We needed water, but not in the morning. Every woman in Sychar would be there, pulling water from the well and gossiping about husbands, wives, and lovers. They would also be talking about me, laughing at my failures and describing my life with ugly words of contempt.

But we needed water.

I went to the well at noon, hoping no one would be there to condemn me. The jar was heavy, but no heavier than my memories. I married early and poorly, and was discarded at the city gate with shouted words of rejection and divorce.

It had been no better in the next town. Yes, I had been able to find beds, but there was no peace for this lady of the night. Five marriages had gone stale and then exploded in jealousy and hate.

Now I was in Sychar, in a new bed with renewed hopes. Yet the very fact that I was sleeping in with Rueben made me a juicy gossip topic. I felt the circle closing again.

The well was silent, but not empty. A Jewish man lay on one of the benches, his clothes dusty, hair sweaty, and face lined with exhaustion. Just looking at him made me thirsty. I pulled my veil closer and drew cool water from the ancient depths.

“Hello.” His voice startled me. “Please give me a drink of water.”

The words came as a request, yet they hammered into me like a command.

I held out the half-empty lifting jar and whispered, “You’re a Jew, and I’m a Samaritan. How can you ask me for water?”

He took the jar and smiled.

“Lady, if you knew water and if you knew me, you would be asking me for a drink! And, I would give you a drink of living water!”

“Right,” I answered. “I don’t think so.”

He set down the jar, looked directly into my heart, and offered me heaven.

“Drink my water, and it will become a spring of eternal life spilling over inside of you. You’ll never be thirsty again.”

I pointed to my jar. “Fill it up, so I don’t ever have to come here again!”

“Go, get your husband,” He required. Seems like there is always a catch.

I hung my head as He reminded me of my hell, one husband at a time. My hope nearly drowned in the details. Then it hit me: “No one else knows the whole story. How does He … ?”

I asked, and we argued about prophets, temples, and worship—all too confusing for me. So, I gathered my jar and threw one last challenge over my shoulder. “When the Messiah comes, He’ll explain all of this.”

“I am the Messiah.” His words froze my feet.

I looked back and felt my heart overflow with hope. He was different—open, accepting, smiling—offering a love that outmatched my dreams.

Living water? Now? The Messiah?

I dropped my jar and began to run to get Rueben.

I had never been so thirsty!

Dick Duerksen is the director of mission development for Florida Hospital in Orlando.