I pray:

“My soul clings to the dust. Revive me according to Your word” (Ps 119:25).

The soil is thirsty in the hand. The ground is dust.

The garden languishes, the plants wilt.

My soul thirsts also, languishes, wilts.

We need water.

According to His word:

“I will pour water on him who is thirsty. I will pour streams upon the dry ground” (Is 44:3).

Water was there first, before anything else. The first day (Gen 1:1-2)

The second day, God separated the waters, differentiated the waters–above and below the firmament heaven (Gen 1:6-8).

Earth water and heaven water.

And Jesus said, amid parching heat, to the comfort-thirsty, love-thirsty woman at the well: “Whoever drinks of this [earth] water, will thirst again. But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst… [it] will become in him a fountain of water, springing up to everlasting life” (John 4:13-14).

I think of all this as I water, and the showers of blessing make rainbows in the air.

Winding hose on holder, I think how I once wanted to name this place “Everspring” or “Wellspring” and post those words of Christ’s somewhere. The Funny Farm had such a seemingly boundless supply of pure freshness. But I had too little faith in its constancy.

Things can happen.

Things did. Twice circumstances cut off totally all house supply.

But Christ’s supply has never failed.

I fail. And flail. But I pray. “My soul cleaveth unto the dust.” I pray for Him to renew my life with His “washing of water by the word” (Eph 5:26). And He pours water upon my dry ground. I soak it up, drink it in, weep joy.

I am a well-watered soul.