This is one of the Bible stories that has always touched me. In my own mind, this poem is how I think this dear woman felt. I hope it opens your eyes to the Savior as it did mine.

Jacob’s Well

Staring at the dusty ground
She staggers up the road
A water jug upon her head
She bears a heavy load.

Not just a heavy water pot
But a life spent in sin
And all the scars, the bitter wounds
The guilt she holds within.

As she slowly sets the old pot down
She sighs a weary sigh
Her burdened mind goes rushing back
To trials and times gone by.

The tears begin to sting her eyes
She brushes them away
And once again she lifts her jug
To travel on her way.

A short way off she sees the well
Her thirst has reached its height
She fights to speed her tired pace
And strains with all her might.

Exhausted, she ignores her pain
And pushes further forth
Until, at last, fatigued and sore,
She finishes her course.

Her legs are weak, her eyes still burn
The noonday sun shines hot
She leans her back against the wall
And limply lifts her pot.

Lowering her empty jug
Into the well’s cool depths
She’s startled by a voice beside
And jumps back several steps.

The gentle voice arrests her thoughts
And to her total shock
The man beside her is a Jew
She looks…and their eyes lock.

“Can you give me a drink?” he asks.
She can’t believe her ears
Never has a Jew asked her
A thing, in all her years.

“Do you, a Jew, not realize
Just who I am?” she asks.
“I am from Samaria,
The wrong side of the tracks.”

“You hate us, right? We never talk
And yet you ask of me?
I’m sorry, sir, but you must know
How odd this has to be.”

Kindly, softly, he replies,
“O woman, if you knew
Who I am, you would have asked me
To give you some water, too.”

“For the water I can give you
Is enduring and alive
And once you choose to drink it
Living water won’t run dry.”

A bright smile crosses his worn face
She longs to understand
“Sir, give me of this water
So I’ll never thirst again.”

“Go and bring to me your husband.”
She stands back and hangs her head
“I have none.” She admits. He says,
“I know that. Rightly said.”

“For you have had five husbands
And the man you’re with today
Is not your husband. You are right.
It is the truth you say.”

Impossible! How could he know?
She didn’t know his name!
Could this tired Jew beside her
And Messiah be the same?

“Sir, I know when the Messiah comes
That he will tell us all.”
His soothing voice steals all her breath
She slumps against the wall.

“I am He.” His calm reply
Sends tremors through her heart
She spins and races back to town
Her great news to impart.

“Quickly, quickly! Come and see.
By Jacob’s well. A Jew.
He told me all I’ve ever done.
I can’t believe He knew.”

“He says He’s the Messiah
Any reason He can’t be?
I know He’d make a change in you
He’s made a change in me.”

This poem was written just after I received word that a 22-year-old acquaintance of my family died after a tragic snowboarding accident. I truly believe these words came from God himself and I hope they bless your heart.

The Morning Will Come

 The room is quiet
Except for the constant beep
Of the machine.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Still living, still offering
A small speck of hope.
One half second of silence
Can make the difference.
This life to the next.
The room falls silent.
Not a soul moves.
Immediately, anxious sobs
Turn to soft, mournful weeping.
He has left this place
As quickly as he came.
He has gone home
To beauty indescribable
To the arms of his Savior.
Yes, we weep today
For memories we won’t make
For days we will spend without him
For moments we will miss his smiling face.
Yet, we cannot cry for his sake.
He is where we long to be.
He has been carried
In the loving arms of our Savior
Through the pearly gates
Into a home unimaginably bright
Breathtaking in its glorious beauty
Unmarred by human weakness.
When I close my eyes,
I can see him falling
At the feet of the precious Lord Jesus
Pressing his hands
Into Christ’s wounded side
Gazing in awestruck wonder
At His nail-scarred hands.
The very hands which have
Raised the dead to life
Given sight to the blind
Healed the diseased
Made the lame to walk
Offered sinners salvation
Offered HIM salvation.
No, my friends, we weep not for him.
His cloudless morning has come.
Yet, still we weep, for those of us that remain
For our night that has not yet turned to day.
This world of sin and death
Has not yet been destroyed.
But, in a soon coming day,
We will hear the trumpet sound
We will see the dawn break
Through clouds of sorrow.
The morning will come.
“Weeping endureth for a night
But….
Joy cometh in the morning.”(Psalm 30:5)

Welcome to my blog, everyone! Hope you enjoy what you find here. You may be wondering why this post is called Broken Glass. So, I am here to explain. Over the past year or so, I have been involved in writing poetry and lyrics. In order to make a connection between them all for compilation, I have given them a mass title: Broken Glass. The name comes from a feeling I think we all have from time to time-brokenness. During this time in my life, God has truly made me understand what it is like to be broken before Him. So, I will attempt to share with you my journey of discovery. My discovery of myself along with my discovery of the Lord and His plan. I would honestly appreciate all feedback(positive or negative) that you can supply. Thank you for listening and sharing this time with me!