Imagine the rejection she felt not only from those women but from the five men she was married to. In those days only a man could divorce a woman.

That day she went to the well, like any other day to get water, not expecting to see anyone let alone the Messiah. Jesus spoke to her with the same respect that He would have given His own mother and He even knew who and what she was!

As Jesus continued in converstation with that woman she learned of the living water He had for her, the Holy Spirit.

She became so thirsty and desperate for this living water that she left her water jug, everything that she had known, and ran to tell everyone in the town of her experiences. The Samaritan woman became an evangelist in Shechem and many from that town believed in Him because of her testimony.

Too often we try to drink of the “worldly wells” hoping to be fulfilled but they fail to satisfy us. If you are desperate and thirsty, let Jesus give you that living water. He is waiting by the well for YOU!

The way to drink the living water is through prayer. Ask Jesus into your life. Admit you have sinned. Believe that He died for you and your sins. Confess those sins to Him and He will fill you with the living water giving you and endless supply of wisdom, love, grace, peace, joy, and more.

His mother – in the house was looking out the window – saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could. Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two.

The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator. Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother’s fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, “But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my mom wouldn’t let go.”

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, or anything quite so dramatic. But, the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret.

But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He’s been there holding on to you. The Scripture teaches that God loves you. If you have Christ in your life, you have become a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril – and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That’s when the tug-o-war begins – and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very, very grateful.

He did not – and will not – let you go.

The principal looked down at the young rebel. “How many times have you been here?”

The child sneered rebelliously, “Apparently not enough.”

The principal gave the boy a strange look. “And you have been punished each time have you not?”

“Yeah, I been punished, if that’s what you want to call it.” He threw out his small chest, “Go ahead I can take whatever you dish out. I always have.”

“And no thought of your punishment enters your head the next time you decide to break the rules does it?”

“Nope, I do whatever I want to do. Ain’t nothin’ you people gonna do to stop me either.”

The principal looked over at the teacher who stood nearby. “What did he do this time?”

“Fighting. He took little Tommy and shoved his face into the sandbox.”

The principal turned to look at the boy, “Why? What did little Tommy do to you?”

“Nothin’. I didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at me, just like I don’t like the way your lookin’ at me! And if I thought I could do it, I’d shove your face into something.”

The teacher stiffened and started to rise but a quick look from the principal stopped him. He contemplated the child for a moment and then quietly said, “Today my young student, is the day you learn about grace.”

“Grace? Isn’t that what you old people do before you sit down to eat? I don’t need none of your stinkin’ grace.”

“Oh but you do.” The principal studied the young mans face and whispered. “Oh yes, you truly do…” The boy continued to glare as the principal continued, “Grace, in its short definition is unmerited favor. You can not earn it; it is a gift and is always freely given. It means that you will not be getting what you so richly deserve.”

The boy looked puzzled. “You’re not gonna whup me? You just gonna let me walk?”

The principal looked down at the unyielding child. “Yes, I am going to let you walk.”

The boy studied the face of the principal, “No punishment at all? Even though I socked Tommy and shoved his face into the sandbox?”

“Oh, there has to be punishment. What you did was wrong and there are always consequences to our actions. There will be punishment. Grace is not an excuse for doing wrong.”

“I knew it,” sneered the boy as he held out his hands. “Let’s get on with it.”

The principal nodded toward the teacher. “Bring me the belt.” The teacher presented the belt to the principal. He carefully folded it in two and then handed it back to the teacher. He looked at the child and said, “I want you to count the blows.”

He slid out from behind his desk and walked over to stand directly in front of the young man. He gently reached out and folded the child’s outstretched, expectant hands together and then turned to face the teacher with his own hands outstretched.

One quiet word came forth from his mouth. “Begin.” The belt whipped down on the outstretched hands of the principal.

Crack! The young man jumped ten feet in the air. Shock registered across his face, “One” he whispered. Crack! “Two.” His voice raised an octave. Crack! “Three…” He couldn’t believe this. Crack! “Four.” Big tears welled up in the eyes of the rebel. “OK stop! That’s enough. Stop!” Crack! Came the belt down on the callused hands of the principal.

Crack! The child flinched with each blow, tears beginning to stream down his face. Crack! Crack! “No please,” the former rebel begged, “Stop, I did it, I’m the one who deserves it. Stop! Please. Stop…” Still the blows came, Crack! Crack! One after another.

Finally it was over.

The principal stood with sweat glistening across his forehead and beads trickling down his face. Slowly he knelt down. He studied the young man for a second and then his swollen hands reached out to cradle the face of the weeping child.

“Grace…”

Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used, extensively. One particular day Brother Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me.

I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.

I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Brother Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

“Hello Barry, how are you today?”

“H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas……sure look good.”

“They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?”

“Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’time.”

“Good. Anything I can help you with”

“No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.”

“Would you like to take some home?”

