Half sipped water bottles strewn atop the counter served as a symbol of our plenty, a nation of affluence. Our Easter gathering of friends quieted as we assembled in the kitchen, coffee in hand, to view the slides of the dynamic duo’s recent trip to the Village of Hope in Haiti.
My husband, the agronomist, installed irrigation at the village orphanage. Irrigation almost guarantees a bountiful harvest. Farming revolves around water; either too much, which results in flooding, or too little, which delivers devastating drought conditions. That is precisely why conversations with farmers begin and end with the topic of weather. While my husband toiled shoulder to shoulder with the missionaries in Haiti, weather proved irrelevant. Providing a water source, not necessarily clean water, but simply a source of water trumped any five day weather forecast. Irrigation for the orphanage symbolized progress. No longer would the girls and the staff need to haul bucketfuls of water for distances over terrain that reduced the bucketful to cupful. Basic irrigation lines would now drip water to moisten the hard soil and then flow to the seed, “…seeds fell on good soil and produced grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.
In sweat soaked shirts stained with Haitian soil, my husband and the missionaries stand back to view their day’s labor. The three of them stop to pray and cry, grateful for the opportunity to serve the one true Living Water.
Water, the life source, trickles through the patch of garden in the Village of Hope, as the Living Water drenches their souls.
As my husband, the “blanc” farmer to the Haitians, labored in the fields my daughter irrigated the hearts of the girls at the orphanage with compassion and hope. The white American girl with the dark, curly hair wiped away tears from the cheeks of a girl too young to be burden with the grief that looms about her like a constant shadow of sadness. They sing in half Creole, half beautiful broken English, This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in Him, and tears turn to smiles in this little village with lots of hope.
Drinking water, now, streams from the orphanage spigot. Water irrigates the Haitian soil while back at the orphanage young girls cup their hands and gulp Living Water, “as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one hears the word and understands it. He indeed bears fruit and yields…
The “blanc” farmer and his daughter with the curly hair will return to the land of plenty and not look at a half empty bottle of water the same. Pouring the lukewarm water down the sink is seemingly impossible to do without thinking about the soils and souls that need the Living Water.
Those of us who drink the Living Water ought to gulp it down and resist letting it become lukewarm. Life offers a maze of divinely appointed relationships. As we weave through the relationship maze we ought to encourage and entice the drinking of every drop of free, fresh, Living Water. The world is dying of thirst.