A Deeper Look at 1 John 4: Love Perfected

Can we be honest? Sometimes when we read 1 John, it feels condemning. One example? “Anyone who does not love does not know God” (4:8).  

Yikes! We can read that and think, well, I’ve sure had plenty of ‘unloving’ moments, so I guess I don’t know God.  

Sigh. Grumble. Grumble. Cry.  

Right?  

But to read and study 1 John, we have to first understand John as a person. He considered himself Jesus’s favorite and repeatedly refers to himself in the book of John as ‘the one Jesus loved.’ Seems pretty bold, huh? 

Actually, John just had a deep, deep, DEEP understanding of who he is in Christ. He is, I think, one of the best pictures of a disciple walking in his identity in Christ. And so yeah, he comes across a little arrogant sometimes, a little over-confident, but if we read his words in the context of his full and complete confidence in who he is in Christ, then we can see why he makes the bold statements that he makes.  

And the more I study him, the more I can see his style of writing, where what feels like a super bold (and condemning) statement is usually explained in more context if we continue reading and also if we make connections from earlier statements to later statements. And always those statements are rooted in an understanding of either who God is or who we are in Christ, as believers with His spirit and new nature.  

I’ve been meditating on chapter 4, specifically verses 16 through 18 because I have been consumed with quite a bit of fear and anxiety lately. It started with verse 18—and again, we can read this and think, gosh, I’m fearful. I guess God’s love is not perfected in me. Sigh. Sigh. Grumble. Grumble. Cry.  

First, we need context. Let’s start in verse 12. It says, “No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us.”  

It feels like this means love is perfected in us, if/when we love one another.  

We love >> then God abides >> then love is perfected  

But keep reading... 

John explains how we know that we abide in Him and He in us: we have his Spirit (v. 13), we have the gospel testimony (v. 14), and we confess Jesus as the son of God (v. 15).  

Now we get to what I’ve been meditating on—verses 16 through 18: 

“So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love, abides in God, and God abides in him. By this, love is perfected with us so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment because as He is so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.”  

After we know that we abide in Him (i.e. we have his Spirit, we believe the gospel testimony, we confess Jesus as the son of God—in other words, we’re born-again believers), THEN we have come to know and to believe the love God has for us (v. 16).  

Now we see that God is love and to abide in love is to abide in God and to have God abide in us.  

THEN is love perfected—“by this...” (v. 17).  

So when John says (v. 18), whoever fears has not been perfected in love, it means he who is fearing/fearful is not abiding in God nor God in Him. There’s a disconnect.  

When we disconnect, we fear. When we fear, we expect punishment. When we expect punishment, we have forgotten the love of God—what we first came to know and believe.  

The more deeply we’re rooted in our identity in Christ, the more fully we accept His love for us, the less likely we will be to walk in fear.  

 

What's Your Knee-Jerk Reaction?

Our fun-loving almost 17-mo-old toddler has started a new thing. When she doesn’t get her way or has a different idea about something, she sits down or lays down and throws a bit of a fit. It is both cute (she’s got that pouty lip, tilted head, and fake tears)—and not, so we’ve recently begun trying to teach her “that’s not how Brandenburgs act.”

Her reaction is so innate, knee-jerk almost, and yet, I’m amazed at how quickly she can change her attitude with a little correction (or our ignoring the little fit). It’s like she jumps up, realizes this is not the way to be, and moves on, happy to play with another toy.

I’ve been thinking about my own knee-jerk reactions I pick up without thinking. I told you that my word this year is Freedom, and as I have sought the Lord to understand what areas in my life I’m experiencing bondage, he has been faithful to show me place after place in my heart that needs to be free.

When I am in bondage to fear, I am not free to live the full and rich life that Christ intended.

Sometimes fear can have other words to describe it like worry or anxiety, and I’m finding that these are my knee-jerk reactions. I pick up worry before I even know it, and I’m sitting in a fit of anxiety before I’ve thought through why I would be anxious when the King of heaven and earth fights for me, provides for me, loves me.

Through my little toddler, the Lord has been showing me, that’s not how the daughter of the King acts. Not when she knows who she is in Christ. Not when she knows who her Heavenly Father is.

I have been meditating on two verses lately: One is from Proverbs 31—and all of us know this woman as the epitome of women, right? It says in verse 25, “She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”

 
The other verse is Psalm 112:6-7: “For the righteous will never be moved; he will be remembered forever. He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.”

So I’ve been thinking about both of these—what would it look like to laugh without fear of the future? What does it mean to never be moved? To never be afraid of bad news? That’s a deep, deep level of trust, right?

What I was thinking about specifically for this post today is the fear of lack or insufficiency. This can be about financial provision, but I was thinking about it more practically for my everyday tasks.

I’m at the end of the semester, which means I’ve got final papers and projects and grades pouring in. And my stress level begins to rise higher and higher.

When I feel myself start to get overwhelmed with work, when I start giving in to that anxiety, I have noticed that really that overwhelmed feeling or stressed out feeling is just a fear of lack.

Lack of time. Lack of mental capacity. Lack of patience. Lack of motivation.

And anytime I’m operating out of a mentality of lack, I’m operating out of fear because I’m making an agreement in my mind that God is not sufficient. That he doesn’t own time. That he doesn’t give me grace and strength and mental capacity. That patience and self-control aren’t fruits of His spirit.

But He is sufficient. And He does own time. And He does give me grace and strength and His own mind, even. Through His Holy Spirit, He has given me love and peace and patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and yes, even self-control.

