As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, my God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?

(Psalm 42:1-2)

“Dry, numb, unclear, weary”—these  are the words I found coming out of my mouth last week when describing my spiritual life, words I didn’t even know I felt until I spoke them out loud to my spiritual director. During our time together, she helped me articulate something I hadn’t yet admitted to myself: I am disappointed with God.

“God hasn’t been answering prayers for myself or others in ways I can recognize” I reluctantly shared. “I haven’t sensed God’s guidance in my life, and many things I’ve hoped for have not come to pass. I feel like I’ve been waiting on God for longer than my soul can bear.”

Kindly, my spiritual director reminded me that even though God knows all these things without me speaking them out loud, He invites me to be honest with Him about how I’m really doing.

So I tried. I avoided my journal for a few days (like the pain-averse pro that I am), then sat down with a sigh and poured my heart out with the inscrutable scrawl of a lime green pen. After finishing, I looked down at my pages filled with neon words and thought, “Good for me. I was honest.” Then I promptly walked away.

A couple of days passed, and I found myself talking with the leader of a faith-based retreat I plan to attend next month. She asked me, “Where are you now, and where do you want to be?” After listening to my response, she replied “I hear hunger—desperation for God. I hear an unwillingness to settle for feeling distant from God.”

Through our conversation, the Spirit revealed that my experience of disappointment with God was covering a deeper, more uncomfortable truth: I am desperate for God.

Thirsty.
Parched.
Unsatisfied.

But I am so afraid of admitting my thirst that I try really hard to fill my own well and save up prayer points by only asking God for the big stuff.

As I write, I realize how ridiculous this sounds: I have been invited to approach the throne of grace with confidence that my every need, hunger, and thirst will be met, yet I avoid “need” at all costs because I am afraid of my needs not being met. I am afraid of disappointment.

How much of my life—both spiritual and physical—do I miss because I work so hard to not be thirsty?

I carry around my 32oz Nalgene bottle with me ev-ery-where and truly feel panicked without it.

What would it be like to ask a stranger for a drink of water?

I’ve never known, yet the Bible tells me that the simple act of giving and receiving a cup of water is a chance to encounter Christ. This shows me that physical and spiritual thirst often go hand in hand.

We see this in the Psalms, when David pours out his heart to God:

O God, you are my God; I earnestly search for you.
My soul thirsts for you; my whole body longs for you
in this parched and weary land where there is no water.
(Psalm 63:8)

In thinking more about thirst this week, the stories of two thirsty women from the Bible came to mind: Hagar and the unnamed Woman At The Well. In both stories, we see the intertwined realities of spiritual and physical thirst as the place each woman encounters God.

* * *

In the Old Testament, Hagar is a foreign slave woman whom Abram impregnates because he and his wife Sarai are eager to have a child. They are tired of waiting for God meet their need for a son who will continue Abrams lineage. So they try to meet their own need—to fill their own well, so to speak. Hagar gives birth to Ishmael, and Sarai becomes hateful and jealous—so jealous that when Sarai has her own son, she casts Hagar and Ishmael out into the desert with food and a bit of water.

But the water—as it is inclined to do in the desert—runs out.

Hagar’s physical lack of water leads to spiritual despair when her hope runs dry:

When the water was gone, she put the boy in the shade of a bush. Then she went and sat down by herself about a hundred yards away. “I don’t want to watch the boy die,” she said, as she burst into tears.
Genesis 21:15-16)

The name of Hagar’s son, Ishmael, means “God hears.” So what happens next?

But God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, “Hagar, what’s wrong? Do not be afraid! God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Go to him and comfort him, for I will make a great nation from his descendants.”
(Genesis 21:18-19)

Literally, God hears the thirsty cry of “God-Hears” and speaks words of blessing and comfort over Ishmael and his mother.

Then—as if this story couldn’t get any better—the impossible happens:

God opened Hagar’s eyes, and she saw a well full of water. She quickly filled her water container and gave the boy a drink.
(Genesis 21:19)

God doesn’t stop at answering Hagar’s spiritual thirst with His presence and hope. God also meets Hagar’s physical thirst by opening her eyes and showing her a well full of water.

In reading this story, I wonder: Did Hagar’s distress blind her to the well that was there all along, or did the well simply appear as God’s response to her distress?

Either way, God opens her eyes to see His provision.
Either way, Hagar meets the Living God in her thirst and is satisfied.

* * *

Thirst is holy, because it reminds us that we are embodied humans who desperately need God. Admitting we are thirsty is scary because it shows we are not in control. We are not capable of meeting all our needs, as much as we’d like to think so.

Hagar’s story shows us that God cares about our bodies and our spirits; both are holy spaces in which we meet the God who hears every cry, who catches every tear. Her encounter speaks of a God who meets us in our dry and desperate places—not with judgment or frustration, but with compassionate Presence.

Next week, we will explore the story of another thirsty woman whose encounter with Jesus changed her life.

Until then, a blessing for those who thirst, by Jan Richardson:

When you come
to the depth of your thirst—
its dryness, its dust;
when you arrive at the far reaches
of a desert within,
may the God of the wilderness
bring forth a well;
may you open wide to the drenching
of the water of life.

Amen.