Paradoxical Kiss

Reading Romans 8 with my husband today.

This passage never fails to encourage me and remind me of my hope in the gospel. It frees me with its reassurance that NOTHING can separate me from the love of God, and it promises that all things work together for those who love God, but....BUT.

There it is. That nagging, "but" in the back of my mind raises its ugly head when I read this portion of the chapter:

For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God. (Romans 8:5-8)

I read this and look at my life. Do I persistently set me mind on the Spirit? Or do I really just often times live my life? Am I putting to death the deeds of the body or am I just picking and choosing the battles with my old nature, according to connivence?

Suddenly, I'm not sure that all this victory really belongs to me and I start to feel like a pretender. Does anyone else feel this way?

Now I KNOW that in the verses right before these it says that Christ came to do what the law couldn't do. It says that He, not I, obeyed ever letter of the law so that my record could be spotless. I KNOW that the verses afterwards remind me that my actions can NEVER separate me from the God who loves me. And I KNOW that these things are true.

But what I ALSO KNOW is that there are days where I don't choose flesh over spirit. There times when I'm just done. There are moments when I swear I close my eyes for a second and choose my will, hoping God is closing His too, and there are seasons when I am so ashamed because I know He doesn't.

I am a sinner. My flesh is weak. I want God, but I also want my way and sometimes the crossroads are agonizing. Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly walk in the Spirit when I feel so much fleshly residue on my soul.
It's so EASY to choose Distraction when I should choose Devotion. If we want to get personal, its just simpler to choose 15 extra minutes on Facebook, a harsh response over immediate forgiveness, envy of our neighbor, sleep instead of the Word...

GOD, HELP US!

It is so DIFFICULT to be FAITHFUL in the little things! But those are the ones that count....
Make us like David who cries,

"My FLESH and my HEART may fail, but GOD is the STRENGTH of my heart and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:26)

When the discouragement had started to take hold, God sent me a reminder in Romans 8:10.

"But if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness."

Okay. God said it. The reality is that while I live, I will always be a body of sin. I will still fail and I will always be at war with the flesh.
BUT, the bottom line is this: Christ is righteousness enough for me. It is the Spirit of righteousness that is my life and that makes me pleasing to God, not my ability to keep the law. It is done.
I am clean because HE is clean.

How does a child walk with his father? Falteringly. Slowly. Holding his hand. One step at a time.
So it is with me and God.
It is my knowing Him and submitting one wobbly step at a time that sanctifies me.
I rest in the words of the Apostle Paul, in my identity as a person "not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith...." (Philippians 3:9)

The distinction between my body of sin and His Spirit of Righteousness will always be made clear. It it is these two things coming together in a paradox that makes the gospel miraculously beautiful. How HE could love US, will always be a mystery. May the power of knowing His atoning affection cause us to walk more faithfully with Him.

"Paradoxical Kiss"

How is it that Death can be joined with Life?
Light wed Darkness,
And the eternal marry the finite?
It is only by the compassion of Christ 

that Spirit could unite with Flesh,
Peace come together with Enmity,
Wealth join hands with Poverty,
 and, Purity meet Filth
In a paradoxical kiss.
Nowhere else can love be seen
in this magnitude
as when Holiness takes the defiled to be His bride.
Oh heart!
Sing of the moment when Mercy was betrothed to Condemnation!
Shout for the union of God and man!
For here your hate finds love,
your despair finds joy,
and your turmoil

at last
finds rest.

A Martha's Prayer

Journal entry this morning. Feeling Martha all over me.

Jesus just asks me to come and sit, but I am so addicted to distraction and activity! Sometimes it's feels impossible to stop. Maybe you've felt this way.  If you have, I hope you will be comforted by this little verse tucked away in John 11, "Jesus loved Martha, and her sister...." Yes. For all her orderliness, checklists, and preparations, Martha was a MESS, BUT Jesus Christ loved her. That is the God we serve. Come to Him today. Find mercy and enjoy His presence.

Entry for February 9, 2015: 

I just can't do it again. I won't.

