It just started raining. It was such a wonderful sound that I made the boys stop what they were doing and come to see. I heard the drops hit the leaves of our great tree first and then saw the millions of falling beads in empty yard next to us. I’ve perched myself by the kitchen window with a cup of coffee so I can watch and smell it.
It opens up to me where Jesus calls Himself Living Water in John 4. He’s talking to the Samaritan woman at the well. He asks her for a drink. The woman was confused and shared that confusion with Jesus. Jews didn’t associate with Samaritans, and she wasn’t sure how He could ask this of her. Jesus told her that if she knew (IF!) Who it is that asks, He would give her living water. Living water being something that did not exist and He had no way to draw any water from this well (which was Jacob’s well, coincidentally) she asked Him how he could do this and if He was in fact greater than Jacob who gave them the well to begin with. Jesus told her that Jacob’s well will always require you to go back for more, because your thirst will never truly be quenched but that the water He had to share would cause one to thirst no more. That this Living Water would actually spring up within a person and quench them with eternal life. Incidentally, the Samaritan woman asks Jesus if He is the Messiah and He admits that He is. I believe this to be the only incident where Jesus actually says He is the Messiah outright in such a way, and it is ironically to a Samaritan woman to whom Jews wouldn’t associate with.
On our drive from Washington to Illinois we passed through many states. Montana, South Dakota, Wyoming and some of Iowa made me downright uneasy. The stark dead-ness of everything made my anxiety rise. It was hot and dry and there was no relief. No leafy green trees to provide shade from the scorching sun. No soft green grass beneath the feet. The trees were jagged and bare. The rocks were sharp and imposing. Then there was the one time we almost ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere Montana because I thought we could find it cheaper in the next town. I didn’t find peace in my spirit until we got to the middle of Iowa. Though it was still terribly hot, there was grass, trees, corn fields and humidity. All signs of life. All signs of water! Jesus is the Living Water not only because He lives (Praise God!) and because He quenches us, but because He brings life!
It makes me think of my mom. She reminds me of a zombie (no, I’m not one of those zombie apocalypse people), the walking dead. She lives and breathes but she is dead and dry on the inside. She needs the Living Water of Christ like Montana needs a good drenching rain, yet both have adapted to living without it. Both are dry and desolate. There are drier and more stark places than Montana and there are souls even more hard and lost than my mother, but they all seem the same to me. One is not deader and one is not drier, they’re all just places I do not want to be.
I’ve never been more thankful for this rain since my experiences of the last month. I’ve never been more thankful for Christ than after talking to my mom. Sweet rain. Sweet water. Sweet life in Christ. Thank you, Jesus, for showering your love on me and breathing life into my dead soul. I am so grateful and quenched.
The Struggling Woman's Guide to the Universe 