“No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.”

“Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?”

“All I got’s my prize aggie – best taw around here.”

“Is that right? Let me see it.”

“Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?”

“Not ‘zackley . . . but, almost.”

“Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red taw.”

“Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said: “There are two other boys like him in our community; all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps.”

I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Utah but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering.

Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Brother Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an Army uniform and the other two wore short haircuts, dark suits and white shirts, obviously potential or returned missionaries.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led me to the casket. “This is an amazing coincidence,” she said. “Those three young men, that just left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size… they came to pay their debt. We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,” she confided, “but, right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.”

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three, magnificently shiny, red marbles.

Me? I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

First, it was in dingy, dirty theaters. Then, convenience stores. Then, grocery stores. Then on television. Now it is available in the homes of millions via the Internet. It is called pornography.

Me, I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

They call it no-fault. Why should we blame anyone when something so tragic happens? Haven’t they already suffered enough? Half of the marriages in America end this way. The children suffered. The family broke down. It is called divorce.

Me, I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

At one time it was a perversion. We kept it secret. We secured help and hope for those who practiced it. Now it is praised. We have parades celebrating it, and elected officials give it their blessing. Now it is endowed with special privileges and protected by special laws. Even some Christian leaders and some denominations praise it. It is called homosexuality.

Me? I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

As far back as the Bible this was unacceptable. The 10 Commandments warn against doing it – the penalty is death, destroying their soul. But the 10 Commandments were taken out of schools – out of our daily lives. Children today don’t have that reminder of what is considered an “abomination in the sight of God” and think it is called love. It is called adultery.

Me? I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

It used to be called an embarrassment. A shame. Now a third of all children born in America are to mothers who aren’t married. They are born into a home without a father. The state usually pays the tab. That is why we pay our taxes, so that government can take the place of parents. After all, government bureaucrats know much better how to raise children than parents do. It is called illegitimacy.

Me? I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

At one time it was wrong. But then the state decided to legalize it, promote it and tax it. It has ripped apart families and destroyed lives. But just look at all the money the state has raised. No longer do we have to teach our children to study and work hard. Now we teach them they can get something for nothing. We spend millions encouraging people to join the fun and excitement. Just look at the big sums that people are winning. They will never have to work again! It is called gambling.

Me? I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

Not long ago, Christians were the good guys. But now any positive image of Christians in movies or on TV is gone. We are now depicted as the bad guys – greedy, narrow-minded hypocrites. The teacher can’t have a Bible on her desk, but can have Playboy. We don’t have Christmas and Easter holidays – just winter and spring break. We can’t pray in school, but can use foul language. It’s called being tolerant.

Me? I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

Yes, all these things came to pass within 30 years. Where were the Christians? Why, they were in church. All these things are for someone else to deal with. Times have changed. Involvement has been replaced with apathy.

But don’t blame me. I didn’t do anything. I go to church, the minister preaches, I go home. That’s what Christians do now.

For years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set squarely against the cold massive surface of the unmoving rock pushing with all his might. Each night the man would return to his cabin sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day was spent in vain.

Seeing that the man was showing some signs of discouragement, Satan decided to enter the picture placing thoughts in the man’s mind such as, “You have been pushing against that rock for a long time and it hasn’t budged. Why kill yourself over this? You are never going to move it, etc.” thus giving the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was a failure.

These thoughts discouraged and disheartened the man even more. “Why kill myself over this?” he thought. “I’ll just put in my time giving just the minimum amount of effort and that will be good enough.’

And that he planned to do until one day he decided to make it a matter of prayer and take his troubled thoughts to the Lord.

“Lord” he said, “I have labored long and hard on in your service, putting all my strength to do that which You have asked. Yet after all this time, I have not even budged that rock a half millimeter. What is wrong? Why am I failing?”

To this the Lord responded compassionately, “My friend, when long ago I asked you to serve me and you accepted, I told you to push against the rock with all your strength, which you have done. Never once did I mention that I expected you to move it. Your task was to push. And now you come to Me, your strength spent, thinking you have failed. But, is it really so? Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back is brown, your hands are callused, and your legs have become massive and hard.”

“Through opposition you have grown much and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have. Yet you haven’t moved the rock. But your calling was to be obedient, to push and to exercise your faith and trust in my wisdom. This you have done. Now, My friend, I will move the rock.”

Then it gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same.”

When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care.

He listened to all the reasons his children gave for wanting to see a particular PG-13 movie. It had their favorite actors. Everyone else was seeing it. Even church members said it was great. It was only rated PG-13 because of the suggestion of sex. They never really showed it. The language was pretty good. They only used the Lord’s name in vain three times in the whole movie. The video effects were fabulous and the plot was action packed. Yes, there WAS one scene where a building and a bunch of people got blown up, but the violence was just the normal stuff. It wasn’t very bad.

