By Jim Nichols

My elementary school did not have air conditioning. I knew of no schools that did. We did not have it at home either. In the 1950s, air conditioning was an aspiration rather than a reality. When our family took a summer vacation in our (un-air conditioned) car, we would look for a lunch cafe that had a large sign in the window. It showed a penguin and read “COME ON IN—IT’S KOOL INSIDE!” It was encouraging you to damage your health with Kool cigarettes while you enjoyed the cool air in the restaurant.

A noteworthy day at school one year featured the installation of a gray metal water fountain that included a water-cooling motor underneath the spigot itself. When recess ended each hot day, we all sprinted to the cafeteria and stood in line for a drink of chilly water; it was a treat. Even during the day, some of the teachers would organize class ventures from their classrooms to the single water cooler where we impatiently stood in line again. The other fountains in the building yielded room temperature water at best.

A summer option was attending YMCA day camp. We were too young to go to overnight camps that required much more adult presence and supervision. For the day camp, however, a group of us gathered in front of our elementary school and boarded a school bus taking us to the country on the outskirts of town. Along the way, we would stop at other schools and children from that area would join us. In the late afternoon, the bus would make the return route. We took sack lunches and spent the day with crafts, races, silly songs, and generally organized play. Each set of ten of us had a different college student “guide” assigned to it. 

One summer our group of ten boys included four who all had the same name or some derivative. At that time, I was known as “Jimmy” to my family and friends. However, there was already another “Jimmy” in my group. There was also a “James” and a “Jim.” This was funny to us, but also confusing. Our college student leader assigned names to us and “Jim,” “Jimmy,” and “James” all went to other boys. He assigned the name of “Nick” to me because of my last name. I had never been “Nick” before, but thought it was acceptable at least for the week. After all, one time I found two letters in a drawer in our house. I recognized my mother’s handwriting and, upon reading what were in fact love letters written to her new husband (Dad) in Italy during World War II, I noted that she called him “Nick.” That was the only time I had heard my father referred to as “Nick.”

On the campground there was something I had never seen before. On the side of one of the large hills a metal pipe protruded sideways from the ground. It opened to the outside and from it flowed a steady stream of water. The water was cold, clear, and delicious. Clearly, buried deeply in that hill was an underground natural spring and this was the outlet. All the water I had ever seen before came from the faucets at home. Was this water coming from the ground safe to drink? What was its origin? We quickly and consistently convinced ourselves this water was as good as water could be.

As the water flowed 24 hours a day, it splashed onto the rocks below and headed by gravity to a small puddle that emptied gradually to become a small stream running through the center of the camp. It gave life to the vegetation lining it.

One does not have to be a biologist to understand the importance of a steady supply of water. Scripture picks up that theme and builds important teachings. Isaiah 58 speaks of God caring for his people “. . .  like a spring of water that never fails.” 

In John 4 Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well. He notes for her that she, in speaking with him, is not partaking of “regular” water, but “living water.” That conversation opens her eyes to the Messiah. Springs of water can be life-giving.

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain