A (5:56)

The house of Neriah and Miriam was in many ways the heart of Shunam. It wasn't the largest house in town though, but still it was the house that people gravitated toward. The house where weary travelers found a meal without having to ask. Where the poor found a warm place to sit in the winter. Where the children of the streets found laughter, lessons, and love when the world had otherwise ignored them. Miracles. Miriam, the lady of the house, was gifted in hospitality not for the sake of display or self importance, but for the sheer joy of welcoming others. Her favorite place was at a table surrounded by friends, watching the weight of life's struggles slip off their shoulders as they ate and drank and spoke of things both deep and silly. Naraya, her husband, was a man with sawdust in his beard and calluses on his hands. He was respected in Shunam for his skill. No one built sturdier homes, but he was beloved for his heart. He had never once refused to build a home for a family in need, even when it meant dipping into his own earnings to make it happen. And when they weren't feeding the hungry or housing the needy, they were gathering the the town's orphans in their courtyard, telling them stories of Adam and Moses and Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The children would sit wide eyed, hanging onto every word, never fully realizing that part of the reason Miriam and Neriah did this, besides their own goodness, was because they had no children of their own. It was in this home, at this table, that Elisha often found refuge, and tonight was no different. The warm glow of oil lamps flickered against the walls, casting golden light over the wooden table which was set with roasted lamb, fresh bread, and a fragrant lentil stew. The air was rich with the scent of spice and smoke, laughter mingling with the sound of plates being passed and wine being poured. Elisha sat at the table, his simple robes worn from travel, his ever present air of quiet intensity softened in the presence of these two. Across from him sat Gehazi, his long term servant who unlike his master, appreciated a well made garment and had the expression of a man who fully intended to enjoy every bite of the meal before him. At the head of the table, Narayah leaned back in his chair, eyeing the prophet with a wry grin.

B (8:49)

I tell you, Prophet, you carry the scent of the road.

A (8:53)

Dust, sweat, perhaps a hint of donkey. Ah, the perfume of Yahweh's messengers. Perhaps one day he'll see fit to anoint me with something finer. Sandalwood, maybe, or crushed myrrh. Perhaps one day he'll see fit to give you a proper roof over your head.

B (9:14)

That's not a bad idea, you know.

A (9:16)

Elisha glanced up as Miriam poured more wine into his cup. You pass through Shootam often enough.

B (9:23)

A man should have a place to rest.

A (9:27)

She's in.

B (9:27)

Hounding me about it for weeks.

A (9:29)

Prophet wants me to build you a room. Elisha raised a brow, stone setting his cup down. A room. A proper one.

B (9:39)

A place to sleep when you pass through. A bed, a lamp, a table.

A (9:44)

It'll be simple but sturdy. That is more than generous. I could never ask that of you. Ask? Who said anything about asking? My wife has made up her mind. Once Miriam makes up her mind, mine.

B (10:01)

Whoa.

A (10:02)

There's no resisting.

B (10:04)

Ah, think nothing of it.

A (10:05)

I'll have it done in two weeks. Easy. Miriam smirked but said nothing, simply sipping her wine. Yes, Master. Why fight it? We could use a place to sleep. It doesn't smell like camel. Elisha exhaled, shaking his head, but a rare, genuine smile flickered at the corner of his lips. Then I accept. Thank you. Miriam's eyes shone as she placed a hand over her husband's. The conversation moved on, and soon the room was filled again with laughter and stories. Miriam, as always, steered the conversation, asking about the places Elisha had been, the people he had met. She poured wine, cut bread, refilled bowls, making sure no one wanted for anything. Naraya, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, his presence steady, listening more than speaking, his enjoyment of the meal evident in the way he savoured every bite. Then, at a pause in the conversation, Miriam's tone shifted.

B (11:14)

There's been talk in the market. A story, actually, of a widow. Something about oil. They say you told her to gather all the jars she could find, that the Lord filled them to the brim, enough to pay her debts and save her sons from the creditors. Is it true?

