Dear Unknown,
BY LAUREN KOSKI
You can’t fill the well with your tears, but you try anyway. Go on, fill the well; empty yourself into that pit quickly before someone sees.
Oh, but if only someone would see.
“Will you give me a drink?”
Startled, you look up and see a man standing on the other side of the well. Has he seen you weeping?
“Wh-what?” you stutter.
“Will you give me a drink?”
The jar at your feet is empty. The well below is filled with tears.
You come here every noon sun. It’s always quiet, aside from the sound of droplets and your burdened breathing. You fill a jar and empty your grieving soul. Then you return home, where you live with the reminder of how you’ve grieved the God of Jacob, the God of your ancestors.
Who are you?
You’re the relative who screwed everything up. You’re the slut. You’re the woman who waits to leave the house so the neighbors won’t see ... so they won’t taunt you.
Who are you?
You’re unknown. But you’re searching for intimacy and crave to be known. But if anyone actually knew your heart, the mess that was inside, you'd crumble. You'd be humiliated. If your heart was unraveled on a table you’d run.
Who are you?
Who are you that anyone would ask anything of you?
… that they would look you in the eye?
… that Jesus Christ would ask you for water?
… that Jesus Christ would pursue you?
“I am He,” says the man. He pulls you out of the dark space inside your own mind.
“I, the one speaking to you — I am He, (John 4:26, NIV).
I am He who you’re searching for, your True Love. I am He who knows your heart, even before you ever offer it to me. I am He who knit it together.
I am He who saw you rise this morning. I came to meet you here, in this place. I am He who wants to talk with you, who wants to know you.
I am He who knows your background, your family’s drama, and your own mishaps. I know there are many.
I am angry, yes. I am heartbroken, yes. But I am not surprised, nor shocked. I want you, My love. That will never change, not ever.
When the enemy held you in his hands, in that dark place, in My love for you, I bellowed, ‘No!'. I followed you into the darkness. My anger raged against your captor.
‘How can you love her? How is she justified?’ the evil one demanded, tightening his grip on your flesh.
And you thought it was your end. You believed no one would ever love you again, let alone Me.
The enemy calls you unknown. He says no one cares to know you. He reminds you of your singleness, your childlessness, your malicious family, your shallow friends. He taunts you until you find you hate yourself, every bit of your flesh. "Unknown. Unloved," his constant whisper in your ear.
Take heart. The enemy could not know what I would do, what I can do, who I am.
I am He who says you are known. Fully known, and fully loved.
So, will you give me a drink?”
He’s asking for water, Kindred, so let Him dip into your heart.
Even though He promises to fully love you, I know you’re still standing at that well, somewhat numbed. It doesn’t make sense. How could this be? I know, I understand.
But lift your face away from the water below you. Look up. Look into His face, take a deep breath, hold your hands out to Him.
He is standing right in front of you. His face to yours. He already knows you, and He sees what’s in your heart, but He wants to talk with you about it. He promises to make you new. He promises to rename you. He promises you’re not alone, and that you're never unknown.
Sincerely,
Kindred