2026 Sacred Whispers Blog

Scripture Focus: 2 Kings 4:1–7 and Micah 4:9–10

“Now why do you cry aloud? Is there no king in your midst? Has your counselor perished? For pangs have seized you like a woman in labor. Be in pain, and labor to bring forth, O daughter of Zion… for now you shall go forth from the city… there you shall be delivered; there the Lord will redeem you from the hand of your enemies.”

Micah 4:9–10

There are moments in life when pain becomes the only language heaven seems to understand. Pain has a way of pushing us out of complacency, out of comfort, and into calling. It stretches us beyond what we thought we could bear. Yet in the stretching, something greater is being born within us, something we never could have imagined without the pressure that preceded it.

In 2 Kings 4:1–7, the Scripture says: “The wife of a man from the company of the prophets cried out to Elisha, ‘Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that he revered the Lord. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves.’ Elisha replied to her, ‘How can I help you? Tell me, what do you have in your house?’ ‘Your servant has nothing there at all,’ she said, ‘except a small jar of olive oil.’ Elisha said, ‘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.’ She left him and shut the door behind her and her sons. They brought the jars to her, and she kept pouring. When all the jars were full, she said to her son, ‘Bring me another one.’ But he replied, ‘There is not a jar left.’ Then the oil stopped flowing. She went and told the man of God, and he said, ‘Go, sell the oil and pay your debts. You and your sons can live on what is left.’”

In 2 Kings 4, we meet a widow whose pain pushed her into purpose. Her husband was gone, her resources depleted, and her future uncertain, yet it was that very pain that drove her to cry out to the prophet Elisha. I can fully relate to this widowed woman, because I am her. I’ve learned that pain has a way of stripping away the illusions of control until all that’s left is dependence on God. It presses us into His presence when comfort no longer can. Sometimes God will allow what’s empty around you to awaken what’s full within you. When everything external runs out, He exposes the eternal that’s been hidden inside you all along.

Pain becomes the divine midwife that brings forth what God has already placed within. Like a midwife, it doesn’t create life; it simply helps deliver what’s been developing in secret. Your pain may not be evidence of God’s absence, but proof that something inside you is ready to be birthed.

When Elisha asked, “What do you have in your house?” the widow replied, “Nothing… except a small jar of olive oil.” That single word “except” was everything. Pain often narrows our vision until all we can see is what we’ve lost, blinding us to what still remains. Yet God specializes in using what’s left. In John 6:12, Jesus instructs the disciples to, “Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.” God doesn’t need much, just a surrendered “except.” He took the widow woman’s little and made it much; He took what was left in her hands and multiplied it until every vessel was full.

That same principle holds true for us. God never asks for what you’ve lost; He asks for what’s left. The fragments of your brokenness, the remnants of your faith, the small measure of hope that refuses to die, He can breathe on all of that. What you see as not enough, God sees as overflow waiting to happen. The pressure you’re under is not meant to destroy you; it’s meant to produce oil. As the Apostle Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 4:8–9 (NIV), “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair… struck down, but not destroyed.” Every crushing, every breaking, every pressing has purpose. It’s preparing you for an abundance you couldn’t carry without first being refined by pain.

THE PAIN THAT REVEALED MY OIL

There are some pains that words cannot describe, the kind that shake the very foundation of your faith. When my husband of nearly thirty years passed away unexpectedly, I experienced that kind of pain. It was deep, raw, and disorienting. It was the kind of pain that makes you question everything you thought you knew about God, life, and strength. Yet in that moment, God began to whisper: “What do you have left?” And when I looked inward, I realized that everything I needed to survive, His Word, His presence, His Spirit, His strength, was already alive within me. Pain became my teacher, my midwife, and ultimately, my push into purpose. It didn’t remove my grief, but it revealed my oil. Through the crushing came clarity. Through the pressure came purpose. I learned that sometimes the very thing you think will break you is the very thing God uses to birth something greater through you.

A MIDWIFE TO PURPOSE

During the early days of the modern civil rights movement, there were countless unnamed believers whose pain became a midwife to purpose. One account tells of a young woman in the South who, after being wrongfully arrested during a peaceful protest, spent a long night in a crowded jail cell. Her body ached, her future felt uncertain, and fear pressed in on every side. She later said that in the middle of that night, when the tears would not stop, and sleep would not come, one older woman in the cell, who had been through many such arrests, began to hum a hymn.

