Where......the river flows - I

Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about the sixth hour. - John 4:6

Jacob's well!! Jesus sighs. A story of a thousand years and five hundred comes tumbling back. Years rolled away, to a clear, clear day. I was there!! A thrill of remembrance.

For everyone else - Jacob's name is but a revered memory. Just a foggy memory - they told me about that old man in the synagogue when I was a child. They told me about Joseph too - some tale of jealousy, a doting father and a journey to Egypt. Just a story....who knows. They say this - this is the well. At least the water hasn't run dry...... who knows whether Jacob really existed? Who cares... a thousand years and five hundred anyway. And the story has certainly run its course, surely it's over.

Townspeople walk by.....who is this handsome stranger? He looks like a Jew - so what does a Jew want here?

Jesus......runs his hand over the stones. Yes....Jacob. Israel, actually, that's the name I gave him - what a man he had been! No one remembers or cares, but this whole story started there, in one sense. Actually with his grandfather Abraham. "Descendants like the sand on the seashore", I told him. Hmmmmmm. A thousand years and five hundred later.....here they live, walk and make their lives. My promise has long been forgotten - the 'descendants' are here, but they don't know a thing about their past, where they came from.

Does anyone really dare to think the story's not over yet? For the few who believe, no it's not over...not till eternity, no..... the 'seed of Abraham', well, they're not all here yet. They will come from the farthest corners of the earth. All through the ages. They will be one. No one but me will be able to count them. Abraham will see it!!!! In years to come, they will be tourists here....and they will remember this day. They will tell the story to their children, to their children's children. This well...... will be revered.

That's all later. For now.....let me play my part. Let me WRITE history.

I'm bushed..... let me sit down here, and remember my son Israel and my son Joseph. What a sweet memory! How dearly Israel loved Joseph! I kept Joseph in the palm of my hand - my wings overshadowed him all through. Israel....will see him again. He isn't dead! He's in my hand.

Memory lulls my tired head....to sleep. Let me put my head on these stones. Israel will remember that so well!!!! A stone pillow.