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Summary: The key to getting healed or unstuck in our lives is to do what God tells us to do-even if it doesn’t make sense. We must listen to God’s instructions in our hearts. We must find them in his word. There will be something that God will want us to do.

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Jesse spotted Meagan through the window of a café, squeezing lemon into her glass of water. For a couple of minutes, he watched. The restaurant had a retro look, a throwback to diner days with soda counters and silver-rimmed tables. Two men in an adjacent booth said something to her; she ignored them. A server offered her a menu; she declined it. A car screeched to a stop and honked at a jaywalking pedestrian; she looked up. That’s when Meagan saw him.

Jesse smiled. She didn’t. But neither did she turn away. She watched him cross the narrow street, enter the café, and walk toward her booth. He asked if he could join her, and she nodded. As he signaled the server, Meagan noticed Jesse looked tired.

He said little as he waited on his coffee. She spoke even less, at first. But once she began, her whole story tumbled out. Dropped by a boyfriend in Missouri. Fed up with her family. Someone told her she could make fast money in commercials. Escaped to the West Coast. Audition after audition. Rejection after rejection. Finally, cosmetics school. “I never even finished,” she confessed. “I heard about the opening at Bentley Bishop’s. Went for an interview and …”—she looked away— “after doing what he wanted, he hired me. And now”—a tear bubbled— “I’m here. I pay the rent and don’t go hungry. Twenty-one years old and surviving L.A. Sounds like the chorus of a country-western song. But I’m okay. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

Jesse’s sandwich arrived. He offered her half, but she declined. After a couple of bites, he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Meagan, I know you. I’ve watched you stain pillows with tears and walk streets because you couldn’t sleep. I know you. And I know you hate who you are becoming.”

“So”—Meagan touched the corner of her eye with the back of a knuckle—“if you’re such a psychic, tell me: where’s God in all this? I’ve been looking for Him a long, long time.” With a sudden increase in volume, she began listing misdeeds on her fingers. “I ran out on my folks. I sleep with my boss. I’ve spent more time on a barstool than a church pew. I’m tired, tired of it all.” She bit her lip and looked away.

Jesse inclined the same direction and caught her attention. She looked up to see him beaming, energetic, as though he were an algebra professor and she was struggling with two plus two.

“Where is God in all this?” He repeated her question. “Nearer than you’ve ever dreamed.” He took her glass and held it. “Meagan, everyone who drinks this water will get thirsty again. But I offer a different drink. Anyone who drinks the water I give will never thirst. Not ever.”

Again, silence.

With a finger Meagan bounced the ice cubes in the glass. Finally, she asked, “Never?”

“Not ever.”


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