quiet hour

chasing Someday

John 4 | It’s quiet hour, lonesome hour, outsider hour. A nameless woman in the midst of her everyday rhythm: wait out the crowd, heat of day, empty bucket, hike to fill. It was her getaway, her hiding place. Quiet hour. Back home is a kid or two crying and expecting and requiring of her, a man not bound by covenant ordering her around. Back home is shame and sin stacked high and a crowd of so-called neighbors leaving her unwanted and out to dry. So she hikes all-alone to Jacob’s hand-me-down well, to grab bucketfuls of the very thing that keeps her alive.

It’s quiet hour. It’s a chorus, a routine—but today she’s interrupted, her groove’s thrown right off. Water fills her little bucket for the thousandth time but a man’s voice from behind says, Woman, cast your bucket down. Won’t you give me a drink? She’s startled, how…

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