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An empty water jar balances precariously on her head. Her face is veiled not only to avoid the searing stares of Sychar’s society but also to shield her from the rumors of a ruined reputation.

Too many husbands have drained her nuptial well and now she attempts to fill it with another, an unbetrothed suitor. She must go now to the watering hole to draw from its depths the water to quench her parched thirst, a thirst that lies deeper than the surface of her tongue.

Slipping through the back streets, she shuffles her way out the city’s gate to fulfill her daily duty. As the sun beats down with its heaving swells of heat, she is forced to come to the well of the ancient fathers at the noon hour. The other women choose to draw water during the cooler hours of the day, coming later to remove their veils, to relax, to laugh, and to gossip, usually about this woman.

The heat of the day diametrically differs from the chill of passion that has penetrated this shunned woman’s being. The empty water jug she now carries on her head parallels the emptiness of her heart.

She hides behind a veil of secrecy, as she tries desperately to become invisible. As she approaches the well, she peers out from behind her veil, and, seeing a man who sits on the well’s edge, her eyes meet the eyes of this stranger.

He looks deep into the longing of her soul and sees a parched and depleted well. She sees acceptance beyond anything she has ever experienced.

“Give me a drink,” he asks.

“But you’re a Jew,” she says. “Why do you ask for a drink from me, a Samaritan woman?”

“If you only knew. I would satisfy your hollow yearning from a living well, teeming with waters of life that never run dry.”

“Oh, sir, give me this water, that I may not thirst, nor come here to draw.”

“Call your husband to come here also,” he says.

“But, sir,” she whispers, hanging her head, “I have no husband.”

This stranger, peering into her lifeless eyes hiding within the veil, now seems to know her so well, as he recounts the depth of her past existence.

“Sir, you must be a prophet,” she says. Yet, she discerns him to be more than a prophet, for there is no hint of judgment or condemnation in his voice, only the love of the ages.

Throwing off the invisible veil over her eyes, she sees this man for who he really is and receives the love for which she has so recklessly searched. She drops her water pot by the well and runs back through the city gate to tell the others of the everlasting love she has found in the man called The Messiah.

Have you dropped all to tell others about the everlasting love you have found in Christ?

“Go…and tell…”

(My mind has rusted shut. Hope you didn't mind a rerun.)

~~Thought I'd repost an oldie. Hope you enjoy!~~


An empty water jar balances precariously on her head. Her face is veiled not only to avoid the searing stares of Sychar’s society but also to shield her from the rumors of a ruined reputation.

Too many husbands have drained her nuptial well and now she attempts to fill it with another, an unbetrothed suitor. She must go now to the watering hole, to draw from its depths the water to quench her parched thirst, a thirst that lies deeper than the surface of her tongue.

Slipping through the back streets, she shuffles her way out the city’s gate to fulfill her daily duty. As the sun beats down with its heaving swells of heat, she is forced to come to the well of the ancient fathers at the noon hour. The other women choose to draw water during the cooler hours of the day, coming later to remove their veils, to relax, to laugh, and to gossip, usually about this woman.

The heat of the day diametrically differs from the chill of passion that has penetrated this shunned woman’s being. The empty water jug she now carries on her head parallels the emptiness of her heart.

She hides behind a veil of secrecy, as she tries desperately to become invisible. As she approaches the well, she peers out from behind her veil, and, seeing a man who sits on the well’s edge, their eyes meet. He looks deep into the longing of her soul and sees a parched and depleted well. She sees acceptance beyond anything she has ever experienced.

“Give me a drink,” he asks.

“But you’re a Jew,” she says. “Why do you ask for a drink from me, a Samaritan woman?”

“If you only knew. I would satisfy your hollow yearning from a living well, teeming with waters of life that never run dry.”

“Oh, sir, give me this water, that I may not thirst, nor come here to draw.”

“Call your husband to come here also,” he says.

“But, sir,” she says, “I have no husband.”

This stranger, peering into her lifeless eyes hiding within the veil, now seems to know her so well, as he recounts the depth of her past existence.

“Sir, you must be a prophet,” she says. Yet, she discerns him to be more than a prophet, for there is no hint of judgment or condemnation in his voice, only the love of the ages.

Throwing off the invisible veil over her eyes, she sees this man for who he really is and receives the love for which she has so recklessly searched. She drops her water pot by the well and runs back through the city gate to tell the others of the everlasting love she has found in the man called The Messiah.

Have you dropped all to tell others about the everlasting love you have found in Christ?

“Go…and tell…”

Did Jesus get weary physically in His travels? Of course, He did. The disciple John relates one such incidence in John 4, “Eventually He came to the Samaritan village of Sychar, near the parcel of ground that Jacob gave to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there; and Jesus, tired from the long walk, sat wearily beside the well about noontime.” (Verses 5-6 NLT) He sat at the well of the father to rest and recuperate, to quench His thirst.

Did you ever feel like that? Thirsty? Fainting? Tired? Need recharging? Just as it is possible to get weary physically, it is equally possible to get weary spiritually.

David did. He said to the Lord, “My soul thirsts for You; my whole body longs for You in this parched and weary land where there is no water,” (Ps. 63:1b NLT) and “I reach out for You. I thirst for You as parched land thirsts for rain.” (Ps 143:6 NLT)

As Jesus thirsted and sat by the well, He spoke of the Living Water to a woman, who also thirsted, and came to the well for water. He said to her, “People soon become thirsty again after drinking this water. But the water I give them takes away thirst altogether. It becomes a perpetual spring within them, giving them eternal life.” (John 4:13-14 NLT)

Not yet recognizing her own spiritual thirst or Jesus’ meaning, she said, “‘Please, sir,’ the woman said, ‘give me some of that water! Then I’ll never be thirsty again.’” (John 4:15 NLT)

When we, today, read this account in our Bibles, we understand that the Lord’s offering of refreshing, spiritual waters, is not from without, but from within, and satisfies eternally more than an oasis on the backside of the scorched Sahara desert.

As Christians, we have the privilege of sitting by the well of our Father when we crave this Living Water for our arid spirits, lowering our buckets into that well to quench our spiritual thirst, to regain our strength and power, and to rest until every thought of care, confusion, or depression is lifted.

When you become tired from your journey and your weary soul shrivels up, feeling bone-dry, what do you do? When every last drop of spiritual vitality has evaporated, do you take advantage and dip your bucket into a well to replenish your parched spirit and soul? But which well...the world’s well of lifeless drivel or the Father’s well of Living Water?

When in your arid condition, do you hear the Lord whisper His invitation to you, “Come, sit by the well”?

Prayer: Lord, when life’s trials and schedules overwhelm me, remind me to come sit with You by the well of the Father, that I may drink of those thirst-quenching, Living Waters to replenish my soul and spirit. Amen.

~~Blessings, Lynn~~