At first, it was barely audible, just a fragile melody breaking through the darkness: “There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul…” Slowly, others joined in. Voices cracked with exhaustion, but as the song rose, something in the atmosphere shifted. Fear did not disappear, but it loosened its grip. The cold bench did not become softer, but their hearts became stronger. That night, in that cell, they did not receive release papers, but they received something else, courage.

Years later, that young woman would say, “That night, I realized that my pain was not pointless. God was using it to push me into the very calling I had prayed about. I walked into that jail timid, but I walked out knowing I had been born for more.” Her suffering did not create her calling, but it revealed it. The jail cell became her birthing room. What felt like the end of her dignity became the beginning of her destiny. Her story echoes the same truth: pain does not simply visit us to torment; it often arrives to escort us into the very thing God has been forming in us all along.

THE THEOLOGY OF GROANING AND BIRTH

 The Apostle Paul captured this truth in Romans 8:22–23 when he wrote, “For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also… groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.” Paul likened our spiritual transformation to the groaning of childbirth, not as a sign of death, but as evidence that new life is about to emerge. Every groan, every tear, every sleepless night is a contraction moving you closer to what God has promised.

Micah 4:9–10 reminds us that there is a purpose behind the birth pangs of life: even in the chaos, confusion, and moments of exile, God is at work. Babylon, historically a place of oppression, exile, and suffering, also becomes a place of delivery and redemption. The Scripture says, “…Be in pain and labor to bring forth…” This is not a call to despair, but a divine invitation to participate in the birthing process of God’s promises.

The pain you feel, the pressure you endure, and the groaning of your spirit are all indicators that something significant is being formed within you. Just as contractions signal that a child is about to be born, the pangs of your current season signal that God is bringing forth new life, new favor, and new purpose from the womb of your struggle.

WHEN BABYLON BECOMES THE BIRTHING ROOM

This verse reminds us that the place of difficulty is not the end; it is the incubator for God’s miraculous work. Your “Babylon,” the season of exile, delay, or hardship, is exactly where God is preparing you for a breakthrough. Pain is not evidence of God’s absence; it is proof that what He has promised is on its way into manifestation.

And just when the pain feels unbearable, God speaks through Isaiah 66:9 and says, “Shall I bring to the time of birth, and not cause delivery? says the Lord.” God will not allow you to come to the moment of delivery and fail to produce. Pain is not a punishment; it’s a push. It is heaven’s signal that something divine is about to break forth.

Like a mother in labor, you may be in transition, between what was and what is about to be. The contractions of your current season are not signs that you are losing control, but that purpose is being positioned. God’s hand is steady, and the pain you feel is proof that the promise is alive.

PAIN FORMS CHRIST WITHIN US

That’s why Galatians 4:19 says, “My little children, of whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you.” The word travail is powerful in this verse because it signifies painful or laborious effort. Pain in the life of the believer is not wasted; it is a forming season, with Christ being fully developed within us through the pressures and processes of life. In essence, pain pushes us until His image, His nature, and His purpose are fully formed in us, exactly as Romans 8:29 declares: “For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son…”

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” Pain may feel like an unwelcome visitor, but in the life of the believer, it often becomes the very place where God’s voice grows loudest and His forming work becomes clearest. What feels like breaking is often God’s way of birthing.

My dear brothers and sisters, pain is not your enemy; it is your escort into destiny. It is the believer’s midwife, helping to deliver the promises God has hidden inside you. When the pain feels overwhelming and life seems unbearable, remember: the Lord is not trying to destroy you; He is birthing something extraordinary through you.

PRAYER

Father, thank You for reminding me that pain is not the end of my story but the beginning of something new. When the pressure feels unbearable, help me remember that You are forming something eternal within me. Teach me to trust You in the process, to find purpose in my pain, and to believe that You will bring forth what You’ve begun. Let every tear, every groan, and every ache serve as a reminder that You are near, and that my birthing season is here. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

SPIRITUAL DISCIPLINE

What if your pain isn’t a detour, but divine direction? What if what you’re feeling right now is not the end, but evidence that something new is on its way? Don’t resist the contractions; lean into them daily. Let them push you toward prayer, worship, and total surrender. There is glory on the other side of this groaning.