My sis and I each pulled a couple of frosty 16oz bottles of water from the cooler, thinking it would be enough. “Ram’s Head .9,” the trailhead sign read. Based on the reviews we’d seen, the hike sounded doable. I’d thought to wear proper attire—decent shoes at least. The lack of shade, and to some extent, the nature of the terrain were no surprise. But we hadn’t expected the effects of tropical heat and humidity.
The two of us maneuvered our way up the rugged path, stopping often to catch our breath, hydrate, and absorb the scenery—white sands of distant bays and warm waters dressed in various shades of turquoise underneath an endless cloudless sky. My calves felt every step of the upward trek. Between drinks, a cold bottle held to my wrist and neck helped to cool my system. Beautiful blooming cacti and the warmth of the sun bearing down tricked me into feeling we were in the midst of a desert rather than the Caribbean. We carefully crossed Blue Cobblestone Bay, stopping to admire cairns built by other explorers, and to build some of our own before setting out again to conquer the last leg. A couple hours into our journey, we reached the trail’s end, landmarked by a cliff which dropped sharply into crashing waves a few hundred feet below. Rocks became resting stools where we unpacked snacks and paused to behold the breathtaking scene—to our east, the British Virgin Isles, and to the west and south, islands of the US. Oh Lord. So amazingly beautiful is Your creation.
We began the trek back “down,” only to find the trail seeming every bit as uphill. We chuckled—sort of. I sipped instead of gulped. As water from a second bottle drained, so did my stamina. We crossed back over the cobblestones, then upward, again. My skin began to burn and I looked for any bit of shade to give brief relief. Concerns of heat exhaustion poked at me. There’s no real danger, right? It’s not like we’re in the depths of the Grand Canyon.
Worries eased at the welcome site of the bay where we’d begun. Before too long we were back on the soft sandy beach, barefooted, chugging cold H2O from full bottles before wading into a soothing blue sea. I swam out, marveling at the underwater world. The strenuousness of the hike was soon forgotten. But, the thirst and discomfort of being low on water sticks with me even still.
The Spirit spoke to me that day, giving gentle reminders. Of what it’s like to be depleted and dry. What it feels like to thirst. Ironically, we’d been surrounded by water on three sides. But it wasn’t the drinkable kind. That beautiful shimmering substitute wouldn’t have been what my body really needed.
The apostle John tells of another woman who thirsted. In chapter 4, we find Jesus hiking through enemy territory on His way from Judea to Galilee—a journey of about seventy miles.. “He had to travel through Samaria,” John writes (John 4:4 HCSB). So unconventional isn’t He, this Savior of ours? Taking a route the Pharisees wouldn’t be caught dead traveling. I like to imagine the thoughts, perhaps words, among the disciples as they went looking for food. I wonder. Did they wonder why He had to hike through Samaria, of all places? I wonder if they passed her on the way into town. Though this was the shortest route to Galilee, Jesus didn’t really have to take it. But John’s penning implies that He had to. As if He was compelled to.
At about noon, physically drained and likely parched, Jesus pulls over to rest at a place called Jacob’s Well. I wonder how long He may have waited there just for her. At some point we see her. A Samaritan woman. Earthen jar in tow, arriving at an odd time to draw water, yet right on time for a divine appointment. We don’t know her name, but we can assume she’s been given a few. John delivers just enough details for us to gather she’s had quite a past—married five times and now living with a fellow. Perhaps she’d been widowed. Or divorced. Or both. In any case, what pain she must have weathered. One thing's for sure. She’s been thirsty her whole life and in search of the quenching.
Jesus knew the woman well. Knew her name, and all about her life. Every clean or messy detail. He’d watched as she’d been woven together in her mother’s womb. Watched her cry first tear, utter a first word, take a first step. Let’s pause to let this truth sink in. May this news never get old. May it continue to amaze and encourage you and I, as daughters of the King. Throughout her whole life, she’d been seen. Known. Remembered. Oh what Love.
How it must have grieved our Savior’s heart to see her going there day after day to dip her jar. Alone. Cloaked in layers of pain and shame. Hooded, perhaps, to hide her face, in case anyone was there. Hoping no one was. (Ever been there? I sure have.) Little did she know that on that day she’d be serving up water for God Himself to sip. And little did she know that she’d be the one to walk away filled. He said to her,
“Everyone who drinks from this water will get thirsty again. But whoever drinks from the water that I will give him will never get thirsty again—ever!” In fact, the water I will give him will become a well of water springing up within him for eternal life” (John 4:13,14 HCSB).
A double promise offered: She’d find lasting satisfaction in this life. She’d live forever with God in the next. What a game-changer.
I get tearful reading about her. Imagining her. Maybe because in a way, I was her. For a good part of my life, I thirsted for other things.
I was raised in a supportive, nurturing home. But somewhere along the way, the enemy of my soul began whispering lies I was gullible enough to believe. Over a wide span of years, a narrative within my mind played and replayed: I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, strong enough, pretty enough, popular enough, athletic enough, and so on. Thus began my thirst. I hiked along the performance path—always hoping approval, significance, and belonging were just around the next bend. In my teens to young-adult years, this path led to some pretty poor choices. After becoming a Christ follower, I managed to make better choices, but still had a tendency to search for significance elsewhere— looking to draw from wells whose water wouldn’t fill. Over time I learned that not even the best things in my life could ever quench my thirst—they were never meant to. Significance is ultimately not found there. I’m still sometimes tempted to go back to drawing from the wrong source, and quickly remember how that water won’t last.
Just like you and I have physical thirst, we have a spiritual thirst. Both are part of who we are— knit within us by our Creator. Like our body needs water, our soul needs Living Water. From a well that knows no depths. In stopping there each day to talk with Him, listen to Him and drink deeply of His Word, we become truly filled. Fully satisfied. Spiritually hydrated.
Only He quenches. Because at the end of the day it is for Him we thirst.
“Then He said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will freely give to the thirsty from the spring of the water of life” (Revelation 21:6, HCSB).
