There were in all about twelve men.
“What if you didn’t know the end of the story?” God asked me as I sat sipping my morning cup of coffee. “Would it make a difference?”
“The end of what story?” I asked.
“The story of Jesus. Early on, His disciples didn’t have proof that He was the Son of God. HIs crucifixion and resurrection had not yet taken place but they followed Him. Would you follow Him as they did?”
“I’d like to think that I would,” I answered.
“He was a rebel, remember. He came on the scene and taught things no one had ever taught before. He even broke the law and taught on the Sabbath. He turned so many things upside down. How would you know He wasn’t a troublemaker or a fraud? How would you know to trust Him? To follow Him?” God inquired.
I thought long and hard about my answer, searching my heart for my truth. “I’d like to think that I would recognize Him. That something in my heart would cry out to me, and I would know Him,” I said.
“That’s where to meet Him, every day,” God said gently. “It is there, in that knowing, in that heart-to-heart connection, rather than the proof of who He is, that fills you with His Light. That connection is the wellspring from which He pours Himself out for you.”
I put down my coffee and walked to the window to admire the dusting of snow covering the meadow. It was already melting in the warmth of the sun. “I’ll meet Him there every day,” I promised as I watched the snow turn into pools of beautiful clear water, knowing that even they couldn’t compare with the living water God offers.