Drinking from Wells I Did Not Dig

At the end of each winter on a little spot of earth in southern Illinois, a little miracle happens. A small patch of daffodils pop through the dormant grass near trees that are still bare. This picture shows what it looked like this week. Only green stems but the yellow blooms will be full before Easter. I didn’t plant them, but I get to enjoy them. My mother-in-law planted them many years ago when she lived on that property. And now, her small act of burying a few bulbs gives me a daffodil crop that I didn’t sow. I don’t have to do anything at all, year after year.

There’s a passage in the Old Testament that speaks of our beneficiary status.

So it shall be, when the LORD your God brings you into the land of which He swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give you

large and beautiful cities which you did not build,

houses full of all good things, which you did not fill,

hewn-out wells which you did not dig,

vineyards and olive trees which you did not plant –

when you have eaten and are full – then beware, lest you forget the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage.  [Deut 6:10-12, NKJV]

Between slavery and the promised land, the Lord was reminding the Jewish people of His promise for a new land of freedom in Canaan that would soon be theirs. But not just the land. They would benefit from all kinds of things that were already established in that land. He warned them in advance to not forget where they came from. Not to get so comfortable that they forget what the Lord had done for them.

I’ve always loved the imagery in this scripture of drinking from wells I didn’t dig. I know a lot of people before me have dug wells from which I still drink. My dad’s family lived in a vacant chicken house for a time when he was a first grader. Very humble beginnings, indeed. But his parents built and dug and planted. Then he and Mom built and dug and planted some more. And I got to enjoy the fruit of that labor. Yes, I’ve done some of my own building and digging and planting too. But materially and spiritually, I’m grateful for people before me, who invested in my future. I sit under big shade trees because someone I don’t even know planted tiny trees. And I sit under sound biblical teaching with my church family because of somebody’s praying grandmother. I live with many human rights and freedoms because someone else fought for them.

For all of this, I am grateful and won’t forget.

Now it’s our turn. Our time to plant trees that won’t shade us. Our time to dig wells that won’t hydrate us. Our time to build things that will outlast us.

What are you doing today that will mostly benefit others?