visiting the well alone is the only way

When the well’s dry, we know the worth of water.
Benjamin Franklin

(the original well used by Jacob, the famous Samaritan Well, currently located in the West Bank)

Every now and then, when it is most needed, God reminds us, well let’s make that He reminds me,
He is indeed still there and still in charge.

I don’t know about you but I have just felt so beat down as of late.

Wear a mask…
Don’t tell me to wear a mask…
Things are bad…
Things aren’t so bad…
Have school…
Don’t have school…
We hate Trump…
We love Trump.
Black lives matter…
No lives can matter…
Riots, looting, kneeling, anthems, flags…

Abortions, yes.
Abortions, no.

Hashtag (#) LGBTQ, transgender, asexual, bisexual, anything sexual…

Kill the Christians…
Hate the Jews…
Love everyone…but just don’t love those or those…

Watch the news.
Don’t watch the news.

Leave the house…
don’t leave the house…

It is simply overwhelming.

It is depressing, maddening, frustrating, and confusing.

I’ve told you before how great the series The Chosen is.
That crowd-funded production about the life of Christ.

It has brought the Gospels to life…to such a personal level…a real level.

The first season of episodes is out and now they are waiting to have
season two funded.

I cannot wait.

It is not a movie or a television show—it comes from an App or on the computer.

The final episode of season 1 is the tale of the Samaritan woman at the well.

First of all, I did not realize the significance of the well itself.
The well in the Book of John is the purported well of Jacob.
A seemingly dry site that Jacob knew would bear water…
God had led him to the sight.
God lead him here 730 years before the birth of Christ.
And it’s been bearing water ever since…
despite now being enshrined within an Orthodox Chruch.

I’ve read the Bible.
I’ve heard the stories.
I’ve seen various Biblical films and film productions about the life of Jesus—
none of which has moved me on such a deep and visceral level as this
story has as in The Chosen.

This Jesus…he is the one who I yearn to meet.
He is so real, so approachable…so unlike all previous depictions.

It also makes the various Biblical stories seem more relatable, more emotional,
more real.

Here is the Biblical story according to the NIV version from the Book of John:

Now Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard that he was gaining and baptizing more
disciples than John— although in fact, it was not Jesus who baptized,
but his disciples.
So he left Judea and went back once more to Galilee.

Now he had to go through Samaria.
So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob
had given to his son Joseph.
Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey,
sat down by the well.
It was about noon.

When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her,
“Will you give me a drink?”
(His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman.
How can you ask me for a drink?”
(For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink,
you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep.
Where can you get this living water?
Are you greater than our father Jacob,
who gave us the well and drank from it himself,
as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again,
but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst.
Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

The woman said to him,
“Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”

He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”

“I have no husband,” she replied.

Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband.
The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband.
What you have just said is quite true.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet.
Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain,
but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”

“Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father
neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know;
we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews.
Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father
in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.
God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”

The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming.
When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”

Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”

Just then his disciples returned and were surprised to find him talking with a woman.
But no one asked, “What do you want?” or “Why are you talking with her?”

Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people,
“Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did.
Could this be the Messiah?” 30 They came out of the town and made their way toward him.
John 4:1-30

If I could figure out how to share this particular episode from The Chosen here
on this blog, I would— but instead, I found on Youtube the added bonus feature from the episode
with the director and a Rabbi recounting the importance of this encounter between
a Jew and a Samaritan.
A man and a woman.
A Messiah and a broken soul.

The Chosen offers backstories to its characters.
They are an educated guess into what might have been…
based on what is known.
This is what makes these individuals so relatable…so much more so than the
stories from the Gospels.

The woman was scorned by her community for her lifestyle.
She was not welcome to visit the well in the cool morning hours with the other women of the
village…she had to go alone in the heat of the day.

She was a Samaritan…Jews considered this particular Jewish sect, a subgroup that was
less than…traitors of sorts.

Within her own community, she was an outcast living a depressing, empty
and sinful existence.

The deck was stacked against her when running into this Jewish man at the well.

Had she been with the other women, there would have never been the encounter.
She had to be alone.

Thus I realize that Jesus must come to us not when we are in the company of our friends
or surrounded by a crowd…he must come to us when we are alone, vulnerable,
and not distracted.
He needs our full attention.

It is to be a one on one encounter.

If you haven’t seen the episodes of The Chosen—I implore you to find them.
If you don’t know Jesus…if you find him sterile and benign, if you
mock him or simply disbelieve…watch just one episode…
I know you will view this Jesus of Nazareth much differently than ever before.

spam, scams or is God calling?

“The Divine Voice is not always expressed in words.
It is made known as a heart-consciousness”
A.J. Russell

(Robokiller symbol)

About a year or so ago, tired of the constant phone calls coming in from places like Belize,
California, Mexico, the Ukraine…places where I knew no one and no one knew me,
I decided to nip the madness in the bud.

I had seen an article about an app called Robokiller.
It’s an app that will filter out those mysterious and annoying calls…
as in it actually filters most all of your calls.

