A man I know out past Fort Stockton had his well go dry last summer. He told me about it at a fish fry, holding a paper plate and smiling the way people smile after a long illness. He said he had never felt closer to the Lord than in the weeks he spent hauling water in the bed of his truck.
I’ve thought about him ever since, because I believe he found something the rest of us have misplaced. We turn the tap and the water comes, and we never once wonder where it was before it got to us. We’re like children who think milk comes from the store. A dry well cures a man of that. It puts him back where he belongs, in the bed of a truck, looking at the sky.
There are people who want to make sure this never happens to anyone. They talk about pipes and reservoirs and planning ahead, about knowing how much is left down there before the last of it is gone. I don’t doubt they mean well. But I’ve noticed that the more carefully a town plans its water, the less it prays for rain. You don’t hear many prayers for rain in a place with a full reservoir. You hear them where my friend lives.
Scripture is full of wells. Isaac dug again the wells his father had dug. Jacob’s well was still giving water long after Jacob was gone. Our Lord sat down beside a well and asked a woman for a drink. I have always been moved by how often God meets people where the water is. I’ve never read that any of them was waiting on a plan.
My own well is still good, thank the Lord. When I stand a little long in the shower, I sometimes think of my friend and his water tank, and I take that as a kind of prayer for him. I’ve thought about driving out to help him haul. I haven’t yet. Some lessons a man has to learn on his own, and I wouldn’t want to take this one away from him.
Patience is a virtue we have nearly piped out of ourselves. A dry well puts it back. It teaches you to wait, to ration, to be grateful for a bucket. My friend says his children don’t fuss about bath time anymore. They know now what a bath costs. When I vote for my party’s man for the Senate this fall, I’ll be voting to keep things as they are out past Fort Stockton. I get the impression the other side would like to plan the water ahead of time, and I’ve said what I think planning does to prayer.
I hope my well never runs dry. If it does, I hope I take it the way he did, with a smile and a full plate. I would hate to waste a lesson like that on a plan.
D. M.