. But say, “A woman named Carol from Kenya”—while in Rwanda—and it makes more sense. It means she’s not from around here.
Turns out, the Tishbites were a small group of immigrants who had settled in Gilead. So Elijah was more than just a prophet. He was an outsider—a man from a lesser-known background whom God raised up to confront kings.
Now picture this:
One morning, I wake up and say to my husband,
“Sweetie, God spoke to me last night. I have a message for President Kagame.”
Now imagine this isn’t even the first time I’ve said something like that. God has sent me to speak difficult truths before—to friends, family, even local leaders.
But this time? I’m aiming higher.
He pauses, then gives me that serious look.
“Carol,” he says (only using my full name when he’s dead serious), “Have you thought that maybe… this is your subconscious speaking? You’ve always dreamed of meeting important people.”
He means well. He knows I honor God. But this feels crazy. Still, when he sees how deeply I believe it’s from God—and not just ambition—he backs off. He starts to pray. He won’t stand in God’s way.
And I start to prepare.
Back to Elijah.
1 Kings 17 opens with a bang:
Elijah walks straight into the palace to confront King Ahab.
This wasn’t just any king. Ahab was notorious—he had provoked God more than any king before him. He was the son of Omri, a general who rose to power through force. Ahab married Jezebel—yes, that Jezebel—the Sidonian queen who introduced Baal worship in Israel.
Together, Ahab and Jezebel promoted full-blown idolatry. They built temples to Baal, erected Asherah poles, and slaughtered the prophets of Yahweh.
So Elijah walking into that palace? Already a miracle.
Now imagine this:
King Ahab is mid-lunch when a guard rushes in:
“There’s a man at the gate. Says he’s got a message… from God.”
Ahab, curious and cautious, allows him in—after a thorough search for weapons.
Elijah walks in. No bodyguards. No titles. Just truth.
“In the name of the Lord, the Living God of Israel—”
Ahab interrupts. “Which god exactly?”
Elijah doesn’t flinch.
“The Living God of Israel.”
It was a direct challenge to Ahab’s lifeless idols.
Then Elijah delivers the message:
“As the Lord God of Israel lives, whom I serve, there will be no dew or rain for the next few years—until I say so.”
At first, the room erupts in laughter.
Ahab scoffs, “That’s it? You’ll stop the rain? You plan to collect the clouds and hide them?”
Even Jezebel shows up to see the commotion.
But Elijah stands firm.
“There will be no rain or dew until I say so. Period.”
Suddenly, the mocking stops.
“Arrest him,” Jezebel snaps.
Guards rush out—but Elijah is already gone. Slipped through their fingers like mist. No horse. No chariot. No escape plan. Just… gone.
They return empty-handed. Heads bowed.
From that moment on, Elijah became a national fugitive.
And still, no one took the message seriously.
Until the rainy season came.
And not. One. Drop. Fell.
To read part 2
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