Suitcases zipped, passports double-checked, we waited for the Uber I had scheduled the night before. I wasn’t about to gamble on finding a ride at that hour. Right on time, the notification came: “Your driver has arrived.”
Out front sat a minivan. A bit of nostalgia for me, my parents had carted the three of us kids around in one just like it. Inside, we met our driver, a kind woman with a warm smile and Christian music playing softly through the speakers. Immediately, I felt a spark of joy. What a perfect sign for the start of this trip. Lord, You are here already.
As we made our way to the airport, she shared her story. She was a single mother of five boys. Two already graduated, three still in high school. Her sons were athletes, busy with football and practices, and she worked nights so she could be there for them during the day. Every night, seven nights a week, she drove that van to keep her family afloat. By morning, when most of us were starting our day, she was finishing hers. While her boys were at school, she would sleep just enough to wake up in time to cook dinner and cheer them on at their games.
Listening to her faith-filled words, hearing her softly sing along to the worship music, I felt both humbled and convicted. Here we were embarking on a wonderful trip, while she was simply fighting for daily strength and provision. And yet she radiated gratitude.
I know what it is to walk the road of single motherhood, to lean on the Lord when the weight feels impossible. Some of us single moms carry a kind of hidden superpower, the strength God gives when we’ve come to the end of ourselves. And I could see it in her. The Lord was holding her up, giving her the ability to press through nights of exhaustion and still raise her boys with faith and love.
Before we reached the airport, I left her a generous tip and lifted a prayer. I prayed God would strengthen her, carry her through, and see those boys through high school. That He would “move the immovable, do the impossible,” just as the song on the radio said.
Her legacy will be powerful. Her sons will one day tell their children about their mother who worked through the night so they could live like ordinary teenagers, even when life was far from ordinary. Someday, they will take care of her. But for now, she leans on her God. And He will not let her fall.
As I wheeled my suitcase into the terminal, I thought: Lord, if this is how You’ve chosen to begin the journey, I can’t wait to see what else You will show us in Guatemala.
The Widow’s Oil
Centuries ago, in a small Israelite village, there lived a woman whose world had collapsed around her. She was a widow. Her husband was gone too soon, leaving her alone to carry the weight of survival. But it wasn’t just grief she carried. Her husband had left behind debts, and in those days creditors didn’t just take your possessions; they could take your children as payment.
Two sons. Her boys. Her whole world. And now the knock of a creditor at her door threatened to rip them away.
Can you imagine the heaviness in her chest as she lay awake at night, listening to her sons breathe in their sleep, wondering how long she had left with them? Every clink of pottery in the neighbor’s house, every footstep on the dirt road, must have set her heart pounding: Will today be the day they come for my children?
In her desperation, she ran to the prophet Elisha. Her voice cracked as she poured out her grief:
“My husband, your servant, is dead. And you know he revered the Lord. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves.”
Elisha looked at her and asked a question that must have felt almost cruel in the moment:
“What do you have in your house?”
She wanted to say “Nothing.” Because that was how it felt. Empty cupboards. Empty purse. Empty hope. But then she remembered one small thing, a jar. Her voice was soft, almost embarrassed:
“Your servant has nothing there at all… except a small jar of olive oil.”
Just a little flask. Insignificant. Hardly worth mentioning.
But God saw potential in the little. He always does.
Through Elisha, God gave some unusual instructions:
“Go around and ask all your neighbors for empty jars. Don’t ask for just a few. Then go inside and shut the door behind you and your sons. Pour oil into all the jars, and as each is filled, put it to one side.”
That last part must have caught in her ears: Don’t ask for just a few.
God wasn’t planning to scrape her by. He wasn’t going to hand her just enough to survive the day. His plan was bigger, richer, more extravagant than she could imagine. Her faith would be measured not by what she lacked, but by how many jars she dared to collect. The more vessels she gathered, the more space there would be for Him to pour His abundance.
