She arrived at the well at high noon. The hottest time of the day. But the heat of the sun was no match for the searing heat of the glare from the other women who would be there early in the morning and late in the evening. They gathered there to laugh and talk about the work of the day ... and to tell stories.
We love stories, don't we?
It's why most types of media are a multi-billion dollar businesses. Stories take us into the world of another and give us permission to see the world from something other than our normal perspective. Movies visually transport us, books emotionally draw us in to the deep thoughts of their main characters, music evokes in us emotions that we have stuffed so deeply within that we are often shocked when they surface and art takes on a life of it's own when we look at each piece with our own frame of reference to interpret. But personal narrative draws us in like nothing else. Reality TV has taken us to a new level of voyeuristic craving that is frightening to watch. We are entertained by fat people getting 'thin', famous people doing normal things, non-athletic people doing obstacle courses, outwardly ignorant people making it big, dangerous situations being overcome ... the list goes on and on. The bottom line is, we are always looking for a good story.
So it was at the well.
And the town whore, well, she was the story of the moment. Five husbands and living with a man she isn't married to ... seriously, most women don't know how to keep the one they have satisfied ...
maybe that was the trouble ... she couldn't keep them satisfied? Or maybe they couldn't manage her desires? Can you hear the snickers? The ones that cover their own secrets.
The glances and the giggles kept her in the shadows until the others set out toward home. She sat completely still, hoping to remain invisible. Even when she wasn't there, she was the topic of choice. They had no idea who she was ... what she thought. No concept of the emptiness that burned hotter than the noonday sun threatening to consume her. It wasn't filled by the bread she ate along the path this morning, the water she had left from yesterday's journey ... or even the man whom she shared a bed with last night, as the women had teased. In fact, this morning the hunger in her stomach ached deep within, her lips begged for water with each passing moment and a it had been many years since even the adequate touch of a man had left her feeling anything but used and filthy. And their cutting words hit the deepest part of her today.
Don't they know that she wants to be like them? She wanted to tell stories of how her children played in the streets today, her parents worked in the fields and her man came home and wrapped his arms around her promising the security of his love? Her dreams loomed heavy in her heart, but the heavier needs ran deeply into the pit of her stomach, refusing to be filled.
The voices in her mind screamed of indecent things ... some she had done, some done to her.
The words of the other women danced naked before her as she neared the well.
The knowledge of what she is ...
Seriously?
At noon, someone else has made their way to the well? A man no less? No telling what it will take to get him to leave her alone.
The voices of accusation replaced by the ones who remind her how to take care of herself. They aren't intentional thoughts but the ones that catch up to you as your feet have already taken flight as danger .
lingers near.
There's a rock ... I have my knife in my skirt ...
I can feel him staring at me. Literally FEEL it. Don't look ... do ... not .. look at him. just get the water and make your way back to the hut.
At least there she knew the dangers she faced.
"Will you give me a drink of water?"
She jumps at the sound of his voice. Startled, even though it is gentle and kind, piercing the darkness of her thoughts?
"Sir, you are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman? And you're asking me for a drink? What are you thinking?"
Is this guy crazy? Doesn't he know the trouble this would cause if the others saw?
"Woman, if you knew who I really was you would be asking me for a drink. And I would gladly give it."
"You don't even have a jug? Um, how do you plan to get me a drink? Are you a better man than the one who dug the well?"
Who is this guy?
Can't you just hear her thoughts?? You and I have both been there ... at the end of a line ... whether it's a pick up line or a line of bologna or genuine ... our circumstances cause us to question the motives of the one delivering the message.
The rest of the story is beautiful ... Jesus speaks life to the woman ... and because He is Jesus and sees her heart and she is drawn to Him ... the story has a happy ending in John 4.
But how often do we miss the end of the story because we are suspicious of the line. We think it's too good to be true. We think there has to be a cost. We think there has to be more to it.
I don't know about you, but I attach human emotions and thoughts to the end of God's promises and purposes for me. And they are usually the ones that have been spoken over and over me in this life.
I hear Him say ...
I have a plan and a purpose for you ... and the enemy whispers all I have done to interrupt it.
I hear Him say ...
You are my daughter ... and the enemy reminds me that being a daughter doesn't hold the same power for everyone.
I hear Him say ...
You are my princess ... and the enemy reminds me that my knight in shining armor doesn't treasure me.
You see, I
hear the message ... but I allow the enemy to add an addendum ... and there is no such thing.
God's Word is final ... it is complete.
We long to hear that we are of worth to someone else. We crave it! We do sometimes unthinkable things to try to make people love us, value us, need us ... want us.
But we are left with an emptiness that burns ... a thirst that only Living Water will quench.
I pray today you and I will align ourselves with the only One who can satisfy ... that we will allow our souls to be filled from the right source ... full to overflowing!!
And when we do, we will be so overwhelmed with what has happened that we'll leave our cup at the well and
rush to tell others ... of His great love.
