Take and Drink

I am in the middle of washing dishes from lunch when a knock sounds on my front door. No doorbell rings, rather a gentle and persistent tap is heard. I put my dishes aside and walk to the door. Upon opening it, I see a middle-aged man. I can tell from his unkempt beard and rumpled white polo that he has been on the road. Looking into his sad brown eyes, I see that he has not rested in quite some time. All this I take in in a nanosecond and then, without thinking, I welcome this man into my clean, neat, pristine home. I sit him down at my wooden dining table and set about making him lunch.

“You are hungry?” I ask cautiously.

The man nods and says in a hoarse voice, “I thirst.” He then proceeds to feel the table and examine it with his hands. As he does this, something catches my eye. On his left hand, he has a scar between his thumb and his wrist. It looks identical to mine. I blink a few times and finish his sandwich. Then, after filling a glass with ice cold water, I place the humble feast in front of him. In doing so, I accidentally let the napkin fall, fluttering to the floor. I bend to pick it up and glance at the knees of this stranger. Sure enough, there is a scar on each knee, exactly like on mine. Startled, I stand up and place the napkin on the table. I then sit down across from the man and study him as he moves the food around on the plate but does not eat. Baffled, I speak out.

“You are not hungry?” I ask.

He gazes at me. “I thirst.”

I knit my eyebrows together and nudge the water toward him. “Can I get you something else?”

The man folds his hands and smiles at me as though I am an ignorant child. Then he repeats what he already told me. “I thirst.”

I try the question about 10 different ways and to each, he answers the same. “I thirst.” Finally, I sigh and slouch in my chair, staring at him. He eventually stops playing with the food and goes back to feeling the wood beneath his hands.

“Where did you get that scar on your hand?” I ask him, my curiosity taking over.

He looks me straight in the eye and says, “From scissors, same as you.” Once he says this, I start to become anxious. I took pity on this person and let him into my clean house and all he is doing is saying enigmatic things. Not knowing who he is or what he wants, I blurt out, “How do you know how I got that scar?”

He seems to like this question and answers me. “Do you not know who I am?” As I ponder this question, he continues gazing at me. I look down at my hands, then at my sparkling kitchen, everything tidy except for the dishes I left in haste to answer the door. I look everywhere and at everything but him until I feel his eyes reel me in. I then return his stare and say, “I do not know you.” The man shakes his head slowly and says,

“And yet I know you for I am inside you.” He grasps my hand and fingers my scar. “I hurt when you hurt and I rejoice when you rejoice. I know you, inside and out and yet you do not know me.” He takes the glass of water and gently pushes it towards me. “Just as your soul thirsts for me, so I thirst for you. Take and drink of the living water.”

I shakily lift the glass to my lips and sip. The cold water rushes into my mouth and jolts my heart awake. I squeeze my eyes closed, fighting the unknown jolt just as I fought this man’s words. After a struggle, I give in to the jolt and it rushes through my body, leaving me refreshed, awake, and mystified. Because I had been blind, I led a clean and tidy life. When he knocked, I opened the door to my heart, not to welcome him as he was, but as who I wanted him to be. And because of this, he knocked and knocked until I opened the door with the right answer.

I set the glass down, hold tight to his hand and tell him, “I thirst.”