A Short Story: Treasure in the Well

There’s a well of love for myself that I once left untouched. It was a dry well, really. Cracked at the bottom. I thought that I had to keep walking miles to fill it up with more. I kept walking, walking. Abandoning my well. And of course, it kept drying up, because how many trips does it take to fill up a well?

One day, I was so tired, I slipped and fell into my well. The landing was so painful and devastating, the reality of the drought I had been facing. I laid there for a while. Motionless. A prayer, left ringing in the silence.

And days later, I felt moisture on my back. Water?

From where?

I looked down at the bottom of my well and saw the slightest puddle had formed at the point of impact to which I had fallen. Water?

No way. ‘It must be my sweat,’ I thought, as my fingers scratched at the ground below. Water?

‘It must be my tears,’ I thought, as the puddle grew bigger.

‘WATER!’ I screamed, as a geyser of love shoots out from the hole I dug below me, filling up my well, slowly but surely.

I dance and laugh, my muscles relax.

I sing a song and I’m halfway along.

In beautiful time, I’ve reached the top of the well, running home for buckets to catch the swell.

Wow, so this is what my love feels like?

No, this is what my love with God feels like.