Lodging by the Well: Where Journeys Paused
And it came to pass in the days when men journeyed by foot and by beast of burden, that the well was as a beacon in the wilderness—a place of rest, of gathering, and of divine encounter. For along the dusty paths and in the heat of the noonday sun, the wells of the land became lodgings of a kind, where the weary paused and the thirsty were made glad.
In the land of Canaan and beyond, wells were not mere holes in the earth, but sanctuaries of provision. The patriarchs themselves sought them and dwelled near them. Behold, Isaac’s servants dug and found springing water, and the herdsmen of Gerar strove for it (Genesis 26:19–20). Yet Isaac moved and dug again, and called the place Rehoboth, saying, “For now the Lord hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.”
And there was Jacob, who journeyed unto the land of the people of the East, and he came to a well. And lo, Rachel came with her father’s sheep, for she was a shepherdess. At that well, love sprang forth as water from the earth (Genesis 29:1–10).
The well was a meeting place—not only for flocks and herds, but for kindred spirits, for strangers, and for the holy. It was by a well that Moses fled from Pharaoh and found the daughters of Reuel. He defended them from the shepherds, and they said to their father, “An Egyptian delivered us out of the hand of the shepherds... and also drew water enough for us” (Exodus 2:19). And Moses was content to dwell with the man and took Zipporah to wife.
So too in later days, our Lord Jesus came to a well, weary from His journey. It was about the sixth hour when He sat upon Jacob’s well, and a woman of Samaria came to draw water. There He spoke words of living water that quencheth thirst forevermore (John 4:6–14). Though the place had no inn, the well became a place of revelation.
And those who traveled paused there—not with coin to rent a chamber, but with open hands to share shade, stories, and bread. The well was a place of waiting: for water, for strangers, and oftentimes, for God.
These were the resting places in the days before stone inns and roadside dwellings. Beneath the terebinth or fig tree, near the well, travelers loosed their sandals, watered their beasts, and prayed with eyes lifted to the hills. Such were the sacred pauses along the path of man.
For in the stillness by the well, the Lord often drew near. Whether in the hush of evening or the clamor of noonday, the ground was holy for those who listened. And so the well stood as a sign of mercy—a gift of the earth, a meeting of paths, and a lodging in the Lord’s providence.
Let the generations remember: even before roof or chamber, God provided the well, and at the well, He met with man.