Deep Wells

O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. – Psalm 63:1 (NRSV) 

My childhood home in rural Pennsylvania had a mountain spring as its sole water source when I was growing up. If summers ran dry, the spring ran low. If a mechanical problem arose, my dad trekked down the path to the springhouse to get water pumping again. Sometimes I held the flashlight. 

Today that home draws its water from a well drilled deep into the mountain to reach an aquifer. A more reliable source, to be sure, but also more abstract. Very much out-of-sight, out-of-mind. No bubbling water to witness spurting up through the rocks. No sediment to clear from the water flow. No pump to check, tighten, replace. No need to get your hands wet with work before you’re able to drink deeply. 

We’re more likely to notice our water sources when they demand attention: a broken pump, a seasonal drought, a cause for thirst, a muddy flood, a longed-for cleanse. “My soul thirsts to drink you in. My flesh faints for the relief of your cool shower.” 

When our souls’ wellsprings cry out for a fountain of rejuvenation, there is little else that can occupy our focus beyond that thirst. In those moments, a deep well from which water cannot be drawn is a nightmare, a tease. To know that water is present but distant agonizes the soul. Any spring bubbling up amid rocks is a Godsend for immediate relief. 

And vice versa: When the spring goes silent, when it barely offers a muddy patch as evidence, then a deep well is our resurrection. Then it is precisely the hidden source of water that returns us to life. 

Prayer
God, be a mountain spring when I cannot fathom the hidden, and a deep well when I cannot splash in what is plain.