The water pump

When you first start pumping that rusty old handle, nothing comes out but a few squeaks and groans. But with a little faith and some hard work, perhaps even some sweat mixed with tears, eventually a small stream of cool water comes forth out of the steel lips of that pump. And if you keep pumping, even after you think that you should give up, that small stream turns into a gushing river of water, flowing out of the mouth of that rusty old pump with reckless abandon. Flowing with such force that even if you were to stop pumping it, it would still keep flowing. And when it starts to dwindle back down to a small trickle, all it would take is one or two forceful pumps to get that river back again.

I feel like that water pump today.