Separation. Barriers. Dividers. Crossed.
The Creator like His creation tires. The Holy One interacts with the immoral one. The Jew engages the Samaritan. The Man speaks publicly with the woman.Separation.
Barriers. Dividers. Crossed.
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The bucket will never bring her the water she needs for the well does not contain it. Her soul is thirsty. Each one has promised to cherish her. Each one has lied. It no longer seems to matter anymore. Now she hides the deep longings of her heart with the deep secrets of her past.
Approaching her destination, the Stranger speaks. This conversation, for so many reasons, should not be happening. But it is. He speaks with a knowledge of her heart that she herself does not even have. The water she came to get seems so unimportant in light of the Water of which He speaks. Her life is exposed as He reveals His insights. Vulnerable, heart racing, she changes the subject. She chooses one that is safe. But even here, the Stranger calls her to life with God that she has always wanted but thought impossible.
Who is this Stranger? I have known Him but minutes and yet it is obvious that He knows me like no other. As her eyes water, her anxiety vanishes as she realizes, no one has ever loved me like this either.
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We learned what He knew.
We heard how He loved.
We saw for ourselves.
We asked Him to stay.
We believed.
He is the Savior of the World.
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My little boy is dying. We have done everything we know to do. We are desperate. I have heard the stories of the One who can perform miracles. I pleaded with my husband to go to Him. He was reluctant. He has never asked for help from anybody before. In his position, he does not have to. He tells others what to do and it is done. But this is different. My husband is so strong. He has been so strong for me. For our boy. But I know he hurts as much as I do. I can see it in his eyes and in his movements. I can hear it in his voice. So this morning he left for Cana. Now, I feel guilty. My son worsens. I just hope my husband makes it back before. . . .
O God, I want all those things that I take for granted to happen again. The hugs he gives me. The way he smiles. The pictures he draws. Even, the times he is just too loud in the house. I want my boy back. I want to hear him say Mommy again.
Mommy. Son? Mommy. Son!
