I love many things about living in south Texas, but the tap water is not one of them. Michigan boasts terrible water. Virginia's water is an improvement over Michigan's, which isn't saying much. Texas's water rates somewhere in there with the not-so-great water of Michigan and Virginia, and since living here, we've resorted to buying all our drinking water.
It's a far cry from the fabulous well water in Washington and Alaska my husband and I both grew up on.
I confess hauling and pouring water ranks pretty low on my chore enjoyment scale. Every time I go fill up the five-gallon jugs, or pour water out of the five-gallon jugs into smaller jugs for daily use, I groan inwardly and wish someone else would do it for me.
Then, every time, I remember Rebekah.
Rebekah, who not only poured water but also drew water from the wells or troughs long enough to quench the thirst not only of human guests but of camels. Rebekah, who must have been one strong, in-shape woman, working in a climate perhaps similar to my own. Rebekah, who wasn't afraid of a little--or a lot of--extra physical work.
Rebekah, whose attitude of cheerful, extra-mile service above all other qualities recommended her to be Isaac's wife and Abraham's daughter-in-law.
All these thousands of years later, every time I haul water and pour water and start out inwardly complaining that I'm stuck doing a chore I really don't like, Rebekah's story humbles me.
By the time I finish hauling and pouring I'm inspired to exercise more often so I can be strong like she was, change my attitude so I can go the extra mile like she did, and do these acts of service in my home cheerfully like Rebekah would.
