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Marla Digs Her Own Well

by Anne O'Donnell
11/01/2020 / Short Stories

Marla descended the steps of the Learjet 60 XR, anticipating throngs of supporters awaiting her arrival. She had primped herself in the cabin, sure to arouse the public’s affections for her role in saving the city’s water supply. Today was her day to shine and take credit for digging safe wells with the automated drill donated by sponsors who believed in her project to aid poverty stricken residents in the western region of Africa.

Not able to recall her initial feelings that prompted her to seek employment for directing the rigs, she prepared to look into the cameras with her captivating fake smile, only to look up and see that, other than the pilot and ground crew, Chief Oumar was the only individual in sight.

Letting out a disappointing sigh, and acknowledging the shift in her attitude to one of indifference, Marla proceeded to bark out strict orders for arranging taxi service back to the hut, her makeshift office, to lay out the final phase of restoring the land back to its previous state so the farmers could get on with life as they once knew it. So much for being appreciated, she muttered, I thought at least one person would say thanks.

Marla contemplated this unexpected welcome as a sign that maybe it was time to switch careers, and do something more personally satisfying. She couldn’t argue the generous paychecks coming from the corporate offices of Deep Well Digging Co., but this idea of never receiving credit for her accomplishments gnawed away at her ego and she realized she needed a higher degree of recognition for her contributions to society.

Arriving at the hut, she pulled back the make-shift woven door, and halted at the sight of two women sitting on mats next to a stack of crates. Villiagers of Niono, Mali, were accustomed to community interaction, so it came as no surprise to see Hawa and Fadimata waiting with anticipation written all over their faces. I care about these people, I really do, but I will never be more than a supplier of water to them. Anyone can give them that.

Hawa spoke first, “Miss Marla, we come to ask if you be willing to share your knowing of Jesus. We hear the far away Americans love Him or hate Him, and we want to know what you think of this. Visitors have entered our village claiming only one way to find peace, and Miss Marla, we want to know what peace feels like.”

Without trying to hide the shocked look emanating from her face, Marla stepped back to buy some time before responding. “Yes, you are right in what you hear. Americans do love Him or hate Him, depending on what is already in their heart.”

Fadimata raised her hand towards Marla’s heart and asked with her gruff accented voice, “But you tell us, Miss Marla, what be in your heart today? What you think of peace? You have peace Miss Marla? You tell us and we know.”

Marla tried to hide the annoyance in her demeanor and tone of voice, and could not reply with a straightforward answer. What is in my heart? I haven’t thought of it in a long time.

“Well, I can find a book to explain it I guess”, was the best she could offer, “can you give me some time”?

The two women didn’t move. Fadimata persisted, “We wait while you look. We stay for you here. We know you help us.”

Marla hesitated before she offered an option. “Where are these visitors? Surely they have the answers you are looking for.”

Hawa replied, “Yes, true Miss Marla, but we look to your face and want to know what in your heart. We cannot look into our heart. No one shows us how. You show us how. My father, he no want to see his heart, say is fine, ok like is. But he sad. He cry and sleep too much. He say no one looks at his heart. A secret.”

Marla pivoted and stood motionless, contemplating her next move. “Well then, I will make arrangements to see if the visitors can come and speak to you. But until then, you need to give me some time so I can complete the ground work around the well. Can we agree to that?”

Hawa and Fadimata remained motionless as tears trickled down their face in disappointment. “Miss Marla, why you no tell us what in your heart? You no want us to see? What be there? A secret in you too? You come to our village and bring water. You dig dirt and make way for us to drink. You no want us to be thirsty. So why you not tell us what in your heart?”

At a complete loss to address their concerns and questions, Marla squatted down so she could peer into the eyes of these woman who came with a quest for knowledge. Without blinking, she promised to find answers when she didn’t even know the right questions to ask. Who are these visitors, and what information are they spreading to create such a stir?

Stepping out of the hut to help decipher the confusion and clutter taking up residence in her own heart, she bristled at the thought of this interruption taking up too much of her time. But the village women were counting on her, so she best be about finding a solution to this dilemma. Not that she felt cornered to produce the answer they searched for, but she also felt a tug she couldn’t brush off. Why do I have to think about what is in my heart in Niono, Mali, when I am over five thousand miles away from home, preparing to get back to my comfort zone in Michigan? When was the last time I thought about anything spiritual? Gosh, it’s been over ten years since dad’s funeral. Probably then.

The next morning Marla awoke to the sounds of the visitors gathered in the street a few huts down. There seemed to be clusters of shouts mixed with singing. Then some talking, more shouting, and more singing. Curious to explore this source of sudden commotion, she peered around her hut to notice a gathering of men, women, and children, standing in a circle around the visitors who shared their stories of peace and security. Perplexed and full of questions by now, Marla made her way down to hide in the outskirts of the crowd, eager to listen and anxious to possibly find an answer for her friends.

Before she had a chance to pause in between thoughts, the spokesman of the group, Mr. Brett Foley, described a different kind of well than the kind Marla had constructed for the past eleven years. The well he spoke of referred to an image she couldn’t quite place in her mind. Mr. Brett said spiritual wells are just as real as natural wells, and asked the people if there was a way to draw down deep into a different kind of well for a continual supply of spiritual refreshment and sustenance, would they choose to dig?

Mr. Brett shared about moments in life when the delusion of worldly satisfaction is not enough to sustain a person, and they long to find a place where their heart can be met with nourishment and satisfaction. Mr. Brett seemed quite convinced such a place existed deep inside our souls where God wanted to reside so He could provide endless amounts of peace. Marla tried to envision this well, and what might be found there.

Without taking her eyes off the speaker, she caught herself immersing deeper inside his stories of this person named Jesus, who came to earth to supply streams of living water to all who thirst and to all who long for a deep inner peace that only comes from a personal relationship with Him.

“It is through the well in our soul”, he explained, “we have access to the kingdom of God. It will be from spiritual wells we draw strength when we are weary and find our souls satisfied from the presence of God dwelling within us. Wells sustain life”, he continued, “they provide nourishment. Jesus said anyone who is thirsty should come and drink from the well He will dig in your heart, where a reserve of hope will never run out, where you can come to anytime and will find Him there ready and willing to give to you what you need”.

Marla had not anticipated listening long enough to allow her guard to fall and soak in these spiritual truths penetrating her calloused heart. There were too many tasks demanding her attention today. But she could not walk away. There was an unseen power pulling her in and she could not explain it. If she saw Hawa and Fadimata right now, she would have to confess that her heart was empty, and that she did not possess the peace these women referred to. Marla cast her eyes down and closed them. The peace she knew looked nothing like the peace Mr. Brett spoke of. There was no inventory of peace in her heart, that inner peace he kept referring to.

Now was the time to find Hawa and Fadimata. Together they would respond to Mr. Brett’s invitation to have a well dug in their hearts, the kind that fills up without ever having to depend on real water.

Making her way down the narrow dirt road, Marla knew she longed to experience the living water Mr. Brett talked about. Maybe Hawa and Fadimata wanted a well dug in their hearts too. Together they could go to Jesus and ask for His help. Marla knew her life was about to change. No longer did she want to settle for the superficial peace from corporate dollars, but the peace that comes from an unquenchable thirst for the Savior’s living water.

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