Call us tender, and then call us powerful—
we are a force to be reckoned with.
The spectrum doesn’t limit us.
We are lambs one moment, letting sweet tears roll
for injustice, tragedy, and hard things.
But don’t for a moment think we don’t battle.
Different hearts, different gifts, different weapons
but one purpose.
We don’t tread in the shallows,
for we are called deeper by the very water
into which we had cast our sin and our shame
at the well.
We are new—washed clean
by the living water we were
offered there.
No longer are we timid Samaritan women,
But women sanctified day by day.
We let our hearts cry in the reality
of our imperfections, but glow
at the greatness of his power
to work best in our weakness.
We dream big dreams,
as women surpassing hope
or belief, but being ones of expectation.
And at midday when the sun is the highest,
and we cannot hide—
We shine as daughters.
Sisters, of all that we shared
together in the secret places.
Frustration, injury, struggle yes—
but then we meet at the well.
Into which we look in unison and see reflected 8 figures.
8 silhouettes in the water.
And one more.
Him that met us there.
And there was certainly joy, and laughter, and sharpening
of our spirit armor.
by this we ARE unified.
And will ALWAYS be unified.
Not afflicted by different paths, years, or trials.
We will always be able to meet there,
At the cracked withered steps of the well.
We are not the same 8 who met there that first time.
(Dedicated to our team, Women of the Well)
