1 Kings 19:1-5 Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. 2 Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life as the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” 3 Then he was afraid, and he arose and ran for his life and came to Beersheba, which belongs to Judah, and left his servant there. 4 But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a broom tree. And he asked that he might die, saying, “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.” 5 And he lay down and slept under a broom tree. And behold, an angel touched him and said to him, “Arise and eat.”
After one of the greatest spiritual victories in all of Scripture–calling down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel and turning the hearts of Israel back to God–Elijah finds himself blindsided by fear.
Jezebel’s threat, a single message promising his death within twenty-four hours, sends him running for his life. The same man who boldly faced hundreds of false prophets now flees into the wilderness, collapsing under a broom tree, physically exhausted and emotionally shattered.
In that lonely place, Elijah utters one of the most raw and human prayers recorded in Scripture: “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life.” How does a prophet fall so far, so fast? Because even the strongest among us are not immune to burnout, to despair, or the crushing weight of unmet expectations. Elijah had hoped that revival would take root, that Jezebel’s reign of terror would come to an end. But evil still held the throne, and Elijah felt utterly alone. His cry wasn’t rebellion–it was fatigue, disappointment, and the pain of believing he had failed.
We’ve all had broom tree moments–times when we’ve poured ourselves out in obedience, only to be met with resistance or silence. We’ve felt the sting of rejection, the fear that nothing we’ve done has mattered, and the quiet whisper of defeat. And yet, the beauty of Elijah’s story is not only in his honesty but in God’s response. The Lord doesn’t scold Elijah for running. He doesn’t reject his weakness. Instead, He sends an angel with food, gives him rest, and later speaks in a gentle whisper–not a rebuke, but a reassurance.
God’s heart toward the weary is full of compassion. He knows the limits of our humanity and meets us right in the middle of our brokenness. If you find yourself under your own broom tree today–overwhelmed, tired, or afraid–know this: God sees you. He’s not finished with you. The wilderness is not your final destination. It’s often the place where God begins to write the next chapter of your story, with fresh strength and renewed purpose. Let Him meet you there.
Copyright 1999-2026 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
More Devotions
Studying some remarkable events in the history of World War 2, we find the deliverance of the allied armies at Dunkirk; a true story of Divine providence in modern history. It was on May 10, 1940, that Hitler unleashed his armies against France and Belgium. Within days, the British army found itself outmaneuvered and unprepared for the German blitzkrieg assault led by General Rommel and his 7th Panzer division.
Thousands are gathering in Washington D.C. today to pray for the inauguration of the new president of the United States. I know a number of people who will be there and I think it’s a good thing, but this reminds me of a story I heard once.
We arrived at the airport late Thursday night with our bags and our kiddos only to find out that our flight was canceled because of a freak accident — a tractor ran into the plane, of all things! So we repacked our ourselves tightly into a small rental car to make the two hour drive to get back home to Arad in the middle of the night. Our flight was postponed till Sunday.
There was a man who had four sons, and he wanted them to understand the importance of not rushing to judgment. So, he sent each one on a journey to view a pear tree that was far away. He sent the first son in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in the summer, and the youngest in the fall. After they all returned, he gathered them together to hear what they had seen.
The Hebrew letter mem, equivalent to our English letter “M,” has a fascinating characteristic: it has two forms. The “open mem” appears at the beginning or middle of a word, with a small opening in its design. The “closed mem,” however, is used exclusively as the final letter in a word, fully sealed in its appearance. This distinction is consistent throughout the Hebrew language—except for one extraordinary exception found in the Bible.
We came across this story, about a man who was slowly losing his memory. After a lengthy examination, the doctor said that a risky operation on his brain might reverse his condition and restore his memory. However, the surgery would be so delicate that a nerve could be severed, causing total blindness.
Yeshua (Jesus) gave a remarkable parenthetic instruction in the middle of His Olivet discourse on the time of His coming and the end of the age. While it is unlikely that He himself said this, He certainly inspired Matthew to insert, “..let the reader understand”, concerning this critical event prophesied by Daniel, the Abomination of Desolation. His exhortation intended us (the readers of Matthew’s gospel) to learn what this means.