I met a woman at a Well in South Carolina. And just like the one in the Bible, she’s worth meeting and dying for, and worth me resurrecting a blog for. Her name is Nations Myers, Director of the Potter’s House, Saluda, a non-profit serving children and families in need. And today she’s running for city council.
The first time I met her, I was running for cover, mad at God and disappointed in myself. Overnight and underwater, we had joined thousands in our Louisiana community whose homes and jobs were flooded. That was just the year before, the week of my last post, and before my keyboard locked up and my pen dried out.
We picked up the pieces, put our house back together, stuck a for sale sign in the wet ground, and landed in the Carolinas. We left reluctantly, and I didn’t go quietly. I’d yelled in the car to my husband when he first mentioned the move, “What do you MEAN, God’s telling us to move to South Carolina? He wouldn’t do that, couldn’t do that. This is the only home our girls have ever known, and it’s the last place I saw my Momma. I’m not going anywhere.”
I stuck to my guns and turned the radio up before stating, “God would have to write South Carolina before my eyes, but I’m not looking and I’m not listening. Mark my words.”
But he had the last word. “Well, take a look at the car in front of us. Our headlights high beamed on the license plate ahead. “South Carolina,” it said.
I had plans, dreams, goals, and I just had new wood floors put in my house, so that wasn’t gonna work for me. We got home, and he quietly added, “What if our moving has nothing to do with us, but everything to do with our girls?” Our next generation.
I flashed back almost 30 years and saw my 5th grade self, kicking and screaming, having to move out of state. Right before meeting the cutest blond-haired, blue-eyed Louisiana boy I’d ever seen. The same one staring back at me and glancing over at our daughters.
Needless to say, a few months later, I was a smiling, pretending mess when I met Ms. Myers.
And then every week I sat at her table, volunteering to help others, but really letting God help me. Spinning on the Potter’s wheel and sipping coffee at a Well at our round table discussions. Listening to stories of faith and hearing her share dreams and vision for her community. Ones that looked like Heaven. On earth. That had nothing to do with building a platform, but everything to do with building God’s Kingdom. For our next generation.
She has a faith I’m thirsting for. We often hear it talked about, but rarely see it played out. Yet I’ve been given a front row seat to watch Nations Myers walk it out.
It inspires, but it challenges. With one Jesus-sized hug, she’ll simultaneously squeeze the Martha out and embrace the Mary within. And drown out any doubt of God’s goodness and faithfulness.
As a single mother, God used her to rescue two beautiful little girls. And today they call her Mom, and God calls them His. Both adopted by her and by Him.
Since then, I’ve jumped through a few hoops with her, and even high-jumped over some mice for her, while cleaning a widow’s house–for Him.
Pure religion, caring for the widow and the orphan, can look messy and dirty (James 1:27). But this woman at the Well will love you–and serve you–until you feel clean, and accurately identified as a beloved daughter, embraced by the Father. And renewed as a child of the King. With open arms and as an empty vessel, prepared to be filled.
And I’ve watched God fill. When I said, “How can it be done?” And then faithlessly thought, “I know what’s in our hands, it isn’t a lot, and it isn’t enough.” But her faith inspires and it challenges, and as she says, “How can God not?”
During her back-to-school drive to help area kids in need, I dropped pencils into small paper bags at the Potter’s House, wishing for more, but believing for less. Until I heard the honk and then ran to watch a big rig back up, and pour out hundreds of brand new back packs, already filled up to the zipper. I dropped the paper brown bag in my hand and watched all of her multiplied faith before me.
The same faith that sent her into schools, to wash children’s feet, before fitting every child with a pair of new shoes.
The same faith that drives through slums in the dark of Christmas eve night, dropping off toys and bikes. Where most grown men won’t go, she’s already been.
She canvased her community during the census, while I pancaked my couch during this Covid pandemic. She was ensuring that everyone was counted and finding funds for her neighbors. Making sure they knew that in God’s eyes, they count.
She doesn’t see background, or color or creed, she simply sees a neighbor in need. She’s hugging the lonely and healing the broken. Carrying the gospel, desiring to see, children get fed and women set free. Ones like you. And like me.
Here’s a Woman at the Well I can walk beside and get behind. It’s an honor and a privilege to highlight this Well woman, who may never be noticed by the world, but who has all the attention of Heaven.
And her faith is so worth sharing. “Well done, Woman. Well Done.”
Please feel free to subscribe and share. I look forward to sharing more of her back story, and maybe even your story. At the Well—where faith is better shared.
“The woman left her water jar beside the well and ran back to the village, telling everyone. “Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” They came out of the town and made their way toward him (John 4:28-30 NIV).
