There is a question that I ask my husband periodically just to make sure that the answer has not changed.  I guess it is my way of making sure of it's authenticity.

"When did you first know that you loved me?"

I am amazed that he still loves me like he does.  The good Lord and a few close friends are very familiar with the dark places we have both visited along the way.

Grace has laced around our sacred union, mending the broken pieces into a beautiful mosaic of sorts. 

This union is not a place for two highly compatible people... people who fit each other perfectly.  It is for the sharp, the jagged, selfish and self-centered individuals who are mercifully learning to become one.  Marriage purposefully smooths us out - sanctifies.  

It is a garden where things grow through all kinds of seasons.  Sometimes, only the roots of covenant promise contain proof of life and the deep down soil of unseen growth is the only evidence of perfect union.  This is why we cannot accept growth to look a certain way, to always happen above the surface.  

We are two very different people settled on waiting for the harvest.

So, I ask again and again, with this sort of tender curiosity, how this one moment of decision has lasted almost twenty years.  Captivated by the way his answer, that always seems to stay the same, has deeply changed me.  

He answers, "Remember that time, really early on, when I asked you if you would get me a cup of water and without a word you quickly got up and did it?" "You even went next door to get the "good ice" and brought it back to me?"

He continues, "That was the moment when I knew that I loved you... when I knew that you were the one!"

Cute, right?

Sweet and charming in it's simplicity.  I remember that moment too.  I remember feeling excited that he asked, as silly as that sounds.  I felt a rush of kindness and hospitality towards him, towards his need.  

God wrapped up this sweet and charming story from long ago and delivered it back to me as a gift during a recent quiet time.  I cherish His gifts.

It was early in the morning, I had quietly made my way downstairs, like I have done many times, my heart set on a small sacred corner of the house where anticipation breathes hope into my day.  It's darker than usual, forcing me to draw closer to God's Word in the soft dim light next to my worn morning spot, almost nose to nose with the words that encourage, convict and reveal reality.

Why do I keep coming back to this place, these words? 

Because I was born by them (1 Peter 1:23) and because the power that lies in them transforms me from day to day, commands that I crave them.   

I have tasted that the Lord is gracious. 

Coming here each morning is the same as remaining in this place all day.  Coming and remaining, even as I go, even as I face affliction, even as I experience joy.  Here is where my honest questions are birthed, out of a place of anticipation instead of contempt. Here, I am reminded that He loves me.  

I crave this! 

I hunger with eager desire and thirst, longing for those things in which my soul is refreshed, supported and strengthened.  I desire righteousness, purity of life, integrity, correctness of thinking, feeling and acting.  

I am promised that I will be satisfied (Mathew 5:6). Invited to come, to remain in this place where grass grows and animals graze, fattened and fulfilled.

This particular morning, I am startled by a story that I have never read before, found in the Book of Genesis. 

A story that satisfies my soul.  

It is a story, ironically, about a cup of water.

Abraham, who is now very old, desires to find a wife for his son Isaac.  He enlists the help of his elder servant, Eliezer, who was trusted to manage all that Abraham owned.  He charged him with finding this needle in a haystack, making it clear that she must be found in Abraham's homeland.    At least that narrows it down a little bit.  

A hometown girl.

A girl that would carry on their faith and preserve the values of a new nation. 

She would have a specific mission. 

She would need to be the right kind of girl.  

Eliezer had his doubts.  It seemed like a bit of a wild goose chase.  Abraham assured him that God was a faithful God and that He would send an angel before him.  

He arrived in the town of Nahor in the evening, the time when hometown girls come out to draw water from the well.  Eliezer waited and while he waited he prayed.  

That word, kindness.

Kindness is a word that changes things.  A power word.  It is a fruit that softens the hardest hearts and heals the deepest wounds.  

Eliezer was looking for kindness as a guidepost... a sign to answered prayer.

He had not even finished his prayer before standing in front of him stood a young girl named Rebekah, carrying a jug of water on her shoulder.  He asked for a drink and she eagerly replied, "drink and I will water your camels also."  

The story points out her eagerness; specifically, a point that I take sharp notice of myself.  She quickly offered a drink, rushing back and forth, hurrying to the well to water the camels.  

God's kindness, given permission to live inside of our stories, is how He uses these insignificant moments to change the course of history.  Eliezer, for one, would never be the same.  His faith dipped deep, causing him to kneel low and worship God before he even offered an explanation to the young girl who was an answer to prayer,  Rebekah.  

Eliezer immediately recognized God's goodness in this "cup of water" offered by an unaware young girl who carried God's kindness inside of her story. 

It made me think about my periodic question to my husband, "When did you first know that you loved me?"

It is often in hindsight that we see God's incredible faithfulness, when the moment has long past.  We see it in just the right way, at just the right time.  We graciously get to witness His goodness that has soaked and marinated for years.

It reminded me of the cracks in-between the broken pieces of us all.  Our brokenness is safely held together, strong, by the glory of God that binds our stories to His forever.

The story of how my husband first knew that he loved me has changed, it has become even more authentic than it ever was before.  Now I see God's kindness nestled deep inside of my own story.  

His deep wellspring of kindness, through a cup of water.  

"Did you enjoy this article?  Share it!"