As I stood at the coral fence with my daughters, admiring the horses, I noticed the mud under the gate. And then I saw the water trickling out from the bottom of the trough in a tiny, steady stream. What a shame, I thought. Why would they waste water like that?
Then I noticed that the trough was full to the brim. A spout hanging above poured a continual flow of cool, fresh water into the trough at the exact same rate as the water exiting below. Aha. Fresh water.
A horse stuck its nuzzle in and drank deep.
Fresh water is so much more satisfying.
And if the water gushing so faithfully into the trough stopped, its flow interrupted by neglect or drought or diversion—the hole in the bottom would still be there, and the water would drain away, leaving emptiness.
The trough is designed to hold only fresh water.
But an empty vessel cannot give.
The life cannot flow out unless it is flowing in.
We come with holes, too.
We can let the life leak out, drain away, leaving emptiness. Or we can be filled with the only source of constant life—and we can become lifegivers ourselves, drawing the thirsty.
A constant stream of life pouring in, flowing out.
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