The View From My Well

A Story of Faith Written by Taylor Ricks

I believe with my whole heart that the hard things we face are not mistakes if we allow them to create a pathway to our Jesus.

But, more importantly, we are not mistakes, we are His.

Sometimes I wish I knew what was going through her mind as she sat drawing water from the well, day after day, alone and in the heat. I wonder if each day contained a prayer in her heart asking to be seen, to feel loved, and for a way out of the dark loneliness and isolation she must have felt.

I think of the courage it must have taken to go forward with the tasks that called to her everyday feeling like an outcast, too broken to belong. 

I relate to the woman at the well as I ponder the moments that I have sat at wells of my own.

I had a beautiful childhood with loved ones who supported me, cheered me on, taught me about Jesus Christ, and helped me learn and grow. I couldn't imagine anything better and hope to emulate that kind of loving support in my home today. 

But, there was always an unspoken difference that would eat away at my self worth and thoughts over the years- I have African American heritage while the rest of my immediate and extended family members do not.

My unique appearance did not alter my family life or the way we all deeply love each other, but it did have a great impact on how I saw myself. 

Not knowing anyone else who looked like me allowed me to open room for the adversary to nudge and pull at me. Thoughts that I could not be beautiful in this skin, that my hair was too unmanageable, or that my features were too bold, would sometimes become all encompassing.

I wanted to be different. I wanted to be like everyone else.

Often I wondered if God had made a mistake. Maybe, if He would have created me to fit in, and to "match", I could have a chance to be as good as everyone else.

One day, we traveled to a neighboring town to meet up with some friends at a park. As I tried to get out of the car, my mom made me get back in and locked the door. She told me she saw people in the area displaying behaviors and symbolism that were racist and dangerous, and soon, we left.

That was the first time that the thoughts I held about myself seemed to be confirmed to be true by the actions of another-- I was not good enough because of the way God had created me.

Over the years, I experienced unkind words spoken from those in the pews next to me at church, from fellow students at school, and from total strangers.

Each hurtful word slung my way was a suffocating reminder; I was broken in a way not even God could fix.

I stuffed the feelings down, and like the woman at the well, tried to keep going forward with my daily chores in the best way I knew how, even if at times, the journey felt a little lonely.

Years later, my husband and I were married and started building our family. After having two children, we felt called to become foster parents. We took all the steps, filled out all the paperwork, and in time, we were approved to have children placed with us.

After a first placement of sweet children who went on to live with family, we received a call about a tiny newborn baby boy of African American descent. They explained that they place children first based on race and since my race matched his, he would be placed with us before other potential foster parents would be considered.

We eagerly accepted the opportunity to care for him and within a couple weeks, we were able to bring him home from the NICU.

The next eight months were full of difficulty as Zane endured countless doctor's appointments, eight surgeries and received the diagnosis of Down Syndrome. 

But finally, his adoption day came, and he was made a permanent member of our family.

In our church, infants are traditionally given baby blessings, and once Zane was adopted, he received his. I don't remember the words that were spoken but I remember this thought sent to my mind as if it was whispered straight from the heavens-

'It wasn't a mistake, it was the plan.'

And I knew what it meant. If not for my brown skin, crazy hair, wide nose, and rich heritage, this baby boy who was now my entire world would have never been mine.

The loneliness, the confusion, the self doubt, the days spent in embarrassment, they were not things I faced 'just because'. They were not by accident, they were difficult byproducts of a plan that led to one of my greatest miracles, a miracle that has Jesus woven all through it, even before I was born.

I think back to the woman at the well.

I imagine her watching our Savior approach her. I can almost feel the love that she must have felt filling her soul from the tips of her toes to the top of her head as He spoke to her and testified that He was living water, that through Him, she would never thirst again. 

I wonder if in that moment, she finally knew. The loneliness she felt, the fear, the doubt, the lack of self worth- it wasn't a mistake. She wasn't a mistake. It was a byproduct of a plan that led to her greatest miracle, knowing her Jesus.

After the woman came to know Him, all of that doubt was gone and she went into the city. She did not hesitate to speak of Him, and she went forward to boldly testify of Christ. She didn't care what people would say, she didn't care what they thought of her, she no longer had to live in the shadows, because now she must have known: she was never a mistake.

I believe with my whole heart that the hard things we face are not mistakes if we allow them to create a pathway to our Jesus.

But, more importantly, we are not mistakes, we are His.

Christ has met me at my well, broken and depleted more than once. He reminds me that I am His. With His strength, I can now face the future, running to tell everyone how good He truly is....Dark skin, curly hair, wide-nose, and all, because I was made exactly according to plan.

(See John 4:4-30)