I'm not going to just lie back in the river of business and drift, hoping to meet You along the bank somewhere. 

No, Before I set foot in my little boat, I will sit on the shores of Your truth and be warmed by the rays of Your love. 

I will choose quiet over productivity. I will choose stillness over my checklist. I will chose You over me as I should've done so many mornings before. You deserve my all. You are good, holy, loving and true and I need You. I want to know You more and walk in Your ways! 

Renew my mind as I STOP to SIT in STILLNESS at Your feet. Be merciful to me, O God. 

I would see Jesus. 

Thank You for Your open arms.  

Just One Hat

Let me introduce myself:

I'm Anna Renfro. 

I am wife to Josh Renfro.

I am daughter of Bill and Maria Dunlap.

I am a Texan by address, a South Carolinian at heart. 

I have grown up Christian. 

People know me to be creative, hard-working, open, and caring. 

They also know me as forgetful, anxious, and highly emotional. 

My abilities are important to few, unknown to many. 

My passions are words, art, music, and deep relationships.

My occupations are as follows:

Wife.

Daughter.

Sister. 

Friend.

Teacher. 

Learner.

Housekeeper. 

Hostess. 

Artist.

Writer.

Caretaker. 

Christian. 

Yes, I do wear all of these hats, but do you know what my number one job often is? 

If left to myself, my number one profession is making you, and (more importantly) myself, think that I can wear all of these hats well. 

After all, didn't God say, do all to the His glory? Doesn't he expect the best? Should I then, in turn expect any less of myself? He says that He's given me EVERYTHING pertaining to life and godliness. It shouldn't be that hard. 

And I can honestly say, no. This task of wearing all hats well isn't hard. It's impossible.  

First of all, walking a straight path with more than one item on your head is a balancing act. 

You're either going to drop one or fall over trying to keep it on its perch. 

Second of all, how many hats can you picture that look good together? Almost none! They are meant to be a stand alone accessory. Put them together and hats just clash. Drastically. 

The biggest problem with this many-hat philosophy is that I have to earn each hat. I have to play the part to win the title. And between my humanity, sinfulness, and the accusations of the enemy, I am am in a constant pattern of losing hats and gaining them back again. 

You may be thinking, isn't this process frustrating? Doesn't it feel futile? 

Do you ever want to give up? 

Here's my answer. Oh YES. It's frustrating, it futile, it's absolutely exhausting, but I. Can't. Stop. 

You know why? 

Because every time I hand over a hat, I am so covered in shame, and shaken in my understanding of WHO I AM. On days when I lose all my hats because I just can't "get it together," I feel utterly naked, utterly lost. 

You see, I was born knowing that my hats are my identity. They help me know who I am and where I belong. 

They help me feel secure. They help me feel important. They help me feel valued. 

In Matthew 4, the Holy Spirit takes Jesus by the hand, and leads Him into the wilderness to be tested. The devil meets Him there. 

Satan, sizes Jesus up, knowing His opponent is God. But, He that He is also God incarnate. Knowing human weakness like the back of his hand, the Devil used the best attack in his playbook.

“If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” 

“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.’” - Matthew 4:4-5

IF YOU ARE THE SON OF GOD. 

If Satan's best shot at Jesus Christ--Prince of Peace, Lord of Lords, Very God of Very God--is to make Him question His identity as the Son of God, why on earth do we think The Accuser will not use this tactic on us?

Those days in the wilderness are the worst for us, and the perfect hunting season for the Devil. In the dry season, I have to drop my hats because they make me hot, and sweaty and yet I long for their shade...the confusion begins. I begin to fret saying,

I'm too tired for intimacy, so I'm not a good wife. Maybe if I remembered to return her call, I'd be a good friend. My house is dirty; some no-good, lazy homemaker I am. I wasn't prepared for my lessons today, how can I expect the kids to learn from a teacher like me? 

Four hats gone. 

When was the last time, I had a date with God...if I was really a Christian I would want Him more.....

