Chosen at the Well: A Child’s Journey to Abide in Love
Isaiah 12:3
"With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation."
I woke this morning from a dream, aching to slip back into its embrace, to draw more wisdom from its depths. It carried me to a forest glade, a hidden place where sunlight filters through the trees, and the air hums with quiet peace. There was no rush, no clamor, just a gentle call to take what God freely gives.
The dream lingered, a whisper from God, painting a vision of a well, deep, and still, brimming with something I was meant to claim. Then it came to me, like a key turning in a lock: Isaiah 12:3, "With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation." This isn’t just water, not a fleeting sip to get by. It’s life itself, my salvation, flowing from a source that never runs dry.
I see myself there, standing at the well, bucket in hand. Not with dread or a sense of duty, but with joy. Joy! The kind that rises when you know you’re seen, known, and handed something eternal. God doesn’t just show us the well; He beckons us to draw from it; to reach in, to grasp His peace, His strength, His saving grace. My dream wasn’t about waiting for the water to find me; it was a nudge to act, to dip into what’s already there, waiting.
The forest glade felt like a retreat into a place I’ve always longed to be, like I’ve finally arrived. Maybe that’s His whisper today to me; step into the glade, leave the chaos behind, and draw from the well that never fails. Not timidly, but with bold, expectant joy. Step right into the well.
And now I’m awake, left with a quiet aching for more, a longing to know more of what God showed me. What else lies in that well? What deeper truth waits beneath the surface? So I sit here in the dark morning quiet as I hear the birds waking up to the dawn just over the horizon. And I whisper a prayer for wisdom.
In the distance, a police siren wails, and the buzz of the fan overhead hums as it slowly turns. And again I whisper a prayer for wisdom. A plea for clarity that invites God into a conversation.
Me:
"Come Father and sit with me in the quiet."
And He opens up the word for me.
The Father:
"My child, I’m here, opening the word, opening My heart to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. Keep coming, keep asking. I’ll meet you at the well."
The Father:
"My child, these waters are for you—waters of life from a well I’ve placed before you. I didn’t just lead you here; I chose you, long before you stood at its edge. I’ve filled this well with My salvation, My peace, so you can draw from it and thrive. But listen—there’s more. I’ve appointed you to bear fruit, fruit that lasts, flowing from these waters that I alone give. You’re not here by chance; I’ve set you here to grow, to carry what you draw into the world."
Me:
"Father, I feel unworthy and unclean. Like I shouldn't be here."
The Father:
"My child, you stand at this well, wondering what the waters hold, and I see you—pure, already made clean by the word I’ve spoken over you. That word isn’t just ink on a page; it’s My voice, alive, washing over you like the waters you’ve seen. Before you even dipped your bucket, before you whispered for wisdom in the dark, I spoke truth into you—truth that cuts away at the grime, the doubt, the weight you don’t need to carry. In that glade, quiet and hidden, you’re not stained or striving. You’re clean because I’ve said you are—because My word has met you there, pruning what doesn’t belong, leaving you free to draw from Me. This is why I chose you, why I appointed you to bear fruit. The waters flow from my well of grace, and you’re already a part of it—not by your own efforts, but by My love spoken over you. So when you feel that ache, that pull for more, know this, you’re not starting from scratch. You’re clean already, held in my arms, and ready. Draw from that place, and let My word keep shaping you."
Me:
"Father, when you said, "Abide in me, and I in you..." (John 15:4a) what did you mean?"
The Father:
"Picture that glade, the stillness, the light through the trees, that’s where I am, and I’m asking you to settle in, to make your home in My love, My presence, just as I make My home in you. Abiding means rooting yourself deep, like a branch clinging to the vine, trusting that My life flows into you, steady and sure. That ache you feel? It’s not a sign to rush away, it’s Me drawing you closer, saying, ‘Stay with Me, and I’ll stay with you.’ All you long for comes from us being one."
Me:
"Father, you said I should abide in your love. I'm afraid that I've failed you in that."
The Father:
"Remember my child, I chose you. Look at the well I showed you, deep and still in that glade. It’s not there because you’ve earned it or stayed perfectly, it’s there because I’ve placed it before you, because My love doesn’t waver when you stumble. Abiding isn’t about never faltering; it’s about coming back, turning to Me, even when you’re afraid. My love doesn’t waver when you stumble. You've received my love because I've given it to you. You haven’t failed Me. I chose you, cleansed you with My word, and invited you to stay, not because you’re flawless, but because you’re Mine. That ache you feel, that whisper in the dawn, it’s not shame; it’s Me calling you home to My love. The waters don’t dry up when you doubt; they wait for you to draw again. So don’t hide from Me, step into the glade, sit with Me in the quiet. My love isn’t a test you’ve failed; it’s a gift I keep giving. I’m not going anywhere, and neither should your heart."
Me:
"Thank you, Father, for all you've done, all you are doing, and all you will do."
The Father:
"My child, meeting you in the quiet is My joy, because you’re Mine. And all I will do; the waters yet to flow, the wisdom yet to be unfolded, all of it is My promise to you, sealed in love that never ends. You don’t need to fear failing Me; your turning to Me, your whispered prayers, your trust, that's enough. Keep drawing from My well, keep abiding in Me, and I’ll keep pouring out more than you can imagine. The dawn breaks, the birds are singing, and I’m here, always here, always doing, being, and giving all for you. Rest in that, my beloved, and let your thanks be the bucket you dip again and again."
Me:
Amen.