Thirsty

"Please! Can we stop for a drink of water? Please!" The car motored on. Drifted smoke, pungent and choking fills each inhale. I am nine, and and never have I been so thirsty. I lay back against the hot vinyl seat... too parched for tears. I fan dirty haze, foul swirls and circles of smoke. The child hand is too small, and the cough hurts. Promises of "be home soon," fall flat and dull on nine-year-old ears. And the car motored on.

"Please, oh please, Father. I thirst." Never have I been so parched. Polluted by sin. Clouded by regret-filled choices, shame. World inhaled, choking away life Spirit-full. I am grown, but young, oh so young. I disengage from stench of world-full life, yet remain, one toe in the arid place. The mortal hand, too small to wave away. Choking hurts. And I thirst. And the world invites.

Jesus answered her, All who drink of this water will be thirsty again.

But whoever takes a drink of the water that I will give him shall never, no never, be thirsty any more. But the water that I will give him shall become a spring of water welling up (flowing, bubbling) [continually] within him unto (into, for) eternal life.

The woman said to Him, Sir, give me this water, so that I may never get thirsty nor have to come [continually all the way] here to draw.


John 4:13-15 (Amplified)

I am the woman at the well. I ask. And Jesus draws without vessel, without effort. He simply touches gently. I drink deep and slow. Hot, burning, cleansing tears spring forth and spill over refreshing the arid place.

... and I thirst no more.