If you would have asked me on the morning of my confirmation what the chances were of the Holy Spirit getting into my heart, I would have told you they were about the same as getting water from a stone.
 
My faith was fragile at this time in my life, primarily because I viewed it as exactly that — my faith. Something within my possession and subject to my own power. And I hadn’t done the things I thought I needed to do in order to be the kind of Christian who knows the truth and lives it. I was waiting to be made stronger. I was waiting to be made more faithful. I was waiting for a transformation.
 
Little did I know, I was like the woman at the well, standing around talking about the coming of the Messiah, unaware that he was standing right in front of me. She wasn’t ready; she was still living in her sin. She was caught so unawares that she left her water jar at the well, rushing out to tell what she had seen.
 
When I was anointed with the oil it no longer mattered that I wasn’t strong enough to break open the stone that I was convinced encased my heart — God’s grace gushed forth through the cracks. While I certainly didn’t become a perfect Christian — and never will, in this life — I did learn that when God tells you to strike, it’s probably best not to second-guess Him.
 
“We boast in the glory of God… and hope does not disappoint.” Romans 5:2-5