Drinking in Samaria

Come to the well, the voice whispered.
Come to the well. 

Drink for your thirst.

Come alive.

She had been there before. 
She had leaned over the edge, filled her jar, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the water.

It was distorted.

It showed her pain.

It held tension.

It displayed hopelessness.

On one particular day, she again traveled to the well. The sun was at its noon-day peak when she went to accomplish one of her daily tasks. 

Go to the well. Fill the jar. Go back to the village.

So she walked upon the dusty ground until the well was in sight. 
She noticed a man, looking weary, sitting beside the well. 

He was someone she didn't know, but she recognized as a man from a different place; a man from a region of people who didn't speak to people like her. 

But then he did the unthinkable, the unacceptable, the unexpected.

He asked her for a drink.

He was tired and thirsty and wanted her to give him some relief. 

She was surprised. 

Why would he speak to her?
Why, when it was considered wrong? 
Why, when it was considered shocking?

Why, when he didn't know her at all?

But the answer lies in the fact that He did.

He knew her. He really knew her. In fact, she had never been truly known by anyone. Not like this.
He knew everything about her.

So He spoke to her because He knew her heart.

He spoke to her because He knew her hurts.
He spoke to her because He knew her hopes.

He spoke to her because He knew her flaws.

He spoke to her because He knew her fears. 

He spoke to her because while He asked her for water to relieve a physical thirst, she herself had a thirst more desperate, one that only He could quench. 

Permanently.

He knew everything she had ever done and offered her everything He ever did.

By speaking to her, humbly acknowledging that He needed something from her, He gave her the opportunity to engage and establish relationship.

And so it began.

He told her of Living Water. 
He told her of a soul-filling, never-ending source of love and forgiveness. Of a spirit-lifting supply of hope and joy so amazing that she abandoned her water jar and went back to her village to tell everyone about the man at the well. 

She had found a kind of water that removed the dirt from her life, the sin that had entangled her and stolen her identity; the kind of water that filled her up from the pit of her gut with a joy she had never experienced before; the kind of water that soothed her mind and introduced her to a love like she had never known before; the kind of water that gave her life. 

Abundant life.

Freedom.
Identity.

Belonging.

She came back to the well after that. She filled her jar. 

She looked into the deep and saw her reflection.
It was new.

It was different.

It was stunning.

It was pure.

Water, clean and refreshing.

It washed over her, as it bubbled up and poured over the edge of the curved, stone walls.

She was free. 

She isn't named.

The dirty details of her life are not laid out for all to see. 

But we know her too.

She is me.
She is you.

And we all have this soul-thirst that can only be satisfied by sitting at the well, talking with Jesus, and taking a long drink of that Living Water He offers. 

Come to the well, the voice whispers.

Come to the well.

Drink for your thirst.

Come alive.

*(See the Bible's book of John, chapter 4)*