And that is when I am really shaken. Other titles can be wiped from my resume, I will be left scraped and bruised with wounded pride. The final blow is that horrible phrase, "If I was really a follower of Christ..." It's like I can see Satan, standing there holding out his hand accusingly, waiting for me to hand it over....my identity as a child of God. 

I have done it before. I have handed over that hat and I have never felt more purposeless and terrified in all my life. Despair plagued me every moment and doubt was my constant companion. 

But God. 

Thank goodness for God. 

See God is so much smarter than we think...He knew that the fight for identity would be man's greatest battle. He begins to help us protect it in the very beginning.

Why else would he proclaim, "You were created in my image, male and female."

"You are my people, and I am your God."

"I have called you by name. You are mine."

"I am the shepherd. You are my the sheep."

"You are my beloved children."

"You are chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, people who belong to God."

It is not a mistake that humans are so concerned with identity. We were made this way. Made to revel in being created in the image of an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-lovely God.  

But we were only given one head, on which to wear this one hat. 

God's ways are practical and simple. He is a single-minded God. 

It was only when sin entered the world that men began to make their own hats--hats of the world easily manipulated by the god of this world. Unfortunately, these hats can never be worn well enough, long enough, high enough, straight enough...they are never enough. 

But the Creator of human identity has made a way for us. He calls it the Helmet of Salvation. He specifically selected it to be worn by his children. 

You see a helmet is not about looking good on the surface, in fact it completely hides the wearer's face. This removes the pressure of keeping up appearances. It allows me to see look out at others without worrying about what others think of me. It's primary purpose is to protect what's inside and arm the wearer against outside forces. He created this hat that is easy to put on, difficult to remove, and always enough. 

The helmet tells me that I am a soldier in God's army, bought with a price. It tells me who's side I'm on and who will direct my fate. It tells me I have a purpose. It tells me where I belong even when I drop the ball on dinner, become frustrated with my sister, or over-sleep. 

When I wear the Helmet of Salvation, I am enough because I am loved and protected. My mind, surrounded by truth, understands that I don't need those other hats to live well or feel worthy. Christ was already enough for me and He will continue to be enough until I die, when I trade my helmet for a crown. 

A helmet looks confining, but it is so freeing. No longer do I have to live a balancing act or barter with the devil. He cannot take the Salvation God has given me. He cannot take my identity. He may shake it, rattle it, remove it for a moment, but He cannot keep it from me. 

Yes, we were made to be hat-wearers. Yes, we have to PUT ON the Helmet of Salvation EVERY DAY, until we don those crowns, but it is worth it. Do as Jesus did, and wear the truth around your head and you will find freedom. 

So let's try this again. 

Hi. I'm Anna Renfro. 

I am a chosen Daughter of the King. 

I am unconditionally loved. 

As a Daughter of the King my job is to share that love though serving, by His grace. 

If I fill this role, my roles on earth will be filled as well. 

I am also a human. 

As such I am tempted, and I fall. A lot.

But I am forgiven. 

I am strengthened. 

I am not who I once was. 

I am not perfect. 

But I am being perfected.

And I am permanently redeemed. 

My abilities are used in God's perfect plans. 

So are my failures. 

In Christ, I am enough. 

This one hat is enough for me. 

Handicapped Hearts

Sunday morning I got up. I got dressed. I groomed and cleaned up and "got my act together." It was Sunday after all. We were going to a new church. Since Josh and I just married and moved to Austin, Texas, we haven't found a church we could call home yet.

I had a lot on my mind…as usual. My thoughts went a little like this:

I wonder if I'm dressed appropriately...

I wonder if I look as heavy as I feel...

I wonder if the preaching at this church will be solid...

I wonder if I'll approve of the music...

I wonder if I’ll fit in with the people…

I wonder if I look as insecure as I feel...

I wonder if I have performed up to par this week...

I wonder if I even understand the gospel...

I wonder if God does actually accept me as I am...

I wonder...I wonder...I wonder....

I wondered myself all the way up the stairs and down the halls past several people at coffee stations and greeting posts, right past high schoolers and parents, scuffling kids, squealing girls, and flannel-wearing hipsters….

