It’s not that I’ve been invited to the hole I’m standing in. It’s that I accepted the invitation.

The landscape of the world is littered with holes dug by men in search of water for their souls. But it is the hole where the shovels were surrendered to God that mark the end of holes and the beginning of water.

There is no depth that exceeds the reach of the God who is, at this very moment, seeking you out in the holes that you have dug for yourself.

You can’t draw water from an empty well. And the oddity of it all is that if I dug it, it’s going to be empty. Maybe that explains why I’m thirsty and why I can’t take a step without falling into some hole.

Although it pains me to admit it, I am quite familiar with the holes in life. And this familiarity is due to the fact that I spend far more time in these holes than I spend on the paths that brought me to them.

Nearly everyday life leans over and says, ‘Come on down!’ But standing at the bottom looking up, it’s finally dawned on me that it’s not these invitations that have dug this hole. Rather, it’s the fact that I accepted them.

More times than I can remember I look around and I ask why the hole I’m in looks so strangely familiar. Probably because it looks a whole lot like all the other ones I dug before I got around to digging this one.

The oddity of our existence is that we are capable of digging holes deeper than we are capable of getting ourselves out of. The greatness of God is that He has a shovel long enough for every hole ever dug.

If you have a hole within you, trying filling the hole in someone else. If you do, in the end there will be two less holes.