“Digging Until the Water Flows” —my thoughts about persistence—a pattern in the lives of the Patriarchs, specifically Isaac and Jacob, where the act of digging a well becomes a physical manifestation of faith, persistence, and divine provision.

Scripture is full of ordinary acts that carry extraordinary meaning. Digging a well is one of them. In the ancient world, a well was not simply a convenience—it was survival. To dig a well was to stake a claim that life could flourish there. When we read about Isaac reopening his father Abraham’s wells and digging new ones in Genesis 26, we’re not just reading history; we’re being invited into a pattern of faith.

Isaac’s story is striking in its repetition. He digs. The Philistines quarrel. The well is named Esek—Contention. He digs again. More opposition. Sitnah—Enmity.

Nothing changes on the surface. No applause. No breakthrough. Just more dirt and more resistance. Yet Isaac keeps digging. And eventually, he comes to a place he names Rehoboth—Room. Space. Breathing room. A place where he can say, “Now the Lord has made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.”

Here is the quiet wisdom: opposition does not always mean you’re off course. Sometimes it means you are close to water.

We often assume that God’s will feels smooth, obvious, and uninterrupted. But Scripture paints a different picture. God’s provision is certain, yet the path to it is frequently marked by perseverance.

Isaac doesn’t argue. He doesn’t retaliate. He doesn’t abandon the land. He digs another well. Over and over.

This is a picture of active faith.

We speak often of Christ as Living Water, and rightly so. But living water is not always experienced passively. God supplies the water; we are invited to pick up the shovel. Seeking Christ is not wishful thinking—it is intentional pursuit. It means creating space in crowded lives. It means removing what blocks access: distraction, bitterness, fear, self-reliance, and exhaustion.

Digging is work.

Prayer can feel repetitive. Scripture reading can feel dry. Obedience can feel costly. Yet beneath that soil, God has already placed a source. The labor is not to create water, but to reach it.

When Jesus meets the woman at Jacob’s well in John 4, He stands at a site shaped by generations of digging. That physical well becomes a doorway to a deeper promise: “Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again.” Christ does not eliminate thirst; He fulfills it. He does not remove the need for seeking; He becomes the treasure sought.

Like the deer in Psalm 42, we do not merely wish for streams—we search for them.

Trials often feel like sabotage. Joy gets clogged. Peace slows to a trickle. But Scripture reframes these moments. The enemy may throw dirt, but God uses the digging. What feels like obstruction can become an invitation: pick up the shovel again.

Esek and Sitnah come before Rehoboth.

Contention and hostility often precede expansion.

Before God makes room, He strengthens resolve.

This means your persistence matters.

Not because God is reluctant, but because persistence forms you. Each time you dig, your roots go deeper. Each time you pray anyway, you become more aware of your dependence. Each time you seek Christ in silence, you discover that He has been present all along.

The goal is not simply relief.

The goal is communion.

So if today feels dry, don’t assume God has moved.
Dig another well.