Thoughts (judgments) about these people and their lives piled themselves into the Wondermobile until my mind was full of a ruckus of thoughts. However, the breaks were momentarily applied when I walked up to see a man in a wheelchair welcoming us into the sanctuary. Whether his handicaps were given to him at birth or somewhere along the way to this moment in time, I may never know. I observed that he couldn't have been out of his thirties.

He said good morning in a strained, wavering voice. I looked at him and smiled.

I had felt that man tug the neatly tied bow of my heartstrings, but thoughts are so sneaky. Before I knew it, I was straightening the laces saying almost subconsciously, "You should feel good. I bet your earnest smile brightened his day." Just like that, I was back to wondering again.

An hour and a half later I walked out of church with tears running down my cheeks, no longer captivated by what people thought of me, though I'm sure people noticed.

"Maybe she experienced God's presence."

"Maybe the poor girl is overwhelmed with conviction."

"Maybe the music moved her to repentant worship."

Nobody would have guessed what put my heart on its knees.

Yes the music was well played. Yes. The sermon was powerful and convicting. Yes, I can say I experienced God. But I experienced God...through him.

As the first few songs played, I wrestled with my thoughts about the music, feeling a bit put out because it was "just so loud" or I didn't know the song...and that's when I saw him. The man in the wheelchair. I remember feeling glad that he was sitting just a few rows ahead of me.

After the preaching of the word, I could feel that the numbness of anxious business had begun to fade. I was still slightly distracted by my urge to get out of the huge room before the masses poured out, but I started to sing. I knew the song. I longed to really let everything go and worship. As my lips did what my heart could not, I heard someone over the crowd. My eyes fell on the man. The man in the wheelchair. 

I know God did that on purpose.

I know He foreordained that I’d have a front row seat to probably the most beautiful worship service I've ever seen. Crooked hands waved upwards in awkward motions and his head though hard to steady was thrown back and I could hear him singing, singing the power and love of Jesus. Singing in a tuneless, wailing voice the thanks for forgiveness to glory of God. Even now the memory of this moment makes me want to weep as I did watching him then. I realized that I was the one with the handicapped heart.

While my able-bodied soul sat weighed down and tied up by selfish anxieties and the fear of man’s disapproval, questioning if I could come to God as I am, this man who struggles everyday just to use the muscles in his fingers was offering up the fragrant aroma of a whole-hearted hallelujah. Hindered in body, but free in spirit. And suddenly I longed to be like him. 

What a reminder that Jesus came for the weak, the lame, the sick, the helpless. Everyone is a perfect candidate for Christ because we all have these prerequisites. The human heart is at best a handicapped heart. The hindrance is is that "man looks on the outward appearance, while God looks at the heart." We get so tangled up in the “affairs of everyday life” and how we are perceived that we miss the point (2 Tim. 2). That morning, God gave me an opportunity to see a visible picture of my heart. Struggling to move, struggling to reach out, struggling to even sing and call upon His name, and yet He loves my feeble attempts. My broken chorus is pleasing to Him. 

Remember, that your identity is not in your family, your upbringing, your friends, your church, your job, your abilities or even your weaknesses. You want to please God? Lift up your weak, empty hands and accept His compassion. He's not looking for the person who stands the straightest, whose reach is unwavering. No. Christ said, "Let the little children come unto Me. Let the defenseless, ignorant, stumbling, emotion wrought, frightened, needy little child come and cling to Me. That's why I was crying! When it came down too it, I had remembered who I was and felt ashamed of what I'd been pretending to be:

Miss Put Together. Miss Make the Right Choice. Miss Present Your Best. 

None of that mattered in the face of God. I was just me, and when I finally opened my heart and raised my hands to worship, that was enough. 

Thank goodness God doesn't give up on us. Had I been able to thank that man Sunday morning, I would have told him how he'd humbled me. How watching him, reminded me of what true worship is. How he'd helped to bring healing to my handicapped heart that day.  