A (11:32)

I told him it was madness, my lady. That he was setting the poor woman up for a disappointment. You did. Yes. And yet here we are. The jars were filled, the widow was sick, and I look like a fool. Naraya let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. The Lord provides. Yes, yes. It's quite inconvenient for my skepticism. Elisha reached for his cup, his voice casual. Since we're discussing provision, tell me, how have things been for you both. The couple exchanged a glance, a small one, barely noticeable, but enough for Elisha to catch. We are well. Elisha waited. The silence stretched, the weight of unspoken words filling the space between them. Naraya cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. We. We have long prayed for a child. It was the first true crack in their composure. Miriam, normally so poised, so in control, let her fingers tighten just slightly around the stem of her cup.

B (12:53)

It is the only thing we lack.

A (12:56)

Then we shall pray together. The tension in the room shifted. Naraya nodded, his jaw tight. Miriam swallowed, something raw in her expression, and Gehazi, ever the practical one, simply leaned back in his chair, watching his master with something that might have been skepticism or something deeper. Faith, perhaps, was a slow thing to grow, but even slow things in time bear fruit. Several weeks had passed, and the room Neriah built for Elisha had already become something of a sanctuary. It was nothing extravagant. Miriam wouldn't allow it, but it was well crafted, sturdy, with smooth beams and a door that fit perfectly in its frame, the mark of a master builder. The small table and chair sat by the window, and the oil lamp flickered softly in the evening air. There was a bed, simple, but far better than the ground Elisha had grown accustomed to. Tonight Elisha sat on that bed, absentmindedly, rolling a small stone between his fingers, lost in thought. Gehazi, standing near the table, poured himself a cup of water, watching his master with an expression that could have either been amusement or frustration. You're thinking again. Elisha glanced up, smirking. You disapprove. Only because I know what follows. You get that look in your eyes. The same one you had when you decided to leave a perfectly good farm and a perfectly wealthy family to go live in the wilderness with Elijah. Elisha chuckled softly. He set the stone down, stretching his legs out in front of him. You think too much like my father. Gehazi leaned against the table, crossing his arms. Your father was a practical man. Yes, he was. A pause. Elisha picked up the stone again, turning it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. You know your father. He thought I was wasting my time looking after you. Thought you were foolish for leaving. Elisha's smirk faltered slightly. I remember when you were a boy, you wanted so badly to run off, to follow every wind, chase every whisper. Your father, he thought if he kept you working, kept you grounded, he you forget about all that. You learn to be satisfied with the life given you. Elisha turned the stone over again, staring at it. But you didn't believe that. I knew better than to fight the inevitable. I just tried to keep you alive long enough to get there. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of years resting between them. Then Elisha exhaled, shaking his head. Miriam and Naraya, they've given us so much. They have. I wish there was something I could do for them. Gehazi let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. Oh, I don't know, Master. What could possibly be given to the most generous people in Shunam? They have wealth, land, respect. They lack for nothing. Well, almost nothing. Elisha's brow furrowed. What do you mean, child? It's the only thing they don't have. You remember when they told us at dinner weeks ago? They've prayed for years, but some things it seems, even God chooses not to give. Elisha's expression changed. His eyes brightened. He sat up straighter. That's it. Elisha lowered his head. A breath, a pause. His lips moved silent, brief. Then slowly he lifted his face again, and he smiled. A small, knowing smile, the kind Gehazi had seen before. The kind that meant Yahweh had spoken. Elisha rose to his feet, his movement steady, assured. Come, Gehazi. We have a message to deliver. Miriam was kneading bread when they found her. The smell of flower and honey lingered in the air, and Narayah sat nearby, carving something into a block of wood. A small horse, perhaps, though unfinished. When she saw Elisha and Gehazi approaching, she wiped her hands on her apron, tilting her head curiously. Prophet, what brings you out so late? My friends, the Lord has heard your prayers. Neriah glanced up. Miriam's hands stilled. By this time next year, you will hold a child in your arms. The words hung in the air, trembling with weight. Miriam stared at him. For the first time in all their knowing of her, she looked unsure.

