LifeStraw

It was one of those mornings you wake up inexplicably early.

Four am, I think.

To awaken gently, I reached for my phone to read the news, opening social media first.

Because the internet is a living breathing entity, this was how I learned there was no clean water in my part of the world.

Lounging in bed, the lists of stores that still sold bottled water were already posted, along with pictures of people waiting in long lines in the dark for a local supermarket to open.

By early morning, no stores in Northwest Ohio had clean water.

Do not drink.

Do not brush teeth.

Do not wash dishes.

Do not cook with the water from the faucet; harmful toxins have been discovered.

I live a few miles from the Great Lakes, yet we had no drinkable water, dependent only on water we had stored.

People reacted differently, of course, and many of the reactions were funny; a local pub posted a colorful picture of their latest alcoholic concoction: the Lake Erie algae bloom which, unlike Lake Erie, looked delicious.

One picture showed long lines of rotund people with dozens of water bottles in flat bed carts. The meme was: “Toledoans be like: I don’t usually drink water, but when I do, it’s when I can’t.”

Photoshops surfaced of dogs with glowing eyes, transformed by the contaminants in the water from loving pets to frightening phantoms.

Pictures of long empty store shelves were everywhere, reported both by national newspeople and social media: no water.

Most remarkably, true character is revealed in a crisis.

Rumors spread that some city workers had already known the water wasn’t safe to drink but had said nothing, protecting only their families.

Other people became instant hoarders; admittedly, self preservation makes it difficult to resist this impulse.

Rather than purchasing simply what was needed, many people took as much as they could, shamelessly greedy.

One woman’s car was so loaded that it wouldn’t move from the store’s parking lot, laughing observers claimed.

In the city, folks lined up, waiting patiently for the government to bring cases of water, while inhabitants of smaller cities proactively drove their vehicles as far as 50 miles to find bottled water. Some stores charged exorbitant prices while others gave water away free.

Looking back, I’m surprised to realize that the crisis lasted just two days. It seemed longer.

I no longer assume I will have water when I need it nor do I assume that people will behave as I expect.

And now I keep a LifeStraw near.

A LifeStraw cleanses contaminated water, making it so clean you can drink it.

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Baal was an ancient god of Canaan.

The Israelites had been explicitly warned to stay away from pagans and their gods, not just because God Himself wanted their love but also because of the detestable behavior that accompanied serving Baal, who was considered both the god of grain and the god of rain.

God said to Israel and its filthy king Ahab:

You have disobeyed me again. I will take water away from you until you realize who and what I am.

King Ahab, who worshiped Baal, the god of rain, met Elijah, and blamed the prophet for the drought, apparently oblivious that, if his Baal were real, the heavens should have opened to drench the countryside.

So Elijah challenged Ahab and the Israelites to a sort of god-off: which ever god was real could reveal himself by setting an altar afire.

“Make up your minds,” Elijah shouted to the people who gathered from everywhere. “How many days of drought? How many deaths? How much sin? How long will you waver? Choose God or choose Baal!”

The stage moved to a higher ground on Mount Carmel, a promontory where thousands of Israelites could see the contest.

Two altars were erected: one for Baal and one for the true God.

Two sacrifices: whichever god set the altar afire was the real god.

So the pagans, the 450 Baal and 400 Ashterah prophets unaware of their imminent failure, danced their dance, slashed their bodies and screamed their demands.

But no god answered.

Meanwhile Elijah set twelve stones (for the twelve tribes of Israel) in God’s altar, around which he dug a trench.

It is recorded that nearby exists a hidden perennial fountain inaccessible to the people but from which Elijah could have drawn the gallons and gallons of water he used to drench his altar, again and again, just to be sure everyone understood with clarity the power of God.

Elijah (whose name means The Lord is My God) stood witness in front of thousands of unbelievers, his heart beating hard in his chest as he shouted to the heavens,

“You are God. I am your servant. I have done what you asked. Turn their hearts back to you, Lord.”

God looked down from His celestial promontory and sent a fire so fierce that it burned not only the sacrifice, but the wood, the stones, the soil and even the trench of water surrounding the altar.

And for that moment in time the people understood the evil they had committed by worshiping idols and not honoring the one true God; they seized the 850 false prophets and killed them, rewarding them for defiling the Lion of Judah and his people.


“I believe I hear rain,” Elijah told Ahab, who began his journey back.

Elijah, however, went to the mountain to pray for rain; six times he sent his servant to look, six times the servant saw nothing, but on the seventh, he saw a “cloud as small as a man’s hand” rise from the sea.

The seventh time, after Elijah had done what God asked, the seventh time a rain cloud appeared.

Soon the sky was black and a heavy rain fell for the first time in three and one half years, bringing life to a dry land and its starving people, however foolish and misguided they were.

And then the power of God came upon the body of Elijah (whose name means The Lord is my God) who ran so fast that he passed Ahab’s horse on the road.

And for that one day, at least, the Lord reigned in Israelites’ hearts.

My Jesus did that.

Our LifeStraw, who can make even the foulest clean.