The only calls readily allowed are those numbers you have listed in your favorites…
any other call will face the scrutiny of the app.

When setting up the app you get to pick a type of voicemail message that you’d like to use.
Prerecorded silly messages or what I chose…a typical auto-recorded message that
states “the number you have dialed is currently no longer in service…”

The app works sometimes a little too well as it has dumped calls coming in from
various doctors or other offices that are attempting to get in touch with me–
all because it does not recognize the incoming numbers.

Of course, you can check the messages that are left, as well as the call numbers,
and choose whether you want to allow them to trickle through or not.

Overall, I am very pleased with the app and opted to renew my service.

I get an alert each time a call comes in and has been earmarked as spam…
allowing me to check it.

However, for the past several months, I’ve been getting the strangest call…
over and over, despite the spam net, of which this call does fall into on
an almost daily basis, the call persists.

It is immediately earmarked as spam but it keeps calling me.
And since it is earmarked as spam, it merely falls into the spam bucket—
yet I can still listen to the message.

When this “caller” first began calling me, I listened to the message only briefly
as it actually scared me.
Visions of some Russian downloading all my vital information that was encrypted
on my phone, while I was listening, raced around my vivid imagination.

But as the calls have continued, I opted to let my daughter-n-law listen
to the recording.

It is a foreign-sounding male’s voice.
Loud, forceful and angry.
The voice reminds me of some sort of nutty tel-evangelist who has his hand on my head
screaming, “BE HEALED”—think of a real-life scammer type Earnest Angely…with a
foreign accent.

It is a man who is vehemently and definitely stating that
“someone has spoken your name, leaving your name in my mouth.
There is a blessing that you are to receive.
Quick, you only have 5 seconds to receive it…”

During other calls, the messenger speaks of gifts and blessings.

What I’m to do within the 5 seconds continues to elude me…
Hence why I quickly click to end the recording.

I checked the area code…it’s listed as a middle Georgia number.

It never has asked for money and that’s probably why I fear Russia is downloading my
life as we speak, but then I’m left wondering…why.

Why is some sort of psycho “preacher” almost demanding that I act within 5 seconds time???
And as to how I am to be acting is uncertain but I get the distinct message that I am to act none
the less all in order to receive some sort of blessing…and if I don’t…well…
bad juju seems to be in the air.

An overactive imagination continues to wonder why this one particular call continues to come
through despite always reaching a pre-recorded message of a number out of commission.

A fleeting thought crosses my thinking…wonder if God is really trying
to tell me something??
Wonder if these calls are persisting for a deeper reason…??

But then I am quickly pulled back to reality…
I am reminded…God is a gentleman…forever and always.

He is persistent but He is not angry nor forceful.

He is not demanding…nor is His intent to frighten or coerce me into something strange.
God never coerces His children…He prefers to woo those He loves.

This particular caller, on the other hand, demands that I listen and then act.
It’s as if some unseen gun is being held to my head or to the head of a loved one..
act now or bad things will happen.

God has long stated the deal…
if one opts to follow, wonderful…if not, then that is the loss of the individual.
No pushing, not threats..it is what it is—

We are told that even Satan and his demons can recite scripture.
And so we must often test what comes our way.
Is it from God or not…

Robokiller helps, but nothing works like simply calling upon the name of Jesus Christ.

Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God,
because many false prophets have gone out into the world.
This is how you can recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has
come in the flesh is from God, but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God.
This is the spirit of the antichrist,
which you have heard is coming and even now is already in the world.
1 John 4:1-6

Up, up and away…

“Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!”
― Dr. Seuss

(the persimmon Up band by Jawbone / Julie Cook / 2014)

“What is this?”
It’s an Up band.
“What is it for, what does it do?. . .”

So the other day a friend of mine, (and just so you know, I may be using the term friend a bit loosely right about now) told me she’d bought an Up band.
“A what?”
“An Up band”
“Why?”
“It monitors my steps throughout the day plus it monitors my sleep”
Ahh the kicker. . . She knows that I do not sleep well, nor does she for that matter. . .not since we’ve both reached that certain age—the age women reach when they don’t really talk about it any more.

Humm.. .
So she’s telling me that I need to go buy a bracelet. Some sort of bracelet that’s going to tell me how much I’m not sleeping. Why do I need to be reminded of my tortuous nights?!
“How much is this little puppy going to set me back” I inquire.
“A HUNDRED AND FITY WHAT?!” I practically scream over the phone.
She tells me there are a couple of versions but the one she had syncs to her phone wirelessly.
“I’m telling you, it’s worth it. You’ll be amazed tracking your steps and movements. You can log-in the food you consume and it’ll tell you how many calories are burned and turned into energy.. .”

“Is butter converted to energy” I feel my brain digressing.. .

Off to the Best Buy I go.

Walking into the store I immediately inquire as to the Up bands. The nice man points directly in front of me to the huge display. Wow!

They come in 3 sizes and 4 colors.
Hummm.
I quickly call my friend.
“There’s a size guide attached to the package” she explains “but you’ll want a small.” “People with chicken wrists wear a small” she quips.
My wrists are indeed the smallest thing about me—my husband calls them grasshopper wrists. I’ve always wondered what that means. . .