Even with all these explanations for the rating, the father wouldn’t give in. He didn’t even give them a satisfying explanation for saying, “No.” He just said, “No.”

It was a little bit later that evening, that this same father asked his teens if they would like some brownies he had prepared. He explained that he had taken the family’s favorite recipe and added something new.

They asked what it was. He calmly replied that he had added dog poop. But, he said, it was only a little bit. All the other ingredients were gourmet quality. He had taken great care to bake it at the precise temperature for the exact time. He was sure the brownies would be superb. But, even with all the explanations of the perfect attributes of the brownies, the teens would not take one.

The father acted surprised. There was only one little element that would have caused them to act so stubbornly. He assured them that they would hardly notice it if at all. They all held firm and would not try the brownies.

He then explained that the movie they wanted to see was just like the brownies. Satan tries to enter our minds and our homes by deceiving us into believing that just a little bit of evil won’t matter. With the brownies, just a little bit makes all the difference between a great brownie and a totally unacceptable product. He explained that even though the movie people would have us believe the movies which are coming out are acceptable for adults and young people to see, they are not.

Now when this father’s kids want to do something or see something they shouldn’t, he merely asks them if they would like some of his special dog poop brownies – and they never ask about it again.

The lad dug around the rock, managing to dislodge it from the dirt. With no little bit of struggle, he pushed and nudged the rock across the sandbox by using his feet. (He was a very small boy and the rock was very huge.) When the boy got the rock to the edge of the sandbox, however, he found that he couldn’t roll it up and over the little wall.

Determined, the little boy shoved, pushed, and pried, but every time he thought he had made some progress, the rock tipped and then fell back into the sandbox.

The little boy grunted, struggled, pushed, shoved-but his only reward was to have the rock roll back, smashing his chubby fingers.

Finally he burst into tears of frustration. All this time the boy’s father watched from his living room window as the drama unfolded. At the moment the tears fell, a large shadow fell across the boy and the sandbox. It was the boy’s father.

Gently but firmly he said, “Son, why didn’t you use all the strength that you had available?”

Defeated, the boy sobbed back, “But I did, Daddy, I did! I used all the strength that I had!”

“No, son,” corrected the father kindly. “You didn’t use all the strength you had. You didn’t ask me.”

With that the father reached down, picked up the rock, and removed it from the sandbox.

Later that evening I could hear the kids in the kitchen “Mom, she’s looking at my flower!” He was referring to Emily, our 5 year old youngest child. I tried to explain to Steven that it was OK for Emily to look at his flower, she wouldn’t hurt it. He said his teacher told the students the flowers might bloom that night and they were as patient as children can be waiting for it to happen.

The flower didn’t bloom until two days later while Steven was at school. As I happened to be passing through the kitchen and noticed it bloomed I thought about the beauty in that little flower. I called to Emily and told her to come and see the flower bloomed. We looked at that flower in awe of its beauty and I thanked God for showing it to me. Then as a mother would do I tried to explain to a five year old to thank God for giving us the beautiful flower. I said “Emily, let’s thank God for giving us this beautiful flower,” and she just looked at me and grinned with some hesitation. I tried to get her to say “Thank you God for giving us this beautiful flower,” but all she could say was that she couldn’t say that. As I couldn’t get her to say it by herself I thought it best to have her repeat after me. Word by word she repeated it without too much trouble. By now she was getting a little bored with this game so off she went to play some more as my last words were “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I didn’t really think any more of it until later that afternoon.

Some time after Steven arrived home from school I was sitting at the computer working and I could hear the kids in the kitchen again. What caught my attention was Emily proudly saying, “Because Mom said to!” As most mothers would do I had to listen carefully to see what it was that I had said to do, what lesson I had been trying to teach that they finally might have a grasp on. Then I could hear her saying in almost a flippant kind of way, “You’re supposed to thank God for it,” and I realized that she was trying to teach her brother to say those words that were so hard for her to say a few hours earlier.

Of course, I had to go in the kitchen and settle this argument. I tried to explain to Steven how I was so overcome by the thought of God creating this little flower in all its beauty that I wanted to thank Him for it. It made me think then of how often I correct my children to say “thank you” and “please.” If it was so hard to thank Him for something so small, how could we expect to thank Him when it’s not so easy, when things aren’t going well. Yet that’s the time we need to thank Him most.

Take time to practice each day. If you feel like you don’t have anything to thank Him for then start on the little, simple things like the sunset or flowers or a refreshing breeze on a hot day. It will get you in practice to give thanks to God in those more difficult times. The Bible says in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” It doesn’t say for good things, give thanks. It says for everything. When you feel least like saying “Thank you” that’s the time you need to do it most. Thank Him for a lesson you might have learned in the midst of your trial. And remember, there is no circumstance that comes into our lives, from whatever source it comes, that God cannot take by his mighty power and change for our greatest good! (Romans 8:28) Thank you, Lord!