Thinking Back

If we want to hold on to the truth that really does redeem, set free, wash, inspire, protect, and glorify then we have got to fight against all odds. Every moment threatens to rip my truthful identity out of my arms! It is hard to be vigilant though! Don't your hands get tired? Doesn't your mind faint? Isn't it just easier to...let go? Charles Spurgeon wrote that "A sense of blood-bought pardon and of undeserved mercy is the best means of dissolving a heart of stone." Cold, tired, lonely, apathetic, broken hearts like mine must remember who He is. His person should be bound to our hearts and minds or we will wander. For without the recollection of the sweetness of His taste, our appetite for world grows. Taste and see that the Lord is good! I hope the account below will help.

Clean

            The dawn had just broken. I lay in my bed dozing off and on, trying again to shake the gnawing guilt of a night in sin’s bed coverings. Who was the man breathing steadily beside me? I didn’t really know him. All I knew was that he was not my husband and he was a momentary relief from my aching emptiness. I was not like this as a child, but now I had fallen so far into the darkness I didn’t even know which direction to grope towards to escape it.

            I had just reentered a numb unconsciousness when I suddenly felt my coverings ripped from my bare figure. I was then frightfully aware of the glaring, fierce eyes of several men, bearing down on me as I tried to hide my naked frame in a bewildered state of shame. My companion had fled, leaving me helpless and obviously losing all the tender care he had professed in fleeting whispers.

            Staring at the hoarde, dressed in tasseled finery and angry countenances, I was struck with the realization that my pallid face looked blankly up at the most prominent religious leaders of my city. One of them ordered a man from the street to grab me and bring me to the temple. Despite my best efforts to scramble away, the man entered and thrust me from the bed to the floor in one swift movement. His rough hand clutched my arm and lifted me with great force. I felt a bruise forming under each finger.

            The men kept an impossible pace and I stumbled badly several times and was dragged until I rose again. Finally, we reached the temple where huge crowds had gathered to hear a man speak. By now, loud whispers rose among the people as a clearing formed in the center of the multitude. The men dropped me in the clearing. I was overcome by shame. No one had bothered to clothe me and I knelt naked, filthy, and bleeding before hundreds of eyes. I stared at the ground wildly, wondering if I would die of pain and desperation. I was condemned. I knew my crime and it had carried me straight to the pit of black humiliation to be damned.

            After a moment, I heard one of the leaders shout in hatred, “Adultery! Adultery! The law of Moses clearly condemns her, Teacher. Teacher! Do you hear? She has been caught in the very act. The law commands that we stone such a woman. What do you say we do?” Slowly, out of curiosity and sheer terror, I looked up to see the face of the man who stood in the center with me and was given the power to judge.

            His face—His face was not angry. It was peculiarly calm and he silently knelt down beside me, tranquil in a surrounding crowd of fists, grasping the stones which would end my existence. I no longer saw them nor did I hear their constant questioning or accusing. I was staring at this man, this Teacher, as they called Him. He was writing something in the dirt on which I crouched, motionless. Then He looked at me. His stare was not that of violent hatred or burning lust, both of which I knew too well. I did not first understand the look, but I was very aware of the black depravity of my soul. My nakedness revealed it and I knew my heart was laid bare before Him. For an instant, I longed to turn away from such pure justice and terrible knowledge, but it was the pain in His eyes that held my fixed gaze. Such hurt, such depth of compassion I had never seen, nor have I ever seen it since. How could this intense mercy be mingled with such omnipotence?

My thoughts were interrupted as the man began to speak. The crowd gradually hushed at his voice, and he stood again before them saying, “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” One simple statement; that was all He spoke. Again he knelt down a small distance from my frozen, pain-wracked figure.

I was waiting—bracing—to feel a thousand stones sting and pierce my bare flesh. Blackness consumed me for a moment, but it was shattered with a quiet sound. I opened my swollen eyes and glanced in its direction. Without lifting my head, I saw, at the feet of the oldest scribe, a small cloud of dust. When it cleared, there was a single stone on the ground dropped from the hand at his side. He looked at my confused, stained face with indignant resignation and turned to make his way out of the temple. I was captivated by this action when I began to hear stones fall from the hands of the other elderly men who were mimicked by the more zealous younger Pharisees.

