“I will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.” —Isaiah 41:18
The road into Santa Marta never gets easier. Every time I drive it, I wonder if the truck will make it through the rocks and riverbeds. Part of me wants to turn back, but deep down I know God put this road in front of me for a reason.
At the top, we came to the school. Its well hadn’t given water in years. I pulled up broken tubes, tried to run the rope back down, prayed it would reach the bottom. Over and over it felt like nothing was happening. Then, suddenly, the sound changed. The rope moved free, water rose, and life broke through. The children ran barefoot, laughing and crying as if hope itself had been poured out. I stood there, tired and overwhelmed, but grateful to see God do what I couldn’t.
I thought that was the reason for the trip. But at a fork in the path, God had something else waiting.
A mother stood there with her four children. One daughter unable to walk. A roof caving in. A latrine falling apart. The rains coming fast. She didn’t just meet us at a fork in the road — her life was at a fork. And God made sure our paths crossed.
I didn’t have the strength to fix everything. But I couldn’t walk away either. We started small, and when I shared the burden, others stepped in. A roof was raised. A latrine rebuilt. Her children found shelter. It was a reminder that the gospel is not only preached in churches — it’s nailed into beams, carried on shoulders, and lived out in the places no one else sees.
Just beyond her home, we uncovered another well. Rock at the bottom had to be broken with an iron bar, strike after strike. Every hit echoed the same truth in my heart: God is not finished here.
The fork, the family, and the well — three moments that remind me why we walk these roads. They aren’t easy, and I often feel weak. But it’s in those places that God shows His strength, and His living water always rises from the ground.
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