I imagine her sons racing through the village, knocking on doors, breathless as they begged: “Do you have a jar we can borrow? A bowl? A pitcher?” Some neighbors likely shook their heads, whispering in pity. Others handed over jars with furrowed brows, thinking this was madness. But the boys kept gathering, arms full, until their little home was crowded with clay vessels of every shape and size.
Then came the moment of truth.
She lifted her tiny flask, that one “insignificant” jar, and tipped it over the first vessel. Golden oil trickled, then poured, then filled. She moved to the next jar, and it filled. Then another. And another.
Her hands trembled at first, but steadied as she realized what was happening. The oil did not stop. The room, once echoing with emptiness, now gleamed with jar after jar filled to the brim. Her sons’ eyes were wide with awe as they slid one vessel after another beneath the stream, until the house itself smelled of rich olive oil, shining in the lamplight.
And this wasn’t just any substance. Olive oil was one of the most valuable commodities in their world. It was used for food, medicine, light in their lamps, even for worship. It was costly to press, precious to trade, and a true marker of wealth and security. God wasn’t multiplying something cheap and ordinary. He was giving her the very thing that could erase her debt, sustain her household, and even be sold for future provision.
At last, breathless and overwhelmed, she whispered, “Bring me another one.”
But her son shook his head. “There are no jars left.”
And in that moment, the oil stopped flowing. Not a drop too soon, not a drop too late. Every single jar they had gathered, and not one less, was filled.
Elisha’s words sealed the miracle:
“Go, sell the oil and pay your debts. You and your sons can live on what is left.”
Do you see it? God didn’t just erase her debt. He gave her enough to live on. Her moment of desperation became His moment of extravagance. What looked like the end of her story was only the beginning of His provision.
Modern-Day Oil Jars
As I listened to the woman in the minivan tell her story, I couldn’t help but think of that widow so many centuries ago. Different time, different culture, but the same desperate cry: “Lord, how do I make it? How do I provide for my children with so little in my hands?”
Her minivan was her jar of oil. Night after night she poured herself out, trusting that somehow there would be enough. And just as surely as God filled the widow’s jars, I believe He is filling hers.
But I realized something else on that quiet drive to the airport: her story was also my story.
I’ve known what it feels like to lose everything. I lost my husband. I lost my job. I lost the identity I thought defined me. Piece by piece, the life I thought I had built came crashing down, until all I had left was a desperate prayer: “God, help me keep a roof over my kids’ heads. Help me give them some stability.”
And in that lowest season, God placed a jar of oil in my hands. It didn’t look like much at the time, a job at a startup company. It was quick, it was flexible, and I thought it was just a temporary way to survive. But it was exactly what I needed. I could keep our home. I couldn't be there for my son as I'd hoped, as he recovered from surgery at home. I'd have to lean on family, but I could make it through.
Then COVID hit, and the world turned upside down. For many people, it was a season of loss. But for me, working from home became a lifeline. It allowed me to care for my son, pay my bills, and survive when I wasn’t sure survival was possible.
And here’s the miracle: that “temporary” job, that little jar of oil, turned into abundance. Five years later, the company has grown. My role has grown. And from that provision, God has allowed us not only to survive but to thrive. Today we’re able to do things I never dreamed of in those dark days, like take a trip to Guatemala.
No one can convince me that God doesn’t care about the single moms, the widows, the women who feel like they’re standing at the edge of their rope. I used to believe my divorce meant I had disappointed Him, that somehow I was less worthy of His care. But it was in that very season of brokenness that He showed up. Not with just enough to scrape by, but with more than enough.
Our God loves His daughters. He has always loved them. The widow in ancient Israel, the weary Uber driver in her minivan, and the single mom sitting at her kitchen table wondering how to pay the bills. He sees us in our moments of desperation, when we feel like we have nothing left but a little jar of oil, and He steps in with a miracle. Not just enough to scrape by, but abundance. Not just survival, but provision that overflows into hope and future. That is the heart of our God, to take our emptiest places and turn them into testimonies of His extravagant love.
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