TITLE: How Deep is Your Well
By Leticia Caroccio
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How Deep Is My Well?
By: Leticia Caroccio
“You have to dig your well deep if you want answers from the Lord”, said my Sunday school teacher. She was referring to a story about a dear friend of hers who was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. Her friend was dying and the doctors offered no hope.
Angie, my Sunday school teacher, believed that the Lord would heal her. So as any good Christian would do, she prayed. She prayed for her dear friend in her nightly prayers before bedtime, almost every night.
Healing did not come; her friend died. After much grief and thought, it came to her. “I did not dig my well deep enough”, she regretfully whispered into the silent air. “I should’ve prayed harder, without ceasing. I should’ve cried before the throne of God. I should’ve pleaded and begged and stood on His promises”, she reasoned. Tearfully she exclaimed, “I should’ve dug my well deeper with fasting and supplication. I should’ve touched and agreed with others”.
Angie was silent for a while, and then said, “My well was too shallow. I only used my hands to dig. There were so many other tools I could have used to dig this well and I only used my hands”. As she recalled the details of this account and share this painful story, tears streamed down her face.
I remembered this story when the day came when I, too, had a well to dig. My dear aunt was extremely ill; she was diagnosed with ALS. She was, in essence, given a death sentence. I was a new Christian at the time, but with my teacher’s words still echoing in my head, “You have to dig that well deep”, I was determined to dig the deepest well that I could.
Immediately, a prayer chain was initiated. Ladies’ groups armed with prayer warriors stormed the throne of the Lord. We fasted and prayed and pleaded before the Lord. We stood on His promises. We believed as a collective group and claimed healing for my auntie. We carried her on our spiritual shoulders. If we could have physically carried her to her healing, we would’ve done that, too!
As 2004 came to a close, the deadly disease progressed. As the woman I’ve known and loved began to slip away from us, so did my new-found faith. Questions began to fill my heart and mind: Could God heal her? Would He heal her? Does He really care about what really grieves us? Does He really hear? These are terrible questions, yes! But they are questions that remain in my heart, none the less.
My aunt went home to be with the Lord this February. All of us who love her are still so devastated at this great loss. I immediately began to question everything that I had done and everything that I had failed to do. Had I dug my well deep enough? I didn’t have an answer. So I began to question the Lord.
I went before Him to cry out and to complain. I questioned the Lord and asked Him if He did, in fact, hear me. “Do You really hear us when we call out to You? Do You really care? Where is Your heart when our hearts are breaking” I cried to the Lord. Almost instantaneously, I had an experience that I will never forget.
The Lord took me on a trip. I found myself sitting in her room on the chair that was by her bedside. Standing next to her was the Lord. He was holding her hand, watching over her as she struggled to breath. I could see His face, tears were streaming down His chiseled cheeks. His brilliant eyes of compassion were fixed on my aunt’s lovely, pained face. Then the Lord turned His attention to me.
His eyes pierced into the very depths of my soul, speaking to me, scolding me. “How dare you question the love I have for My child? How dare you question My compassion”. He was still looking at me, I began to cower. Strangely enough, I could sense His love and compassion as He scolded me. The Lord continued, “My motives and My plans for your aunt are not for you to question”. The Lord softened His expression and through His eyes told me that He loved her and that He loved me, too. During the entire time He was speaking to me, I noticed that He had never let go of my aunt’s hand. He turned His attention back to where she was lying and kept vigil by her bedside.
In my vision, I fell to my knees, crying, apologizing. When I lifted my head up off the floor, I found myself again in my room. Again my knees hit the floor, tears filled my eyes and my heart cried out in gratitude to my living God. His mercies are indeed new every morning.
I spent the last days of my aunt’s life loving her and sharing the love of our Lord. When she went home to be with the Lord, I realized that I had, indeed, dug the well deep enough. The Lord just had other plans.
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