When I assign a task to my children, I can predict fairly accurately who will obey and who will delay. When I ask them to put on their coats and shoes, I know which child will need wrangling, which one will need constant reminders, and which one will be standing by the door ready to go.

Does this cause me to love one more than the others? No. My love for them is secured by the fact that they belong to me. Behaviour cannot undo their belonging. Yet the question lingers—what does obedience influence?

When we moved into our current home, a friend gave me a daylily as a housewarming gift. At that point, the only plant that had survived under my care was made of silk. Though I lacked confidence in my gardening skills, I was assured the daylily was hardy and forgiving. Sure enough, my nearly-withered plant was revived numerous times by simply watering it.

Withering doesn’t happen in an instant. It happens slowly and surely as a plant is deprived of moisture. The way to revive a thirsty, withered plant is to water it. The way to revive a thirsty, withered heart is to connect it with Living Water.

Jesus declared that Living Water—a well of water springing up within for eternal life—was available to those who asked Him for it. Later, He added that whoever believed in Him would have streams of water flow from within.

How do our thirsty hearts stay rooted in the love of Jesus and flow with Living Water?

We live under the pressure to “have it all together,” and sometimes we may even think it’s within our reach. This illusion takes just moments to be shattered. For me, that happened with a single phone call on May 5, 2008.

My dad called to tell me the neurologist had given him bad news. He had ALS, it was fatal, and at the time, they thought he had three to five years to live.

My dad’s illness revealed brokenness in the world and in my own heart that my patterns, protectiveness and pride could not fix. No amount of striving would change the prognosis, and no amount of hiding would make it go away.

Though we are all uncomfortable with feeling helpless, the most difficult seasons can be the most fertile soil if we are willing to meet Jesus in our weakness.

When my kids are hurt, they instinctively cover the wounded area. When I try to see and treat the injury, I’m often met with resistance and crying. It takes a measure of trust for them to believe there is healing past the pain of feeling.

When we are hurt, we have the same instinct to cover up our pain. We don’t like the fact that healing takes time. Instant relief is much preferred. Open wounds feel vulnerable, so we erect walls when something or someone gets too close. Our walls go up with the intent to keep our wounds from hurting more. So, when things get too personal, we pull back. If it’s too real, we retreat. And when something stirs in us, we avoid it until the discomfort settles.

The soil of our hearts can be hardened by protective walls. The problem with walls is they aren’t selective. As long as we don’t feel, we assume we’re fine. But as our hearts harden, so does our ability to feel on both sides of the emotional spectrum.