09/21/2017
at the well…
The heat had become thick, lingering all the more in my modest home, as early morning gave way to its later counterpart. The sounds and activities, now much more evident, of the inhabitants outside my one room dwelling beckoned for my participation. Yet, I lay, as with every morning, reliving my life; thoughts of failed relationships with multiple men and those too of my female acquaintances overwhelm me. My family had all but disowned me, disappointed in who I had become, ashamed as to how I was perceived by our village and left me to a world of loneliness.
Soon the tears would come, slowly at first, until the deluge would issue forth without hinder; small whimpers soon gave way to deeper groans of hurt as depression consumed me once more; I wondered if unsuspecting passersby heard the moans of intense pain? My night gown, sticking now closer to my flesh, becoming inundated with both tears and perspiration held me closer still to my bed of despair.
The unsuspecting shriek and bark of a dog, in close proximity to my door, frightened me back to the reality of my painful existence. Now sitting up, along the side of my bed, I tried to moisten my lips, thirst now overtaking me, but was unsuccessful. I took my hands, swept them across my face, and carefully used the sweat to pull my tangled hair back and into a pony tail. I tasted the excess still upon the palm of my hand and the saltiness stung my cracked lips and deterred any further indulgence.
I rose from my bed and walked slowly across the room, with little energy, to the small basin that would hold my drinking water; it was bone dry. I feared, knowing that yesterday’s lingering within my home of isolation, the choosing to remain in the confines of my room, might be consequential. Near to the basin was the larger water pot that I somehow hoped would still be holding a bit of refreshing water but it too was empty. I would have no choice but to ready myself for a trip to the watering hole.
As I reached down to pick up the larger water pot, my dress, once beautiful and full of color, now woefully laying tattered and worn, slipped off my shoulder and ripped a bit more. My emaciated body was simply incapable of filling the void becoming greater still as each day passed into the next; I had not eaten for a couple of days but food held little if any value for me. I had all but given up.
Opening the door slowly, the hinges creaked, and to my demise announced my forthcoming presence to the masses. The wall of heat, coupled with the inability to acclimate my eyes to the illumination of the sun, caused me to step back into my home briefly. Remaining for a few moments, I felt what little energy I possessed, begin to diminish as I tried to balance the larger pot on my back.
I could not have walked more than 20 feet when I felt, their eyes, those lacking compassion, peering upon me with great judgement. Soon to follow came the insults, spoken with anger and disdain, as they too lacked any sense of human compassion. I wondered, the watering hole still in the distance, if I would even make the journey feeling overly weak. Again, trying to moisten my lips, I felt the warmth of blood now oozing a bit from my parched lips and without thinking I wiped the crimson red upon my sleeve; looking at its concentrated color upon the dry dusted background of my garment stunned me with its intensity.
Nearing the watering hole, Jacob’s well, with no energy, the time was now nearing 12:00 noon. I knew from previous experience that I would more than likely not encounter anyone at this time drawing water and I welcomed the loneliness that awaited me.
To my surprise, as I traversed the last few steps towards the well, a lone Jewish man sat; he too looked tired, hungry, thirsty and disheveled from his journey, from where I did not know nor did I care. Our eyes met and I quickly turned mine away, hoping somehow that I could draw the water I needed without any conversation and or further encounter and be on my way? I approached the mouth of the well, still careful not to make eye contact, and lowered the smaller vessel towards the water. I could feel, though I had refused eye contact, that his eyes fell heavily upon me; I had years of experiential knowledge developing this sense.
“Give me a drink.”
Not sure how to respond, I lifted my head and allowed our eyes to meet once again; it was if he was looking deep within my spirit, beyond just a normal glance, and a peace came upon me. Dumbfounded by his words, replaying them over in my mind, still looking intensely back and into his eyes, I noted quietly, almost inaudible, that being a woman of Samaria, and he a Jew, that the request was not normal.
He then paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts carefully and said, “if you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water.”
I approached him, now unafraid, and sat down near to him and we began to converse, alone in a world where no others were. He spoke giving greater details of living water, never thirsting again, and though I had difficulty understanding all that was being revealed, what followed shook me to my core. He spoke, more gently, exposing intimate details of my life and I now cowered in the shame that had held me captive for so many years. I immediately looked away and simply said, “sir I perceive that you a prophet.” He spoke softer still, of the Father, true worshipers and of God as a spirit, but the sting of his earlier revelations of my life caused me to slowly retreat into my inner fortress of despair as I had done so often and away from our conversation; it was how I coped.
I, with the bondage of my past, now holding me steadfast, gradually rose to my feet, longing to be alone in my home, did not know exactly how to end this chance meeting or what to say next? I simply said, “I know that Messiah is coming, who is called Christ: when He comes, He will tell us all things.”
