A ghost.  Like a secret double agent that you can’t know exists. If you do, you might be killed.  I can’t tell you who she is, what she does, where she is, and we can’t even shout out a church. If we did, it just might give her away.

“Nope.”  

“Can’t do it.”  

“Really wish I could.”

What happens when you can’t take off the mask?  

Chained by your past.  Too much.  Too dark.  Too many things could go wrong.  

Every inch of her wants to be open, known, free of the hidden, the guilt, the insecurity. Free of the broken image of who she used to be.  

“Here I am world!  There it is!  This is what happened.  These are my demons.  This is who I am and where I’ve been.”

“This is me!”

But she can’t.  For one reason.  For many.  The mask, the past, she can’t bring herself to reveal it to the world.  

As we talked about the book and all that happened, all that could happen, she just had to say, “no.”  If people knew, if specifics were shared, that tiny snowball casually rolling down the hill as she reveals things publicly may just turn into a giant avalanche of consequence and repercussion that she never intended.  It could bury an entire town.    

It’s not just her feelings she has to wrestle and deal with but her kids, her parents, and the family connections that flow out like spider webs on a door frame.  

How does she move forward? How does she connect with people if she can’t be open?  Torn between this way and that, left or right, up or down.   If she remains silent, she stays chained with weights like an anchor that she’ll drag along every hour of every day.  If she speaks out, her guilt in revealing the sins of  others will eat at her very soul and cause deeper pain.  

As D revealed details, as we talked further about the depth of her history, God, as He does in His time, showed us exactly what needed to be done.  In fact, she’s been doing it, for years now.  The right thing.  The only thing that mattered and matters and makes all the difference to her and so many others.  

She sprints.  Straight ahead. 

Staring forward she slides to the finish line and stands, at the well, as Christ pierces her heart and says, “If you only knew the gift God has for you and who you were speaking to, you would ask me, and I would give you living water.”  

And so she does.  She stares straight ahead and begs for living water.  

Through the tears, there was a night not so long ago when she was at her end.  Sitting in the driver’s seat, the car running, not sure she could go on, she weighed her options on how to end it.  She wasn’t sure life was worth it.  Not sure anyone really loved and cared for her at all.   

But then, in the final hour, a text came through.  And as she saw the glow of the screen sitting on the dash she picked it up and read the words staring back at her.  And she knew what He was saying.  She knew He was calling, through her friend, and from beside the well.  

“Anyone who drinks the water you have will soon become thirsty again. But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh bubbling stream within them, giving them unending life.”  

She sat up.  The person on the other side of that phone was connected in a way, through a Spirit almost unexplainable. The timing, the simple words, she set the phone down and stared out the windshield as she caressed her stomach.   Life was worth it. The new creation she would bring into the world in a few short months was worth it.  

He was worth it.   She screamed inside. “I need this water!”

No, even though D would love to bring her identity and her history to light, she can’t reveal anything, to anyone, unless God one day leads her to.  She doesn’t need to apologize, and no, she doesn’t need to take off the mask unless she feels comfortable that the Lord of the universe can use her story.

Even if some dude with a book and blog who she really just met and for some reason spilled her entire life to asks very, very nicely.  

But still, she knows after everything she’s been through, she has a message.  She knows she can be of help.  She knows God is calling her to do something with her story.  And there’s only one way, at least for now.  

She keeps running.  

Out of her shoes and waving her arms while screaming at the top of her lungs.  

To her friends, to the community, in the town square.  “Come, come with me.  Come now!  Come see the Man who told me everything I ever did!  Who knows me in and out!  Who called me, to come, and drink the water He offers.  To receive His Spirit.  To make me whole.”

And as they follow her back to the spot that He sits, she points and screams.  “It’s right here.  Living water.  Drink and be full.  Listen to Him.” 

He didn’t care about her history, her adultery, her five husbands or her scarlet letter.  He only cared about D.  

She ran, because she had to.  Because He had stepped in so forcefully at a time and a place that only He could.  Only He would have an impact.  Only He would bring salvation and peace and direction.  The grace she found was overwhelming.  The life she was infused with was full.  She had to tell someone.  So she ran.  And now, she runs.  All over, everywhere.  Not focusing on her story, but on His.  

She is the woman at the well. 

To friends, family, anyone that will listen and see her life now as an example.  “Come meet the man who told me everything I ever did!  It’s all true!”

D’s last years have seen her running, screaming, not necessarily with words much of the time, but in attitude, works, focus, and love.  

She’s received living water 

Her past hasn’t changed.  Her circumstances are still as vivid as the day is long. She’s balancing life on a wire as she walks across the Grand Canyon.  But her focus is true, her eyes are straight forward, and Christ is calling with open arms standing right in front and on the other side as she occasionally teeters back and forth.  

And as soon as she starts looking down, Christ speaks.  

“No! No!  Focus on me!  I’m here.  Keep moving forward.  This way!” 

D’s not naive.  Sometimes, oftentimes, her foot begins to slip.  The wire begins to bounce, and her eyes look everywhere except to Him.  

And as she starts to fall suddenly, abruptly, He’s there, hovering, next to her, and she’s holding a cold glass He offered with a twist of lime.  “Drink!”  He nods. 

Again, her eyes focus in front, and she begins to move forward.  He’s leading again.  Calling.  And she runs.  Toward Christ, toward love, toward purpose and peace, and to the rest of her life.  

Forward

Her past, at times, creeps out slowly following behind like storm clouds at her back threatening to consume her.  So she just keeps moving.  One day at a time.   

D doesn’t necessarily wear a mask these days.  She keeps her bucket of living water close, poured promptly into a pitcher and set in the fridge because she needs to drink it over and over and over again throughout the day, the week, and the year.  

And every time she drinks, she takes a deep breath, calm, peace, relaxation.  “Yes, thank you, this Man is who He says He is.”  Relief.  It’s hers at different moments of every day as she watches her family, goes over her thoughts, and puts one foot in front of the other.

Her past can’t hold her back.  As long as she keeps moving. Focus on Him.  Listen to Him.  He is the point.  The purpose.  Life.  Everlasting water.  Christ. 

There He is.  Right. There. 

“Come.  See the man who knows everything I ever did.  And calls me His child and lavishes His love in the midst of it all.  He offers living water. He is the Messiah!”

He is who He says He is.  And that, for her, and for you, changes EVERYTHING.

Since we can’t share D’s identity, that means she can’t shout this out to get her story told and give glory to God for all He’s done. Would you be willing to post this on your favorite social media site to represent D? I know she’d appreciate it more than you realize!

Written by: Chad Campese 

Connect with the story?  Shoot D a comment.  Let her know you appreciate her sharing.  And if you’ve read the book, or even if you haven’t, I’d love to talk.  To share your story.  To remove the mask many of us wear as we head in for yet another Sunday service. Or, as some of us purposefully, and feverishly, run the opposite way.   

Chad Campese is a father, husband, police officer, blogger, and author of the book Confession of a Christian Fraud.  He holds a BA in Christian Counseling and psychology, is heavily involved in peer support and recovery when it comes to first responders,  and is an expert in living his life and faith as a fraud. These days he simply relies on the leading of the Spirit as he tries to slowly and purposefully take life one day at a time.