Water from the Rock

They're working on our street right now - half of it has been torn up for a few weeks, and they're turning off the water for today.

As odd as it sounds, I'm thankful because it reminds me of a key experience in my friendship with the Lord.

Five Septembers ago, I was in Senegal.  I'd been there only a few weeks.  French class had started, we were in the throes of hot season, and I was staying with a missionary family until they found an apartment for me to move into.

I woke up on a Monday morning, dizzy and feverish.  Thus began The Worst Week of My Life.  The fever took away my appetite and the bed was so lumpy that I slept fitfully, perhaps only an hour total each night.  But a bigger storm was brewing.  The pipe carrying most of the water into the city broke.

Water - one of the most basic human necessities.  I'd largely taken it for granted up until that point, and I had no idea how deeply desperate the lack of it would make me.  Even now when I remember that time, I can still feel the fear, so raw and strong.

It was all too much for me.  Though it was almost never my response to difficulty, I got angry with God.  After all, He was the One who'd brought me to Senegal in the first place.

In my journal, I wrote:

"Last night I went to take a shower, only to find there was no running water.  I emailed a few people and put something on Facebook and began to pray myself, desperation outweighing my anger.  'You know, God, You brought water out of the rock for the Israelites, You can give us water, too.'"

Faith wasn't really in the picture at that moment, but I could at least remind God what He'd done before...

"In the middle of the night, I woke up to hear something above the fan.  I went into the bathroom to check, and sure enough, the tap (which I'd left on purposely) was running.  I don't think I've ever been that happy to hear the sound of running water.  I went to bed again, thankful and relieved.  My alarm went off, I turned on the water heater [a luxury I wouldn't have once I moved into my own apartment], and dashed off a couple emails saying, 'The water's back on!'  About 15-20 minutes later, I went to take my shower.  No water.  What kind of a cruel joke is this?  I cried.  I was defeated.  Disappointed.  Let down.  Why would God snatch away an answer to prayer at the very moment I am ready to receive it?

This week has been a wretched blur.  I've had so little sleep and I've eaten so little.  I feel so empty and lost and out of place.

I want to run away from everything that seems to make up my life right now."

It would be several more weeks before a consistent water supply was re-established in most neighborhoods of the city.

- - -

There are moments in our lives when we reach turning points, after which nothing can ever be the same.  One came that Saturday, after we'd moved my things up to the fourth-floor apartment and they'd all gone.  Weak and still far from healthy, I knew I needed to eat something or I'd probably pass out.  So I sat down on my kitchen floor with a banana and before I knew it, I was sobbing brokenly -

"Lord, You brought me here - why?"

"So I can show you who I am...and who you are."

And that's what He did.

The pursuing army and the Red Sea parting, the hunger and the manna, the sun-baked desert and the water from the rock - He is God in all of it.  There is purpose in the desperate circumstances.  His miracles don't always come when or how we want them to, and yet He can be trusted.

I know Him better because of the desert, thank Him more for the miracle of the water for having been so deeply thirsty.

What I would have never chosen is His grace to me, unexpected yet exactly what I need.