It was one of those days. I opened my eyes, surprised to be waking on my own instead of being jumped on by my children. I snuck a peak at the clock and then vaulted out of bed—an hour later than usual. Waking my family in a panic, I hustled my husband and daughter out the door. I breathed a sigh of relief that lasted only as long as it took me to turn around and find my son decorating himself with a permanent marker. The bath I gave him exacerbated a problem in the water pipes causing water to flow into the kitchen below, ruining the food I had set out to start dinner.

I settled on potato soup as a backup dinner plan and took out my frustrations on a few pounds of Idaho russets. Tossing the potatoes and broth into a pot, I turned on the stovetop burner just as my son woke from his nap.

Three-thirty came and I welcomed home my daughter and husband in rapid succession. I was hearing about their day when Paul sniffed the air, grimaced, and asked, “What is that smell?”

“Oh no!” I raced to the kitchen to find my soup congealed. The water had evaporated, bonding potatoes permanently to the pot. Paul followed me into the kitchen where I buried my head in his chest and cried. I choked out the only words that would come: “I can’t even make soup!”

Some days I think I should just paint a big F for “failure” on my forehead, go back to bed, and wait for God’s mercies to be new tomorrow. Thankfully, we can take comfort in the collection of spectacular failures whose experiences are recorded in God’s Word—failures who made mistakes and then allowed God to redeem them.

In 2 Kings 4, 5 we read about the prophet Elisha and the miracles he performed. We may miss, however, the multiple failings of the servant accompanying Elisha—a man named Gehazi.

We may see ourselves in the life of Gehazi as he commits several failures while in Elisha’s service. He failed by depending on the faith of others, feigning knowledge where he had none, and choosing to go his own way instead of obeying his master.

When news of a young boy’s death reached Elisha, the prophet handed his staff to his servant, instructing Gehazi to run and place it on the boy.

Elisha passionately urged his servant to make haste, but the description of Gehazi’s response seems somewhat dispassionate. “Gehazi went on ahead and laid the staff on the boy’s face, but there was no sound or response” (2 Kings 4:31).

This scene reminds me of the one that plays in my house every time I send my daughter to find her shoes. She trudges upstairs, pauses briefly in the doorway of her room, and immediately turns around and dashes back down proclaiming, “Mom, I can’t find them.” An actual search should involve crawling under the bed, looking around toys, and inspecting the closet. In a similar fashion, we might expect participation in a miracle to involve passionate prayer.

It doesn’t appear that Gehazi sought God as he carried out his master’s orders. It seems he simply waited for Elisha to come and do it. The same way my daughter waits for me to come find her shoes. The same way we are sometimes quick to call a friend or a minister to pray for us.

We can’t borrow another’s faith. Sitting on the sidelines watching a game doesn’t improve our skill. God wants us to suit up, get on the field, and join him in his work.

There was a famine in the region of Gilgal and Elisha instructed his servant Gehazi to cook some stew for the company of the prophets who had gathered there (2 Kings 4:38-41). One of the men who was assisting Gehazi with the task gathered gourds from a wild vine, cut them up, and added them to the stew “though no one knew what they were” (v. 39).

Soon some in the company become ill and begin to cry out, “There is death in the pot!” I can just hear Gehazi echoing my cry, “I can’t even make soup.”

It seems Gehazi and the prophet who assisted him made the choice to trust their own wisdom. My husband made a similar mistake early in our marriage. My Honda was due for an oil change and Paul took on the task even though he’d never done it before.

The next morning as I was pulling out I saw my husband running toward me waving his arms in alarm. Apparently he had screwed the oil filter into the car tighter than necessary and the extra turns damaged the filter causing my car to spew oil across the parking lot.

Feigning knowledge can get us into trouble. My husband did it and nearly damaged my car. Gehazi did it and almost killed the company of the prophets. Pretense is a pride issue. We pretend to know more at work so the other guy doesn’t get ahead of us or we bluff our way through Bible study so our peers will respect us.

God, however, waits for us to release our pride. Admitting our weaknesses helps us place our trust in God instead of in ourselves. Asking for help has the added benefit of building up those around us who are encouraged when we ask their opinion or rejoice in sharing a blessing. Don’t rob others of encouragement by keeping your need secret.

In 2 Kings chapter five we read the story of Naaman, an army captain plagued with leprosy. Elisha orchestrated Naaman’s healing but refused to accept payment. Gehazi thought his master was too easy on Naaman so he chased the commander down, lied about who sent him, and swindled the man out of money and clothing (2 Kings 5:20).

We have all known a time when our way seemed better. Better than our spouse, better than our boss, even, at times, better than God. Gehazi believed he knew better than Elisha when the team was offered wealth. I believed that I knew better than God the year he placed me as a teacher in a Christian school instead of allowing me to serve with a ministry. I accepted the alternate path, albeit with reservation. Gehazi did not.

When Gehazi returned home he made no justification to his master but instead told several bold lies to Elisha about where he had been and why. The prophet knew what his servant had been doing and instead of fixing this failure, he afflicted Gehazi with leprosy.

God’s path is always the right one and even if we can’t see it at the time, we are wise to obey. I celebrate the fact that God showed me his purpose in my year of teaching. One of my sophomore students struggled with reentering school after years of being home schooled. I was the person she called the night she attempted suicide. I was the person God chose to place by her side as she walked the road to recovery, a privilege I would have missed had I insisted on my way instead of his.

As I look back at the failures in my life, they still pulse with venom and the remembrance of past embarrassment still causes me to flush. Occasionally I pray that God would erase the memory of my failures, if not the failures themselves. Although he doesn’t choose to erase our failures, he can and often does redeem them.

Gehazi’s failures were progressively dire. The first was simply lack of effort. The second was a conscious choice that proved potentially deadly. The third was a malicious scheme to disobey his master and cover it up with lies. Elisha’s servant isn’t mentioned for a few chapters and it is easy for us to stand on this side of history and picture him spending his retirement years in a leper colony counting his rapidly diminishing fingers. However, he reappears in chapter eight speaking with the king of Samaria.

We aren’t told the specifics of what happened in the intervening years, but the fact that he is still called the “servant of the man of God” tells us that he must have learned a lesson (2 Kings 8:4). That’s all God is asking of us in our failures. That we learn. Learn to know him and hear his voice. Learn to release our pride and ask for help when we need it. Learn to be obedient to the God who knows infinitely more than we ever will. |L