Becoming a Well for Others
There is a difference between being a well and being a flood. A flood rushes forward with force, sweeping away everything in its path, and then leaves the ground cracked and dry. A well, on the other hand, gives steadily, without spectacle, offering water that refreshes those who draw near. To live as a well is to live from depth, to carry within you something that sustains not only your own life but also nourishes those who cross your path.
Depletion is not proof of devotion.
A dry well helps no one. A life anchored deeply, rooted in truth and
replenished from within, creates a flow that can be shared without fear of
running out. This is the difference between giving from obligation and giving
from presence. Obligation demands endless output, measured against shifting
standards, leaving resentment in its wake. Presence draws from a deeper source
like faith, integrity, or values that do not crumble with time. From this
place, what you offer carries weight because it is real and not forced.
Picture a weary traveler stumbling
through desert heat, finding a small well tucked away, offering cool water.
That well is not loud, not seeking recognition, yet its gift can mean survival.
In the same way, your words, kindness, and steady strength can become the
relief someone else needs. You may never know the full impact but the gift
remains.
To become a well is not to say yes to
everything, nor to meet every demand, it is to discern what is truly yours to
give and to offer it with openness. Some will drink deeply, others may only
pass by, but the well does not measure its worth by the number of visitors. Its
worth lies in its depth.
Living this way requires tending to
your own ground. A well must be fed by underground streams, so too must your
life be connected to what renews you. Time alone, faith that anchors you, and relationships
that strengthen rather than drain. These are the hidden streams that keep your
offering alive. Without them, the flow will stop. With them, your life
overflows in ways that cannot be manufactured.
When we live anchored, we do not fear
running out. We can give joy, wisdom, and encouragement without bargaining for
recognition because we know we are drawing from something deeper. The well does
not question whether it is enough, but it simply gives what it holds.
As this series closes, let this be the
picture you carry; a life that holds steady, not for the sake of appearances,
but for the sake of living from depth; a life that is not emptied by giving,
but renewed as it gives; a life that becomes a well for others, not a flood, a
drought, but a steady spring that nourishes both the one who carries it and the
ones who come thirsty.
This is the fruit of an anchored life.
There is no perfection or endless striving. It is a life deep enough to hold
what matters, strong enough to endure what shifts, and generous enough to pour
into the world without losing itself.
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