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I am the woman the Bible talks about—the one who met Jesus at the well in the town of Sychar. You might know my story, but I want to share it with you from my own perspective, as I remember it. It was a moment that changed everything for me. And if I can speak directly to you, I’ll say it—this moment can change everything for you, too.
I know you probably think of me as the woman with a questionable past. Yes, I’ve had five husbands, and now I live with a man who isn’t my husband. You might imagine that I’m ashamed of it, that I hide in the shadows because of my choices. And in some ways, I do. I would always go to the well in the middle of the day, when the sun was burning hot and there wasn’t anyone else there. The other women—those who still had families and respect in the community—would come early in the morning or later in the evening to get their water, talking and laughing together as they did. But not me. Not anymore.
You see, my life wasn’t easy. I had been through so much, and the weight of being judged by everyone in my village grew heavier with each passing year. I was no longer the young woman I had once been. I had been married five times, each marriage ending in failure. The last one… well, let’s just say I was left to carry the weight of the blame, and the scars, all by myself.
On the day that changed everything, I left my house like I always did—heading to the well. I wasn’t expecting anything to be different. It was the middle of the day, and the sun was oppressive. The road to the well was dusty and quiet, and as usual, I hoped to avoid running into anyone.
But as I neared the well, I saw him. A man. He looked like a Jewish traveler. I could tell by his clothes, his accent, and the way he sat by the well. Jews and Samaritans didn’t mix. And, frankly, I had grown used to being avoided, especially by men like him. Jewish men rarely spoke to Samaritans, let alone a woman like me. But as I walked closer, he spoke to me.
“Will you give me a drink?” he asked.
I was shocked. A Jewish man? Speaking to me, a Samaritan woman? I could hardly believe it. It was strange, it was unexpected, and it caught me off guard. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “You’re a Jew, and I’m a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t a condescending smile. It was something more—like he knew something I didn’t. And he replied, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”
Living water? I didn’t understand what he meant by that. I looked at him, confused. “Sir, you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock?”
I wanted to understand. Who was this man, and how could he offer me something greater than Jacob’s well? But he answered in a way that was even more puzzling, saying, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
At that moment, I didn’t know what to think. What was he talking about? Water that would make me never thirst again? I had lived my life thirsting for many things—love, respect, peace. I had tried to fill that emptiness with relationships, with men who promised me something better, something lasting. But I had been left alone each time, abandoned, rejected. So, I asked him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
But then he asked me something that made my heart stop. “Go, call your husband and come back.”
I felt a wave of shame rush over me. He didn’t know me, he didn’t know my past. But somehow, I knew he wasn’t asking because he wanted to judge me. He wasn’t like the others who whispered behind my back or looked down on me. I felt exposed, yet somehow, seen, in a way I had never felt before.
“I have no husband,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
And then he said something that hit me like a hammer. “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”
I stood there, stunned. How did he know? How could he know? I hadn’t even told him my name, let alone my history. But in that moment, I realized that he wasn’t just some random man sitting by the well. He knew everything about me—everything I had hidden, everything I had tried to bury. And he didn’t condemn me for it.
I couldn’t fully understand what was happening, but I felt a stirring in my heart. There was no judgment in his words, only a deep understanding of who I truly was, and yet, a kindness that I had never experienced before. I knew he wasn’t here to shame me; he was here to offer me something I had been searching for my entire life.
I asked him, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”
And then, in the most straightforward and humbling moment, he said, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”
I couldn’t believe it. This man, who had spoken to me without judgment, who had known everything about me and still treated me with dignity, was the Messiah? The Savior? The one I had heard about in the scriptures, the one we had all been waiting for?
I couldn’t contain myself. I left my water jar behind, no longer concerned with the task I had set out to do. My heart was full. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel empty. I didn’t feel alone. I ran back to the village, calling out to anyone I could find, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”
The people came. They came because of my story. They came because of my testimony. And many of them believed in him. They heard him speak, and they were transformed, just as I had been. He stayed with us for two days, teaching and sharing the truth with us. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. In those two days, my life was changed. And in that moment, I realized that I had been given more than just water. I had been given a new life.
I was no longer defined by my past. I was no longer an outcast, a woman defined by her failures. I was free. I was loved. And I was whole.
When you hear my story, I want you to remember this: Jesus knows you. He knows everything about you. And still, he offers you the same living water he offered me. No matter what your past looks like, no matter how many times you’ve failed, he is there, offering you a new beginning.
You don’t have to carry the weight of your past anymore. You don’t have to hide. Just come to him. Drink from the living water he offers, and you will never thirst again.
Sources
- John 4:1-42, The Bible – The Samaritan Woman at the Well
- F.F. Bruce, “The Gospel of John” (Commentary)
- William Barclay, “The Gospel of John” (Daily Study Bible Series)
- Jeremiah 2:13, The Bible – Background on Ancient Israel’s relationship with water
- David A. DeSilva, “An Introduction to the New Testament” (Historical context)
- Timothy Keller, “The Prodigal God” (Exploring cultural and spiritual contexts)
- Jewish Encyclopedia – Samaritan Religion and History
- Jewish Virtual Library – Samaritan History
- Vine’s Expository Dictionary of New Testament Words – ‘Well’ and its significance
- Margaret Barker, “The Great Angel: A Study of Israel’s Second God” (Context of the divine encounter)
- Robert Kysar, “John: The Maverick Gospel” (Interpretations of the woman at the well)
- Craig S. Keener, “The Gospel of John: A Commentary” (In-depth cultural explanations)
- The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary – John 4:1-42
- Nelson’s Illustrated Bible Dictionary – Samaritan Woman
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.