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God of the Thirsty

[please don’t forget ME]

Don’t forget that I was alone coming to get water.

No friends to chatter with. No family to help me.

Which was unheard of.

And there was a very good reason for that.

I was an outcast. A sex slave. A tortured soul. Used by others. Abused by them too.

I was alone.

[please don’t forget ME]

Don’t forget that I was the other, a half-breed, the worst of all the others.

No safety net of a pure heritage. No group to belong to.

Which sounds like no big deal.

But where I came from, it was everything.

Everything that would keep me fed. And loved. Secure. Comforted. Worthy.

I was the other.

[please don’t forget ME]

Don’t forget that I was thirsty, not just for water, but for the quenching of my soul.

Parched from the journey past. And desperate for an oasis for what lay ahead.

How could I not be?

Depleted just from trying to make it through a day (day-after-day-after-day). My body scorched by others’ lust. Longing for a simple drop of hope. My faith bone-dry. Dying slowly outside and in.

[please don’t forget ME]

He did not.

He saw that I was alone.

And met me. Right where I was.

Spoke with me. Asked me about myself. And listened to me.

And I was not alone anymore.

He saw that I was the other.

And He didn’t flinch. He looked me in the eye.

With respect. Unwavering humility. And simply included me.

And I was not the other anymore.

He saw that I was thirsty.

On the outside for sure. But on the inside most of all.

He didn’t hesitate. To lean in closely. And give me what I needed the most.


And I was not thirsty anymore.

[please don’t forget ME]

[and Him]

[and us]

**the third Sunday of Lent reflects on the Woman from Samaria at the Well**

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