She hadn't really planned to see anyone that day at the well. Experience had taught her when to go for water so that she could safely come and go to avoid the painful glares of distain.

His plan was to catch a few winks while the disciples went to town for food. What better place to rest than a well at noon? No one comes for water at this hour. So he sat down, stretched his arms, and leaned against the wall of the well. But this nap was soon interrupted. He opened one eye just enough to see her trudging up the trail with a heavy jar on her shoulder. Behind her came half a dozen kids, each one looking like a different father.

She didn't really have to say a word. Her life story was written on the wrinkles of her face. The wounds of five broken romances were gaping and festered. Each man who had left her had taken a piece of her heart. Life-takers. Now she wasn't sure there was anything left.

"And the man you now live with won't even give you his name." Jesus said it for her. He understood her pain too well. Far more than five men had broken commitments to him.

Silently the Life-Giver reached into his kit and pulled out a needle of faith and a thread of hope. In the shade of Jacob's well he stitched her broken spirit back together. Words of life became her medicine as he spoke. "There will come a day when what you're called will not matter. The Father is out looking for those who are simply and honestly themselves before him."

No one would have blamed Jesus for ignoring the woman at the well that day. To have turned his head would have been much easier, less controversial, and not nearly as risky. But God, who made her, couldn't do that. God's a Life-Giver.