It all started about a little over a year ago. No, not the drought, but the very dry conversation between Brad and me. You see, we’d been searching for months for a piece of property out in the country. We spent hours and hours driving around looking. I can’t even tell you how many miles we drove. Brad would say, “Let me go show you this one. I think it’s the one,” and we’d load up in his truck and go. But, each time I’d say, “That’s just not it. I want big oak trees (and a paved road and a grocery store within 30 minutes – but that’s another story!)

My vote was holding out for big oak trees, and I wasn’t budging. Then, we found it! A neat little rock house completely hidden by huge, gorgeous oak trees. Nothing captured and held my heart like this one place. I fell madly in love with it, and I was through looking. Not so with Brad. He liked the house, the trees, the location, the fencing, the barns, even the five chickens that would come with the place, but . . . he still wasn’t sold on it because of one reason. It had a well rather than community water. We cussed and discussed the pros and cons, and at one point I thought I might wring Brad’s neck instead of some chicken’s if I heard him say “money pit” one more time. “Trae, that well’s gonna end up of costin’ us a ton of money. Something will always be broken.” But, despite his dire predictions, the trees won out over the well, and we’ve lived there a year this month.

Fast forward to about 5pm on Saturday. I went outside to water my caladiums because they were looking a bit droopy. Most of my plants have managed pretty well considering the endless heat and lack of rain, because unlike everyone else, we’ve been able to water. You set your own restrictions when you have your own well, and we hadn’t set any. But, when I turned the knob on the faucet and not one drop of water came out, I could only think of one thing. Money pit!

Since it would be Monday morning before the well guys come see what the problem is, we did the smart thing and headed to Target and bought every gallon of bottled water they had – a whooping eight gallons! We contemplated stopping at HEB and buying more, but we decided we could manage. Luckily we’d both already had a shower, so we were thinking we could survive with a good ol’ fashioned spit bath later that night, and we’d get more water on Sunday. As we unloaded the car, I reminded Brad I would have to wash my hair before church in the morning, and he said, “Not a problem. You get one gallon.” One gallon! ONE GALLON! I told him there was no way I could wash AND condition my long hair with just one gallon of water. My emphatic statement was completely lost on him. He just looked at me and said, “Take your pick. You can have water to wash your hair or water to flush the toilet.”

Well, just goes to show what men know. Of course, I’m washing my hair. I reminded him he could use the restroom outside, and we still had two potties in the house that hadn’t been flushed since the water went out. I thought I was in pretty good shape as far as toilet water goes. And, let’s face it. Hair is a priority!

It’s a silly story (and currently one without a happy ending – LOL!), but it got me to thinking. I don’t like it when I run out . . . of anything! Whether it’s enough sugar for a recipe, a roll of paper towels, or water to wash my hair . . . I want to always have plenty. In fact, I really don’t just want to have enough . . . I want to have extra!

I’ve learned that when I seek first and only God for everything there is no limit to His abundance. He fills my cup so that it overflows! Rather than close with a verse, I’ll leave you with this poem by John Paul Moore.

But I don’t worry much about that; I’m happy anyhow.

And as I go along life’s way, I’m reaping better than I sow,

I’m drinking from my saucer, ’cause my cup has overflowed.