Don't you like that almost-snarky title? (I really don't mean for it to be snarky!) I thought it might get your attention. (The blog-building site that I use always prompts me to add an attention-getting title. Just trying to follow the rules here.)
Would you like to tag along with me for a trip down my memory lane? You just might find out a few things that just might explain a few things about me. For those of you who have always been able to turn a faucet to get your water, you're in for an eye-opening experience. Let me preface this by saying that now I wouldn't take anything in the world for the way I grew up; I just wish that "Young Joy" could have known then the value of appreciation.
This is Young Joy and Mrs. Beard, the precious lady who lived next door to us. She had no children of her own, so she was just like a second momma to me. How I loved her! But please don't focus in on this blurry photo too much - what I really want you to notice is the structure on the left side. I looked and looked for a picture of the old well, but this was the only one I could find. For many more years than I care to count, I didn't want any reminders of this old well. All it represented to Young Joy was way more work than I enjoyed; it represented a lot of shame and embarrassment; it represented the dividing line between what we had and what we didn't have. Most of my childhood years I spent thinking, "if they only knew".
We were poor. But most people were poor around Sheridan, in one way or another. But I felt like we were the only ones who were this poor. Not only did we not have running water or "indoor plumbing" (whoever even uses that term now???), we didn't even have our own well. We had to carry our water in buckets from Mrs. Beard's front yard - right out there in front of the road for all to see. That was one of Young Joy's chores. And there was never enough water to last very long. Just imagine having to wash dishes or wash clothes or get a bath in a #2 warshtub (yes, w-a-r-s-h). I kept a path beaten down from our house to Mrs. Beard's front yard. "If they only knew."
And it never failed that every single time I'd have to go get a bucket of water, Mrs. Beard would come out to the porch with two big glasses of something wonderful to drink. (It's funny how my memories are almost exclusively of the hot summertime.) We would sit on the porch swing and solve world problems. And laugh - lots and lots of laughter - I can still hear her laughing. And it wouldn't be too long until my momma would start calling for me to "HURRY UP with that water!!!". (She didn't call on a phone - we didn't have that either.) The whole neighborhood knew each and every time I was getting water because I never ever came back home soon enough with it. This is why everyone in Sheridan knew me by "Joy Lynn" vs "Joy" because when my momma was irritated she would use my whole name, and use it loud enough for all to hear.
So in time Young Joy became just plain ol' Joy and began to be able to put a few things into perspective. Yes indeed we were poor, but we had soooooo much more than I realized then. I had the most wonderful childhood (except for all those awful chores). I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my dad because he worked hard in the log woods from sun up till late afternoon; then he'd work in the garden till dark. When he wasn't working in the log woods or the garden, he was either hunting or fishing. He was always quick to tell people that if he didn't grow it or kill it, we didn't eat it. And that's the honest truth. I will never ever eat another squirrel. Ever. My happy memories are almost all focused on my momma, not because my dad didn't try; he just had to work so hard. He did the best he knew how to do, and I realize that now. "If only he knew."
My momma always made sure that I had a surprise when I'd get off the school bus in the afternoons. Sometimes it might have "only" been a full bucket of water so that I wouldn't have to go to the well, or sometimes it was the intoxicating smell of something wonderful to eat, or sometimes (my favorite times) she would have made another outfit for my Barbie - a dress complete with matching hat. Poor Barbie went barefooted all the years she lived under our roof.
Summertime was my favorite; summertime was any day that there was not snow on the ground. I loved making mud pies in my playhouse in the back yard. I liked to decorate them with the little blue daisies that grew in the grass. (There's a blog about that.) I loved making intricate dirt roads for my pretend cars (matchboxes) that included rivers and bridges. My barefooted Barbie only got attention on rainy days or frigid winter days, otherwise I was outside. I loved playing in the woods behind our house with my cousins. If we were lucky enough to find a large cardboard box, we would slide down the hill and stop just short of the creek. We would ride our bikes for more miles than I can count. We would pick up coke bottles on the side of the road and trade them in for another Coke and candy bar at Whitaker's, the little country grocery store just up the road. We would run through the fields at dusk chasing lightning bugs to put in a jar, our version of what is now a glow stick. We never had to worry about strangers or snakes or getting lost or what to do next. It was an idyllic childhood.
It wasn't until many, many years later at a class reunion that I confessed to a friend that the reason that I never had many friends come to my house was because we were so poor. I was embarrassed as a child because I had to carry water; I was humiliated that we didn't even have a bathroom. I was embarrassed that our house was so small. I was embarrassed that my dad had to work so hard, even though we had so little. Young Joy had just assumed that everyone else but us had everything they needed. That was so far from the truth. We just all had our own stories that most of us never told. I had spent so many young years thinking, "if you only knew". But somehow being able to "fess up" to my dear friend at that class reunion freed me to embrace all the goodness of my childhood. And for that I will always be so very grateful.
Yes, my photography skills rank right up there with my pitiful computer skills, but this is a picture of the old dipper that we drank out of from the bucket of water I'd bring from the well. I don't have the water bucket, but I do have the #2 warshtub (yes, w-a-r-s-h). I don't remember people being as germ conscious then as we seem to be now. I guess it was a good thing; there were few options at our house.
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A couple of thousand years ago there was someone else who had to go to the well for water. She would wait until the hottest part of the day to go, knowing that more than likely no one else would be there; most other people would go in the cooler part of the day. She, too, had things she didn't want anyone else to know, secrets that made her ashamed. But this one particular day she met Someone else at the well and He began to talk to her about the living water. This stranger, Jesus, revealed things about her that astonished her.
Jesus is waiting for us, too. He wants to talk to us in our every day activities - putting on makeup, washing dishes, mowing the yard. He'll listen to all our questions and opinions and put up with our attitudes. Then - when we stop our chatter for just a moment - He will reveal our deepest need and meet it.
If Jesus had offered the woman at the well living water without ever revealing that He knew all the truth about her, perhaps she would have let His words of life bypass her, thinking "if you only knew". But He loved her enough to let her know.
But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
John 4:14
