I just walked out my kitchen door and into a story, a story about a woman sitting at a well. Her name is Rose. My heart breaks for her. She is a single mum of two. I so want to know her. She has a tin bucket with no handle, and waits while water pours from my tap, with no effort on her part. The village pump is broken again. Until yesterday, we had been without water for three days. Jesus said, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never again be thirsty. The water I shall give will be a spring of water within her, welling up and bringing eternal life.’

Rose sits up straight, and so thin, waiting, watching the water. I want to tell her about the living water, but the words won’t come in Chichewa. Her life is consumed with surviving: finding food, firewood, oil, clothes for her children. I gave her a bar of soap the other day, and asked today why she hadn’t used it….now she has to think about where to find water too. It seems like too much to ask, God. What will you give to her? Do I have what she needs? Yes, I do. It is you, she needs, Jesus. Please, leap out of my words, my deeds of kindness, the water in my well, and into her heart. Please comfort her, and give her hope.

P.S. The village pump is fixed, but life continues to be very, very hard for Rose. Her feet are all cracked and sore, from being cold at night, and then putting them too close to the fire. Her children cry because they are hungry, and her roof leaks.
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