B (18:33)

Please, Elijah, don't give me false hope.

A (18:37)

I only speak what Yahweh has given me to say. A breath, a moment. Then Miriam swallowed hard, nodding. Behind her, Narayah exhaled, setting down his carving. His hand found hers. They said nothing else. For the first time in a long time, their prayers no longer felt like they were drifting into an empty sky. The years passed. The prophecy had come true. Miriam and Neriah had borne a son, a beautiful boy, the light of his parents lives asa named for healing, for restoration, for hope renewed. He grew up beneath Neriah's strong hands, learning how to hold a chisel, how to shape wood. He spent his mornings in Miriam's kitchen, sneaking bits of bread dough. When he thought she wasn't looking, he had his father's laugh and his mother's eyes. Elisha saw him often. He was always running, always moving, always laughing. Miriam was never seen without him, her hand on his back, ruffling his hair, kissing his forehead. And Naraya, the man who had spent his life building homes for others, had finally felt he was building something of his own. The day had started like any other. The sun was high. Asa was running through the fields, his small feet kicking up dust, his laughter bright as he chased after the workers. Naraya, standing near the frame of a new house, turned at the sound of it, shaking his head with fondness.

B (20:23)

Then Abba, my head. It hurts.

A (20:26)

It was small at first, a hand pressed to his temple, a slight wobble in his step. Then he staggered. Then he fell. By the time Narayah reached him, he was barely conscious. Esa. ESA as a look. Look at me. The boy whimpered. Naraya lifted him, cradling him in his arms, and strode toward the house, his voice calling for Miriam before he even reached the door. Inside she took him, holding him against her, whispering prayers, rocking him as if she could will the life back into him. For hours she sat there, for hours she begged. But as the sun reached its peak, Asa's small chest rose one final time and did not rise again. Silence. The boy was gone. Naraya stood still, unmoving, his hands clenched so tightly they shook. Then, without a word, he turned and left the room. Miriam didn't see where he went, didn't see him collapse outside, pressing his fists to his eyes, shoulders shaking with silent, broken sobs. She only knew what she had to do. Carefully, reverently, she carried their son's body to Elisha's room. She laid him on the prophet's bed. Then she turned towards her husband, wiping the tears from her face. Send word for Elisha. Elisha had come as soon as he heard the messenger arrived, breathless, dust caked to his feet, his words tumbling out between gasps. Asa has died. Miriam had laid him in Elisha's room. She and Neriah waited in silence, grief a black, leaden weight over their house. Elisha and Gehazi had left immediately. No hesitation, no wasted words. The journey to Shunem was a blur of sun, scorched roads, and pounding hearts. Gehazi ran ahead, the urgency pressing on him, while Elisha walked with the slow, deliberate steps of a man carrying something unseen but unbearably heavy. He had heard a story like this once, when he was younger, during his first year as Elijah's apprentice. His master had told him about a woman in Zarephath a widow whose son had died in her arms. I laid the lad on the bed. I stretched myself over him and cried out to the Lord. And he answered. Elisha had listened, fascinated now, as he stepped into the quiet, heavy air of Naraya and Miriam's home. The echoes of that tale rang in his mind, but they felt distant, like something that had happened in another world, to another man. This was now. This was real. Elisha entered first. The small room, so carefully built, so freely given, felt different now. The light from the single window was pale, muted. The air was thick with silence. And there on the prophet's bed, lay Asa, small, still gone. Miriam stood near the door, her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold in everything that threatened to spill out. Neriah stood beside her, his hands clenched at his sides, the grief barely held at bay beneath the tension in his jaw. Elisha barely had time to turn toward them before Miriam's voice cut through the silence, raw and shaking. Why did you come? Elisha froze. Her eyes were red rimmed, wild with grief. She took a step forward, her breath unsteady. I told you not to give me false hope.

