The Man at the Well

You see that woman dipping a bucket into a deep well?
All alone, long after bucket-dipping hour?
I know her story.
Almost have it memorized.
Woman::whore::well::Christ::water::more water::water for days
It pays to be the worst sinner because you get the most grace
You get the idea.
Ideas upon ideas in my mind about this girl.
Arms folded I watch the scene unfold.
Ashamed, bold, after dark. Approaching the well, avoiding the hell-fire
freaks from town, longing to drown
literally, in the depths, seeking a will from the well to live.
A man, in the shadows, something she must be familiar with, right?
“Give me a drink.”
“This one’s not even polite.”
Guard up, eyes down.
But you know what I keep thinking about?
HIS eyes.
Probably brown
Endless, tender, God-like,
now THERE’S a place to drown.
Glinting through the blue dusk.
Sweeping search-lights
into hers.
And He stands there, numbering husband husband
Husband husband husband
Common-law husband.
It’s easy to pity a woman like that. To learn from that woman.
To never ever in your blessed, overcomer, more than conqueror life become
that
woman.
I envy that woman.
Her radical redemption from a life of sex-addiction
Out of missionary position and into a position of mission
And the lavish outpouring of living water love
And the lava of shameless love-eruption
Inviting her hell-fire freak neighbors to
“Come, and see this man who KNOWS me.”
Come, and see this man who knows Me?
One by one my pronouns lose their way
In the GPS of my intellect I am missing the turns
And husband husband selfishness
husband greed husband envy husband
Hatred common-law-husband
Pride.
And now He’s looking into my eyes.
And I dive and I drown in the depths of living water
Understanding for the first time that grace isn’t measured out
A teaspoon for lust a cup for theft a gallon for murder
It isn’t a container at all
It’s a bottomless well, with enough for every thirsty diver
It’s a pair of eyes
That is saying to me
I know your story.