[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.
Himself.
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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