“Will you give me a drink?” Jesus’ voice had surprised the woman that day. She had come with a water jar and a reputation to the well just outside of Sychar. She had timed her midday water run in an attempt to avoid the gossipping whispers and judgmental glances of the other ladies in the town. Finding a lone Jewish Rabbi sitting by the side of the well was an unwelcome intrusion into her self-enforced solitude.
The discussion that followed navigated its way through many issues until it touched the very heart of the woman. Jews and Samaritans, her lifestyle and the decisions she had made, and even the proper place and way to worship God were brought to bear in that brief conversation. Finally, the choice was hers to make. She could pick up her water jar and walk back into town holding tight to her long-held traditions and the wounds that experience had given her and life would continue as she had known it.
The alternative was a divine invitation to step into faith, to lay down the ordinary for the extraordinary. She could give plain, ordinary water in exchange for a spiritual life that would be like living water, satisfying the inner need that had driven her behavior for far too long. She could lay down the fear and sense of failure that had dogged her steps for a bold confidence in God that would change her trajectory in life. That moment at the well changed everything.
Her old wells had left her broken and thirsty, but she had found new life when she met Jesus. When she hurried back to town, she was no longer the stained woman who had left it that morning. Now, she was a recipient of the extravagant grace and love of the God Who did not flinch at the sight of her mess.
I cannot tell you how many times this same narrative has played out in my life. I come to the presence of God so tired sometimes, wearied by the difficulty of the season through which I am walking. I carry the stains of my mistakes and missteps. I struggle with questions and emotions that do not want to line up with what my faith declares. I am just doing what I have to do to survive when He meets me at my well. He never comes to me in anger that I have not been more, bigger, better. He does not come chiding me for having defective faith or weaker devotion than I should.
Instead, He comes with a smile and asks for a drink of the water I will draw from the well of my salvation. I offer weak praise and He gives me strength. I sing an old hymn and He fills my soul with renewed vitality. I whisper my affections and He shouts His passionate love back to me. I give Jesus plain, ordinary me and in exchange I get Him, the extraordinary Son of God standing by my well with eyes like fire and feet like burnished brass.
It is my intention that the Lord never find me vying for the attention of men, performing for applause, or climbing some ladder seeking acclaim or position. Instead, I want Him to find me at the side of the well drinking deep of His living water. You see, I am the recipient of the extravagant grace and love of the God Who never flinches at my mess.
Will you pray with me?
Lord, we come to You thirsty. Only You can ever satisfy our great need. We will draw water from the well of our salvation and offer You our praise. We lay down the struggles we have faced this week in front of You and receive the joy of Your wonderful love.