            I could not believe it. Did I still sit here, alive and breathing when my guilt had justly wrapped its fingers around my soul? I looked over my shoulder to see the Teacher still kneeling and writing there in the dust. Straightening up again, he looked at me with those eyes of awful purity. This was no Teacher. He was like no man or rabbi I had ever known. His authority and His words were from the Most High. He said to me, “Woman, did no one condemn you?” In guilt and amazement, I lowered my eyes, looking into his face only to say, “No, my Lord.” I knew now this was the Messiah, the very Son of God, the Very God of Very Gods incarnate.

            With a look of swelling, determined love, He spoke once more the sweetest words I have heard: “I do not condemn you either. Go. From now on, sin no more.” Strangely, I rose and left Him. My heart nearly broke with thankfulness and love as I pondered such forgiveness. I had stared into the face of the living God and found mercy. No more condemnation. No more guilt. No more loneliness.  I was clean.

“. . . Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning he came again to the temple. All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst they said to him, ‘Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?’ This they said to test Him, that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with His finger on the ground. And as they continued to ask Him, He stood up and said to them, ‘Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.’ And once more He bent down and wrote on the ground. But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before Him. Jesus stood up and said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, Lord." And Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.’” John 8:1-11

Poetry for the Soul

I have always loved to write poetry, probably because I think it is the most beautiful way to say something. Here is a piece that I wrote when contemplating the struggles of last year.


Why could I never see Your love
As if blinded by a cloud of Law?
Your smile bent down with compassion from above,
But dirty hands were all I saw.

But brokenness and fallow ground though pain You gave,
My soul's ears hear a joyful sound,
I am no longer a slave.
The light dawned...I can see
You purchased my reconciliation and I am free.

Hunger Pains...?

This post is for all my single ladies out there. First of all, HANG IN THERE! I'm right there with you.


A friend of mine once told me, in response to my complaints and confessions about being hungry "all the time," that often times when our minds tell us that we want food, they are deceiving us. The mind often misinterprets the body when it cries in need of something. For example, the body says, "Ooo. Eat that orange. I am lacking in vitamin C and would feel so much better if that need was filled." Hearing this signal, the mind says, "Oh you want that triple-layer-German-chocolate-chip-chunk-frosted cake over there. Okay! Go ahead! Enjoy!"


My friend continued to say that often times we think we are having hunger pains when really the body is screaming for one vital thing...WATER! We can go for weeks without food, ladies, but we can only live three days without water. In fact, we practically are water. Seventy percent of the body is WATER.


All this is to say, my friends, that sometimes when our thoughts seem to be screaming for the affections and companionship of Mr. Right, our heart may really be craving something or SOMEONE else. While the desires for a husband are God-given and wonderful, our souls often become fat with them when we indulge them to unhealthy, ungodly levels! I believe that I am often greatly mistaken in understanding the cry of my heart. I think it is expressing my appetite for a man, when it is really crying for the Living Water. My heart was made for Jesus Christ. In fact, I was made in His image...and when I neglect drinking my fill of His presence, that image becomes weak, just as my body does when I'm dehydrated.


So girls, life without water is impossible. Life without the Living Water is impossible. Next time you think you want that tall, dark, and handsome piece of chocolate cake and you just can't stop thinking about it, ask yourself, "Have I drunk long from the stream of Living Water today or is my soul pleading because it is so dry? Am I only feeding the desires of the flesh when my spirit longs for refreshment?"


You are not alone and this is a battle. Chocolate cake is every woman's friend, but water is her life and savior.  There is a time and a place for cake, but water is always a necessity. As you walk along the path on this journey, don't forget to drink.


"For your husband is your Maker, Whose name is the LORD of hosts; And your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel, Who is called the God of all the earth." Isaiah 54:5


"The Samaritan woman said to him, "How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?" ( For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." John 4:9-10