You may not know Charity Chambers but she is an up an coming poet. Unfortunately, she has no blog so it is hard to read her work. The good news is that she gave me permission to publish this poem. I think you will like it even if you’re not into poetry.

A Woman at a Well
By Charity Chambers

I was almost there,
I needed one more day.
I was following a vision,
and I was on my way.

Chasing after this dream,
I joined a mighty throng,
“If only…” was our anthem,
to this world did we belong.

Our thirst for happy living
kept us coming to this well.
But the waters left us thirsty;
that we’d drunk, we could not tell.

If only we drink faster!
If only we drink more!
We must get a bigger bucket!

And soon joy became a chore.

In the waters we no longer found
the satisfaction that we sought.
Still we drank, and deeply,
trusting joy these waters brought.

Then one day as I was drinking
of the water of the well,
a man sat down beside me.
The things that he could tell!

He first spoke to me of water,
his was living, so he said.
I couldn’t understand him,
Did he mean that mine was dead?

He seemed to fully know me;
he’d been watching all the time.
He showed me what I looked like,
that I now lived in crime.

I perceived that he was wise,
but still he didn’t understand.
I may not quite be worthy,
but I do the best I can.

“I worship on this mountain,
I give to God his due.
Because I’ve never seen his temple,
is there more that I must do?”

I trusted that I’d shown him,
there was nothing he could say.
But if only I had known him,
on my lips my hand would lay.

He said the moment hastened
when I would not be simple.
I’d not worship on my mountain,
nor yet in Jerusalem’s temple.

He said my worship was vanity,
for salvation was of the Jews.
My face grew hot in shame
as I thought “this is not news.”

A child of illegitimacy,
how did I even think
that of life containing water
I could ever drink?

At once I was in confusion,
I stammered, then sat still.
My gaze fell on my waters
and I thought I’d drunk my fill.

He didn’t seem to notice,
for uninterrupted still he spoke.
And when he’d finally finished,
My heart I knew he’d broke.

For he said the time had come
when false worship was at an end.
I knew with painful conviction
that this rule I could not bend.

He said that God, who is a Spirit,
seeks for worship of one sort:
spirit and truth must meet
and fall adoring in His court.

At last, gathering my courage,
I spoke loudly, to be heard.
“I know Christ, Messiah’s coming
and Truth will be his Word.”

Oh! How I should have known it!
I suspected it must be.
The man for whom we waited said,
“I that speak to thee am He!”

The pitcher I’d been holding
slipped unheeded to the ground,
and tumbled, spilling the water.
At last, true joy I’d found!

I rushed back to my village
with marvelous news to tell!
I found my friends still drinking
the dead water of the well.

Excitedly I told them
to hurry up and see!
Jesus Christ had come,
and the things he said to me!

The whole village turned out,
their parched throats drove them on.
Christ spoke to all who’d listen,
And for some, all doubt was gone.

Others wouldn’t listen.
Still others laughed and mocked.
They went back to their water,
and to us no longer talked.

But we no longer cared
for their water or their well.
We found the living spring,
and now in joy would dwell.

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Fear and questions both assail me, could it have gone a different way?
Could I have spoken different words, to make today a different day?
My heart not only hurts for me but also for another.
The one I spoke the words of death to, why, did I have to hurt her?

My selfish sinful pride hath reared its ugly head.
I could not hold my tongue, and so my hopes are dead.
Should I curse the fates, if they exist at all?
Blame the God in heaven, or Adam for his fall?

But here I stand, all alone,

with blame on none but me.
To ask the King who reigns on high, and her, to forgive me.

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in the stillness of a quiet moment
when conscience finds its voice to speak
it tells of deeds done in night’s darkness
pitch-black lust and hidden hate

noise can drown the accuser
and summon back a chaosed mind
but noise cannot hide truth
and chaos cannot cleanse sin

the din that dulls the guilt
cannot save on judgment day
darkness comes not from without
but from within a soiled soul

in Christ alone can there be hope
only He can end the night
to follow Him is to be free
only from Light will the darkness flee

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Questions for My Daddy

Daddy, why did You give us women? You say it is not good
for man to alone, but is it not worse for him to have woman? What is her
purpose if not to torment us? They play with our emotions and ring us dry.
They play with our eyes and tempt us to sin.

Daddy, is it not cruel to give us something and then not let us have it?
Why did You give them to us, only to say later “it is better to walk alone.”
Should only the weak take this “gift” from You?

Why would You give us a thirst that we are not permitted to quench?
Why am I compelled to talk with those who only cause anguish?
Why are they so beautiful?

Selah

Daddy, why did you make the rose? I do not understand it.
The velvet petals are the source of such beauty and fragrance.
Yet the thorns are sharp, hard, and unforgiving.
So different than the beauty above. Why do the thorns cause such pain?
Why does my hand bleed when I try to pick one from the garden?

Was it good when men of old took roses and chopped of their thorns?
Do You take pleasure in allowing men treat the rose as trash? Why is
the simple so complex?

Could it be that I am handling the rose incorrectly? Is there a way to
enjoy a rose without pain? Would You give something so beautiful
that cannot be enjoyed? Do roses exist just to taunt us? Or, did You
give us the rose to teach us of other things?

Selah

Does the blood dripping from my heart come from the mishandling of a
rose? How do I guard my heart from thorns I can’t see? Why are they so
sharp, why do they hurt so much?

Will You, the Maker of thorns and roses cause the bleeding to stop? Will
You teach me to love You more than the rose? Can the rose teach me
something about You?

Daddy, thank You for listening to my questions. Thank You
for Your patience with my foolishness. I know You are wise.
May I find favor in Your eyes that I might learn Your ways.
Thank You for being who You are.

No related posts.

the cares of the world press me into the ground

the spiritual rain that comes not from You

crackles and pops on the embers of my heart

make my soul so hot that the waters from the world

turn to steams of praise rising to Your Name.

may my life burn as a living sacrifice for You

shining Your light throughout the earth

Related posts:

1. A Woman at a Well (Psalm) You may not know Charity Chambers but she is an...
2. The pain of being broken (Psalm) Oh Lord, there is a sadness deep within my heart,...
3. Silence (Psalm) in the stillness of a quiet moment when conscience finds...