Of all the stories my grandmother told me, the parable of the well is by far my favorite because I believe it is a parable about me.

In a village far away from here, a hundred years ago, there was a well.

A very big well. 

Everyone from the village drew water from this well because it had clean cool water. They would come with buckets, bowls, drums and they would draw and draw and draw. Some people threw garbage around the well, others swept and cleaned the surrounding but no one cleaned the well.

One day, the well became exhausted and very upset.

It closed off itself. It started to resent the people because they never cleaned it, they littered and they would come to the well to speak about their sorrows but no one threw a party beside the well. The villagers came with their buckets, they begged but the well did not budge. They came in their numbers, some cursed the well, some people begged, some just stayed but still the well did not budge.

Days later, the villagers started to drink tainted water from a river. No one came to the well but they longed for the clean water from the well. Soon, the water in the well started smelling, little insects found their way in to the well and made a home for themselves. As the insects increased, the water became murky and small reptiles found the well attractive so they moved there too.

Days became weeks and weeks bled into months, the villagers became susceptible to different illnesses and some of them died.

Whenever someone died, the villagers would pass by the well to the cemetery to bury their dead. The well became uncomfortable with the smell, the reptiles and the insects, it became concerned about the villagers and decided to open up.

The first few days rolled by and nobody came to it. The insects and reptiles still lived in it but the well fought the temptation to close up again. As more time passed, the smell reduced, rain washed the murkiness away and the insects started to run away. The rodents followed suit and the villagers came back in their numbers with even more buckets and bowls.

This time around, the well was happy, fulfilled and satisfied to provide water to everyone who needed it.

When I asked my grandmother why the well had to give its water to the villagers, she would shake her head and say to me, ‘the well did not own the water, it was merely a channel to share the water’.

She would tell me that the well got the water from a never ending stream down below.               

 She would tell me that the water was a gift to the well but it was not for the well alone. 

This is the parable of the well.