A long time ago, there was a prophet named Elisha, who had his bald head so far up into heaven that he was able to perform many miracles.
This is not about him.
He had a servant named Gehazi, who had his head so firmly fixed on this earth that he was shrewdly able to discern the motives and desires of the people he encountered.
This is not about him.
In his job as Israel’s prophet, Elisha often passed through the city of Shunem. In Shunem, there lived a kind, wealthy woman whose name is not recorded, so we call her the Shunammite woman.
This is about her.
This woman decided to dedicate a room in her home especially for Elisha, so he could rest from his busy propheting job. He was so appreciative that he wanted to return the favor. He had political influence, and he often performed miracles for needy people. But he was vexed because, when he asked, the Shunammite woman responded that she needed nothing. Shrewd Gehazi, however, had noticed that she had no children and her husband was old.
Elisha, resting in his little Shunem room, called her. She stood at the door of his room. I can see her—elegant, poised, at ease with this prophet. And he promised her a baby to be born within the next year.
“No, my lord!” she cried. “Please, man of God, don’t mislead your servant!”
I see her crumple, inwardly and outwardly, in pain. She had buried this hope so deeply, so completely, that the surprise of its revelation was excruciating, like an exposed nerve.
This nameless Shunammite woman is one of my favorite people in the Bible because I know her pain. I have had desires buried so deeply that I spent days, weeks, even months not thinking about them. There are hopes that are too profound, too impossible to embrace. And we (because I assume you, too, have them) kick them to the curb with very, very good reasons: I don’t really need this. I don’t deserve it. This is for other people, not me.
We tell ourselves to live in gratitude, to right-size our aspirations, to stop being so needy.
The Shunammite was wealthy, respected, and honored by her husband. She had shut down the deep desire for motherhood—the desire to hold a baby, to have a companion, someone to take over the business when her husband died, to delight her with grandchildren. With a word, that desire popped right up and pierced her heart.
You may have a houseful of children, or you may be happily child-free, but your desires are just as deep—for a relationship, a home, a healing, vindication, a miracle, a lover, success in something you’ve worked so hard at, for so long. And some desires are so strong and seem so impossible that you’ve buried them beneath busyness, settling for what you know you can have. No exposure, no shame, no disappointment.
The Shunammite was blessed with a lovely child, a delight to his parents. And then, he died. His mother gathered him up, gently laid him on Elisha’s bed, and said nothing about it to anyone.
I can imagine what I might have said to myself: See? What a fool you were to hope so hard. What a chump you were to believe you could have your heart’s desire. Grow up.
But the Shunammite was a changed woman, wearing her desire like chainmail. She saddled up her donkey and rode as fast as she could to Elisha.
Her husband asked, “What’s up?”
And she answered, “Nothing.”
Elisha sent Gehazi running to meet her, and Gehazi asked, “What’s up?”
And she answered, “Nothing.”
She reached Elisha, took hold of his feet, and complained, “Did I ask you for a son, my lord? Didn’t I tell you, ‘Don’t raise my hopes?’”
Elisha handed Gehazi his staff and commanded him to run ahead and lay it on the boy.
Without hesitation, the Shunammite woman demanded, “No. You.”
It took some mighty spiritual muscle for Elisha to get that boy to live again. I can just imagine: Oh God, oh God, come on. And the boy sneezed and got up, alive. Elisha was likely sweating as he delivered the child to his mother.
What if her son, the fulfillment of her deepest desire, had remained dead? Would she have been a fool to have exposed that desire? Would her yearning have been any less sacred? Would God be any less good?
Her burden was not her barrenness. Her burden was not even her hope. Her burden was her denial of the deep, insatiable hope she carried.
If I lower my expectations, I won’t avoid disappointment, nor will I stanch the unspoken ache in my heart. And so, I choose to be like the changed Shunammite woman—messy, vulnerable, wearing my desire without shame. I will receive my deepest desires, or I will not. Pretending I don’t have them won’t change that.
God is inscrutable and unpredictable, not only loving and good when we ask for the attainable, the possible, the likely. He loves us when we demand, when we complain, when we pound His chest in anger. And our desires? They are the best truth about us and He loves them, too.
* 2 Kings 4:8-37
Marcia Thomas lives in a suburb of Chicago with her husband of 41 years. She has raised four handsome, self-actualizing sons. She has found healing in exploring her story in the presence of others and treasures the opportunities she has to be that presence for others. She is surprised and pleased to find that the glad work of healing does not have a retirement age.
This piece pierces me. Thank you.
Your reflections here on this rather obscure story have stirred thoughts and emotions within me that have needed to be brought forward and named before God. Thank you, Marcia!
The picture you painted gave me the fortitude to speak openly of my own longing.
This story has been at the center of my heart for decades. I also buried a son, a long time ago. I have five others. But my hopes are always in my heart for all of them. Thank you for your beautiful kind words. I needed them today.