Elisha was out of breath, but he didn’t stop.
“Elijah—please, just stay,” he called out, chasing the old prophet up the dusty path. Wind tugged at his clothes. His sandals slid over rocks.
Elijah kept walking. “I told you to stay in Bethel. Then again in Jericho,” he said without turning. “Why are you still following me?”
Elisha’s voice was firm now. “As surely as the Lord lives, and as you live—I will not leave you.”
Elijah stopped. He turned and looked Elisha in the eyes. For a moment, nothing moved but the wind. Then he gave a small nod—and kept walking. Elisha followed without a word.
When they reached the Jordan River, a crowd of young prophets stood far off, watching from the opposite bank. Elijah walked up to the water, took off his cloak, rolled it up tight—and struck the river.
The water split wide open.
Dry ground appeared like a road through the middle. The two men crossed without getting their feet wet. Behind them, the river closed again.
They walked on in silence until Elijah stopped.
“Before I’m taken from you,” he said, “what do you want me to do for you?”
Elisha didn’t pause. “Let me have a double portion of your spirit.”
Elijah looked up at the sky, then back to Elisha. “You’ve asked a hard thing. But if you see me when I’m taken, it will be yours.”
They walked again. Slowly. Elisha’s eyes never left his teacher. Not for a second.
Then the wind changed.
It rushed like fire through the trees. The sky flashed, and suddenly, from above, a chariot of fire with horses of flame came tearing down. It rushed between them, and a whirlwind lifted Elijah off the earth.
Elisha stumbled back, shielding his face.
“Elijah! My father!” he cried out. “The strength of Israel—its chariots and horsemen!”
And then Elijah was gone.
The sky was quiet. The wind faded. All that remained was Elijah’s cloak, lying in the dust.
Elisha dropped to his knees. Tears blurred his vision. Slowly, he reached out and picked up the cloak. It was warm. Heavy.
He stood, now alone.
When he walked back to the Jordan River, the same crowd of prophets watched from across the water. Elisha held Elijah’s cloak in both hands. His voice was quiet, but steady.
“Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” he asked.
He struck the river.
The water split again.
Elisha stepped forward.
This time, he walked alone.
Elisha was out of breath, but he didn’t stop.
“Elijah—please, just stay,” he called out, chasing the old prophet up the dusty path. Wind tugged at his clothes. His sandals slid over rocks.
Elijah kept walking. “I told you to stay in Bethel. Then again in Jericho,” he said without turning. “Why are you still following me?”
Elisha’s voice was firm now. “As surely as the Lord lives, and as you live—I will not leave you.”
Elijah stopped. He turned and looked Elisha in the eyes. For a moment, nothing moved but the wind. Then he gave a small nod—and kept walking. Elisha followed without a word.
When they reached the Jordan River, a crowd of young prophets stood far off, watching from the opposite bank. Elijah walked up to the water, took off his cloak, rolled it up tight—and struck the river.
The water split wide open.
Dry ground appeared like a road through the middle. The two men crossed without getting their feet wet. Behind them, the river closed again.
They walked on in silence until Elijah stopped.
“Before I’m taken from you,” he said, “what do you want me to do for you?”
Elisha didn’t pause. “Let me have a double portion of your spirit.”
Elijah looked up at the sky, then back to Elisha. “You’ve asked a hard thing. But if you see me when I’m taken, it will be yours.”
They walked again. Slowly. Elisha’s eyes never left his teacher. Not for a second.
Then the wind changed.
It rushed like fire through the trees. The sky flashed, and suddenly, from above, a chariot of fire with horses of flame came tearing down. It rushed between them, and a whirlwind lifted Elijah off the earth.
Elisha stumbled back, shielding his face.
“Elijah! My father!” he cried out. “The strength of Israel—its chariots and horsemen!”
And then Elijah was gone.
The sky was quiet. The wind faded. All that remained was Elijah’s cloak, lying in the dust.
Elisha dropped to his knees. Tears blurred his vision. Slowly, he reached out and picked up the cloak. It was warm. Heavy.
He stood, now alone.
When he walked back to the Jordan River, the same crowd of prophets watched from across the water. Elisha held Elijah’s cloak in both hands. His voice was quiet, but steady.
“Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” he asked.
He struck the river.
The water split again.
Elisha stepped forward.
This time, he walked alone.
