If there has been a theme in my life over the past two weeks, a consistent feeling or pattern, it would be the realization of my weakness. It would be the glimpsing of the bottomless pit that is my heart, a panicky realization that there is nothing to pull up from the bottom. The well is dry. During the day, I live by the mantra "just pull yourself up by the bootstraps". But there is nothing there.
This makes me think of my favorite scene in the bible, when Jesus talks to the woman by the well.
How I wish I was her, and yet I am.
She stood there, at the peak of the day. Undoubtedly, the dry wind swept the heat into her face, burning her cheeks. The dust stung her eyes...
She lowered the bucket down into the deep chasm, peering into the depths, waiting for the familiar sound of the bucket hitting the water. Suddenly she hears a voice: "Give me a drink". Startled, she looks up and sees the jew. "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?". "If you knew the gift of God (finish this).
How many times have these words stirred that desperate ache in my heart? How many times have they brought tears to my eyes?
I'm tired of digging my own cisterns...deep wounds in the earth that are protected by beautiful buildings...these whitewashed tombs. "Sir, give me this water, so I will not be thirsty".
And then others will say "It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know indeed that this is the Savior of the World."
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