I choose a small band in Persimmon—they didn’t have the blue in a small so persimmon beat out the black or white.

I get home and quickly tear into the package.
I download the Up app to my phone inputing my data—age, weight—why does everyone keeping wanting to know those things?!
It tells me that for a female of my age (arg) that I need to average 10,000 steps a day.
Next I plug the thing into my computer to charge it up.
Once it’s fully charged, I put the band on my right wrist.

Off I go.

Sure enough it keeps pace with my steps. Alerting me to my idle burn, my active burn, my total burn—as in burning calories I assume. It alerts me to the percentage reached of my goal of the 10,000 steps and how many I need in order to reach the magic number.

Humm . . .

By 8 PM I notice I’m at 94 percent of my goal.
Ohhhh, I need to get a move on before it’s time for bed!
I begin running in place at the sink while doing the dishes.
“What in the world are you doing” my husband snaps as he rounds the kitchen corner.
“I’ve got to up my steps if I’m going to reach my goal before I head to bed later” I sputter breathlessly.
He rolls his eyes.
I than take a few laps around the house. ..

In the morning it tells me how much sleep I logged. Heavy deep sleep. Light sleep. How long did it take me to fall asleep. How long was I awake in the middle of the night.
Humm. . .this should be interesting.

“You woke 0 times”
WHAT?!
I’m sorry but when the cat jumped up on the bed, landing on my face at 2:45 AM and I had to make certain I still had both eyeballs in my head and was not bleeding profusely, and you’re telling me I woke up zero times. . .Houston, we have a problem!!

Ok, so I think it may be a little off.
I wake up all through the night, but I just lay there real still like, fighting my brain to go back to lala land. . .so perhaps it’s not registering movement, or whatever it needs, to alert itself that I am indeed a wake.
Trust me, I know awake and awake, on an off all night, I am.

Then there is the elliptical.
My nemesis.
Remember, there’s a June wedding in our future.
Have you forgotten my husband’s suggestion of duct taping my butt in place?
The elliptical and I are one each morning.
30 minutes of pure torturous bliss.

The band has a spot on the app for me to input a workout. It will measure my heartbeat and pulse, but it doesn’t seem to think an elliptical equates to steps.
Let me tell you one thing, if my knees are moving up and down, trust me, I’m stepping!!

So yesterday morning, I was working out really fast and furious.
I wanted the blasted band to be proud of my workout.
“Did she just say she wanted a plastic band to be proud of her?”
Stay with me. . .
I was huffing and puffing.
Up and down I went.
4.3 , 4.5 , 5.0 mph while coming up on mile 2. . .5.4 mph. . .
Faster and faster.
We should note that I like to put in a piece of gum in my mouth before a workout as my mouth gets so very dry.
Pushing to 6 mph as I’m moving my legs up and down, sweat is dripping down my face. I glance downward noting what looks like droplets on the cement floor. A small wave of panic. You must remember that woman of a certain age who have had children can have, well, accidents when jumping, coughing, laughing—-thankfully this time it’s just the sweat pouring off of my head.
Whew!

At this point, I have just 3 more minutes to go.
I push it even harder, practically hopping up and down.
I’m so tired I lean down onto the stationary handles as my legs kick into hyper speed.
I’m so out of breath by now that I’m sucking in any available air through my open mouth. . .when it happens.
Imagine a car barreling down the interstate at 80 mph.
A bug meets the car.
Woosh.
That bug is either splattered or is sucked into the the grill.
Suddenly the gum that was in my mouth is sucked down my throat.
Sudden panic sets in with the blink of an eye.

“Oh dear God, I’m going to die!!”
The gum is going to lodge in my windpipe (I think we call that a trachea)
I’m going to fall out right here, in the basement.
My poor husband will come home, many hours later, only to hear the odd sound of music rising up form the basement. He’ll go to investigate finding me sprawled out on the cold basement floor in a pool of now dried sweat, with Bono blaring from my phone as U2 is on shuffle mode—sadly it will be determined that I had asphyxiated on my sucked in gum.
All because I wanted the damned band to be proud of my speed. . .

Within the millisecond the gum went down my throat and my brain preformed my funeral, I’m relieved to realize that I am very much alive, sweating, sucking in air and still pumping my legs like a mad woman.
The small alarm sounds.
The 30 minutes are up.
I’m sweating, huffing and puffing, and wobbling on jello legs.
All the while as the thoughts of what happens to the a piece of swallowed gum circles my brain.
Surely I will live, right?!
How many pieces of gum did I swallow as a kid?
Does it digest?
Will it clog my poor pipes.
That’s just what my poor guts need, a ball of plastic stuck somewhere in the recesses of my feeble guts. . .

I look down at the band muttering. . .
“I hope you’re happy” I disgustingly tell the orange thing on my wrist.
A quick check the progress on the phone. . .
“you are at 38% of your goal”
“WHAT?!”
Damn band!!!