This teaches us a beautiful truth: the comfort God gives to one person often becomes a lifeline for another. Just as travelers use wells dug by those who came before them.

We pick up a book overflowing with comfort—like Jonathan's rod, dripping with honey. Ah! we think, our brother has been here before us, and dug this well for us as well as for himself. Many a "Night of Weeping," "Midnight Harmonies," an "Eternal Day," "A Crook in the Lot," a "Comfort for Mourners," has been a well dug by a pilgrim for himself, but has proved quite as useful to others. Think especially of the Psalms—"Why are you cast down, O my soul?" David wrote for himself, but millions have drunk from that well since.

Travelers have been delighted to see the footprint of man on a barren shore, and we love to see the waymarks of pilgrims while passing through the vale of tears.

But here's the strange and wonderful thing: pilgrims dig the wells, but they fill from the top, not the bottom! We use the means, but the blessing does not spring from the means. We dig a well, but heaven fills it with rain. The horse is prepared for battle, but victory comes from the Lord. The means are connected with the end, but they do not of themselves produce it.

Watch how it works: the rain fills the pools, making the wells useful as reservoirs. Our labor is not lost, but neither does it replace God's help. Grace may well be compared to rain—for its purity, its refreshing and life-giving influence, for its coming alone from above, and for the sovereignty with which it is given or withheld.

May you have showers of blessing! May the wells you have dug be filled with water! Oh, what are means and ordinances without the smile of heaven? They are as clouds without rain, and pools without water.

O God of love, open the windows of heaven and pour us out a blessing!