B (24:42)

I told you I didn't ask for a son. I didn't ask for any of it. I would rather have been barren forever than feel this.

A (24:51)

Why? Why would God do this? Why would he give only to take? Her voice cracked. Elisha let the words hit him, let the weight of them settle. He could have rebuked her. He could have told her to have faith. But what did words mean in the face of this? Instead, he stepped forward, slowly, gently, and he placed his hand over hers. I don't know. Miriam inhaled sharply, as if bracing for a second blow. I don't know why God does what he does, but I don't know why he allows grief to take root where joy once bloomed. Her breath hitched. But I do know that he sees you. He sees this. His hand, warm and firm, stayed over hers. And I know he's not done yet. Miriam's lips trembled. Her body, once taught with rage, sagged. The fight in her was slipping away, not because she no longer felt it, but because she had no more strength to wield it. Elisha squeezed her hand once before stepping past her toward the boy. Elisha reached the bed and placed a hand on Asa's forehead. This was a moment where faith had to be more than words, a moment where trust had to be something lived. Elisha exhaled, and then he did as Elijah had done. He stretched himself over the boy, hands to hands, eyes to eyes, mouth to mouth. A prayer tore from his lips. Rough, raw, desperate. Lord, let his life return. Nothing. He tried again. Yahweh, hear me. The boy's body remained still. Elisha sat back, exhaling sharply, his heart pounding. He closed his eyes. This wasn't working. He had done what Elijah had done. And yet his mind flickered back to something Elijah had said once it isn't the words, Elisha. It isn't the message. It is the one who moves. Elisha exhaled and he leaned down again, not as a man mimicking another, but as a man surrendering to something far greater than himself. He prayed, and this time it wasn't desperate. It was trust. Then a shudder, a A gasp. Asa's body convulsed beneath him and suddenly he was coughing, breath spilling back into his lungs like water bursting through a cracked dam. His eyes shot open wide, confused. Alive. Elisha pulled back, breathing hard, his own chest rising and falling with disbelief and awe. Elisha turned on, eyes locking with Miriam's. For a long moment she didn't move. Then she let out a sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and suddenly she was across the room, her arms wrapping around Asa, pulling him close, her hands tangling in his hair, her tears hot against his skin. Elisha stood back, watching, his heart pounding, his body light. This. This was Yahweh's work. This was Grace. Miriam, still holding her son, turned her tear streaked face toward him. Her lips parted, but no words came. Elisha only nodded and departed.

B (28:56)

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A (32:40)

Amen. You can listen to the Chosen People with Yael Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to the pray.com app today. This pray.com production is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Cattina, Max Bard, Zach Schellewager and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People with Yael Eckstein. Edited by Alberto Avila. Narrated by Paul Coltofianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwald, Sylvia zaradoc, Thomas Copeland Jr. Rosanna Pilcher and Mitch Leschinsky. And the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore. Music by Andrew Morgan Smith. Written by Aaron Salvato, Bree, Rosalie and Chris Baig. Special thanks to Bishop Paul Lanier, Robin Van Etten, Caleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, the Rabbi Edward Abramson and the team at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. You can hear more Pray.com productions on the Pray.com app available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed the Chosen People with Yael Eckstein, please rate and leave a review. Hey, it's me Ear Heart. Mind if I pick the next song? Listen, Even though we're eating better, people who've had one heart attack are at higher risk of another. But Repatha Evolocumab plus a statin lowers LDL C, our bad cholesterol and our heart attack risk. So let's talk to our doctor about Repatha.

B (34:13)

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A (34:40)

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B (34:53)

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A (34:57)

I just want a house. We want everything. Wow. Stop who's got and see the Roses.

B (35:04)

These people.

A (35:05)

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B (35:42)

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A (36:13)

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B (36:44)

This is an iHeart podcast.