“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.