He reached out, now standing too, and cupped my chin, gently, lifting it upwards so that our eyes had no choice but to meet once again. In a tone, one that I had never heard before, said, “I that speak unto thee am he.” His eyes, looking so very deep now, were too much to bear, piercing my very soul, and tears began to flow unhindered; I found myself incapable of standing any longer dropping slowly to my knees. Weeping at his feet, I felt his hand now on the top of my head, delicately stroking my hair. All that held me captive, regret, shame, guilt, anger, loneliness and unforgiveness, lifted off of me, one by one and I felt a sense of clean; layers of immorality, filth, and sin melted away with each stroke of his tender hand.
The faint sound of men speaking with one another startled me and with their volume gradually increasing it could only mean they were nearing the area of the well. I rose quickly, though I did not want the encounter to end, not knowing exactly what to do next. He must have sensed my dilemma and simply embraced me, wrapping His arms lightly around me. I, on the other hand, could not hold him tight enough?! The men were very near now and as I slipped away from our embrace, I looked into His eyes one last time; they were full of love. I picked up my water pot, somehow now full, and ran towards my village with new found energy with water splashing everywhere.
As I neared the homes within the village something was different and I no longer wanted to avoid those, my fellow inhabitants, that I came upon. I felt renewed and I felt a passion to speak of my time with Him at Jacob’s well. I boldly began to recount, to an ever-increasing crowd, all that He had revealed to me with words that simply were not my own. One by one they began to disperse anxious and excited to seek Him that I had spoken of.
Back and in the confines of my home, alone once again but not feeling as such, I opened the windows that had been closed for so many years and the brilliance of the sun filled the room. A small breeze cooled my body as I thoroughly washed my body with the water from the pot. I felt new, I felt clean, and free from the shackles of life that held me bound an incapable of living. I found myself singing, singing of His love, His compassion and praising Him, that found me at my darkest hour.
The small tap at the door startled me and I opened it with pleasure and without hesitation. Weeping and falling to her knees, a woman begged for my forgiveness, for her lack of compassion and the pain she must have caused me by her actions. I reached down, caressed her hair with the love of Him, lifted her up and simply embraced her. She pulled away, wiped the tears from her eyes, and smiled deeply. Reaching in to her small satchel she slowly revealed a beautiful new dress and proceeded to hand it to me. The dress, now in my hands, vibrant with color and so soft to the touch overwhelmed my senses. We hugged one last time and simply cried in each other’s arms. After her departure, I held the dress up to my body, swirled it around the room and danced with Him that had given me new life.
Father, I have tarried long contemplating the Samaritan woman at the well. There is so much not written; forgive me if I have embellished the story not to your liking. The journey that day must have made you beyond tired, I know that you hungered for a certainty, your homelessness adding to the “totality” of your wearied state, but that did not deter you. Words almost fail me as I consider the lengths that you will go, out of your way, to meet those that are in need of intimate conversation, those that are in need of an intimate touch of your hand, a wonderful grand intimate encounter. You knew she would be there, you knew that she would be a voice for the love she received, freely giving to those that more than likely were unworthy of her offering that day; similar to us Lord. Yet, when we encounter You, at the well, in our deepest darkest hours, depressed, angered, frustrated, longing, thirsting, for something more than of this world, we are changed and we too should not be able to contain all that you have done in our lives. It is said of Moses after coming down from mount Sinai and his time with God that “the skin of his face shone” and of Stephen and that those of the council “saw his face as it had been the face of an angel.” Father, do our faces shine? Is their light, a brilliant light, illuminating the darkness of the world we live in, emanating from us and to a world encompassed with hurt, loneliness, and hopelessness? Do we go out of our way, freely giving of our time and our energies, looking for those you would allow to cross our paths, willingly and excitedly speaking of You? Father forgive me for asking so many questions. The contemplations continue, not sure really if we are able to fully comprehend the entirety of how very much You love us.
Father, there are those that read this message today, in the quiet of their surroundings, finding themselves in need of You, in need of that intimacy you so desire and in need of your presence in their lives. Dare I ask in humility, crossing the miles of separation, time irrelevant, to meet them right now? Would you flood the rooms where they sit, encompass them with love, unconditional, and full to its offering? Wash over them I pray, wave after wave, and heal wounds left unattended and break the shackles of hindrance afresh from their lives. The words of Your Son seem appropriate. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor, He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.” We love you Lord, and we “thank you” and close with this thought, uttered by King David, “What is man that you are mindful of him and the son of man that you visit him? It is all too absolutely wonderful Father…Undone.
Daniel