John 4 v 1- 26 again

Woman at the Well: A Monologue

15th November, 2014,

Windermere

My story didn’t start at the well. Not my whole story. The one that He told me. That story started long before. Before my reflection became an abhorrence to any who passed my way.

There is a story before that. I lived in the heart of the community before that; knew everyone  surrounding me. I belonged there then. I had a role, and I played it well. People were drawn to  me. I was safe, and familiar. I was what was expected of me. And no more.

But inside, I was so much more than that woman. Behind the smokescreen of long skirts and  flowing scarves, of feminine duty, my mind sang an undying song of thoughts, questions,  opinions. My heart was aflame of feeling; burning crimson with desires, with passion. This was  me. The heat was unbearable. But it never burnt through the robes. Or at least – not on the  outside.

But then, I opened locked doors, I let people in. I undressed before them, revealed my thoughts,  emotion, body, curves, contours. With their arms wrapped around me, I held their gaze, crying silently for them. Longing. But they despised me. When they glimpsed that truth, sensed the  desire in my eyes meeting theirs, they ran. I wasn’t the woman people were drawn to anymore. I  was the one who drew people in. They saw red. Siren sister. Danger.

Then, there were whispers. Looks. Second glances. It’s her. Gossip snaked through the town. I was temptress, sinner, serpent. Epitome of evil. I got used to being alone, to hiding, after a while.  Became numb to feeling. I thought about ending it. Life without truth is no life at all.

My journey to that well was hard. I could numb the feeling, but not my thinking. My mind turned  over and over with the dread of being, with every unbidden step forwards.

Can you get me a drink? He said.

Just like that. He broke the silence surrounding me. I turned away. He asked again. Didn’t He  know not to talk to me? I looked His way. And He looked back. Not in the way other people did.  He met my eyes first.  He looked into my eyes, and spoke my name. He knew me. I burnt again. Not crimson, this time, but amber. And I felt, in that moment, held, loved, and whole. Wholly me. He spoke to me of Living Water. He was there with me, offering Himself, and I wanted to be drenched.

This is my story. In Christ I am free. In Christ, I am me.