So as we enter the busy months of April and May, if you’re struggling with the overwhelm of it all, like me, I hope we can practice pausing for a second, recognizing fear for what it is, and choosing instead to walk freely in His truth and His power and His life.

A Year of Freedom

Since 2013, I have asked the Lord to give me a word for each year. This year, I compiled those words in one place—and then sat in awe as I reflected on all the ways the Lord had brought that word to pass, some of which I couldn’t have seen until now.

2013 – brave: The year we moved to Plainview, and I learned how to make new friends. Again.

2014 – grace: The year of multiple failed fertility treatments, including two failed IVF rounds.

2015 – hope: The year I lost all hope in God’s plans for our family.

2016 – redeem: The year He began to heal me and rebuild my faith.

2017 – peace: The year of chaos and changes.

2018 – anticipation: The year He told us a baby was coming in 2019.

2019 – promises fulfilled: The year He brought our precious miracle.

2020 – joy: The year in which I experienced great loss and pain, and yet so much joy.

My word for 2021 is freedom.

Free from fear. Free from offense. Free from other people’s opinions.

Freedom in Christ comes after the good and hard work of healing.

This week, the Lord brought me back to an old blog post I wrote to remind me that He’s healing those places in me that were sad and broken and wounded in 2020.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Ps. 147:3

Heals = râphâh – lit. to mend (by stitching); fig. to cure, heal, repair, make whole

Binds = châbash – to wrap firmly

I love the word pictures in this verse. The word for heal here literally means to stitch or to mend, so when it says God heals the brokenhearted, it means He takes our hearts, and He sews the pieces back together; He carefully, meticulously stitches the broken seams, the tattered and torn places of our hearts.

I don’t sew, but having watching my sister sew (she’s amazing at it!), I know it requires precision and accuracy—it cannot be rushed. And to stitch, to make repairs by hand, is an even slower process. So this work that God is doing when He is healing our broken hearts: it’s careful, it’s calculated—and it’s slow.

But the end result is beautiful because within this same word, râphâh, it means to make whole. So He doesn’t just start stitching and mending and then set us aside to work on someone else. No, He carefully holds our hearts in His hand, and with needle and thread, He sews, He stitches, He mends our brokenness—until we are whole, until we are healed.

The other verb here—to bind—is equally as tender. Literally, this means to wrap up, and the Lord gave me this beautiful picture of taping an ankle that’s been broken or sprained. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the chance to practice wrapping someone’s ankle (or even harder—your own!), such as for an athletic event, but let me tell you, it’s not easy! Those who are skilled in taping ankles will tell you it takes a lot of practice. And what I’ve learned is that there is a definite pattern and technique. You can’t just wrap the tape like so—you have to follow an order, a pattern so that the ankle is tight and secure. Wrapping of this kind is an art.

And in the same way, the Lord takes our wounds, and again, He skillfully and knowingly wraps them; He binds them up in the perfect way, to keep the wound covered, secure, and in place. His binding of our wounds is His protection. He doesn’t leave our wounds gaping open. No, He tenderly wraps them as He knows how and allows our wounds to heal under His protective covering. This, too, takes time.

The beauty of râphâh and châbash is that He holds my heart—and because He mends the brokenhearted, because He binds up the wounded, I am safe and free. This is why the psalmists declare over and over that He is our safe place, our hiding place, our shelter, our protection, our covering.

He holds me and secures me and covers me and protects me—so that I can be free to fully live. Free to fully give. Free to fully believe Him, unrestricted, uninhibited. Because to really believe Him for the desires of our heart—whatever that desire may be—is always a risk, and it’s costly. But, really, it’s a safe bet—even if it doesn’t feel like it:

Because He is for me.

Because He is with me.

Because in Him, I am safe and covered.

In Him, I am free.

Fear of Man: Part Two

“The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trust in the Lord is safe.” – Proverbs 29:25.

In the book Stop Calling Me Beautiful, Masonheimer reminds us that this verse doesn’t say the fear of man is a snare, but rather the fear of man lays a snare. She calls the fear of man the trapper, not the trap. I’m paraphrasing here, but she basically says the trapper deceives, hides the trap, makes it blend into the surroundings, feels normal so you’ll feel safe to walk in that direction.

Wow.

The fear of man is a burden I don’t want to carry anymore. It has weighed me down in some seasons more than others, but I want to be free. Don’t you?

What’s the opposite of being taken in by the trapper? Trusting the Lord. That’s how we stay safe.

As an example, I’m thinking about my writing, my platform, and the whole process of trying to gain the approval an editor.

I changed genres from what I first set out to write because someone in the industry suggested it—telling me my genre (women’s fiction / contemporary fiction) won’t sell and suggesting instead that the manuscript be something else. So I re-wrote that entire book to make it a romance because romance sells.

Fast forward seven years, and I just finished re-writing that book (again) back to women’s fiction because when I returned to God’s words to me, what He has spoken over me about my writing, I remember that He called my work to be real and relatable, to write about people, families, marriages that are authentic and flawed but so capable of being redeemed.

Of course, I love a good love story—and my work will probably always have some element of that because the gospel is the greatest love story ever written. But my heart has always been to write about women and overcoming their struggles within themselves and in all relationships—marriage, family, friendships.

I have also shied away from really writing some of the stories on my heart because I get so worried about other people’s opinion. I shared this with Howell for the first time last year when I told him, if I write about a failing marriage, will people assume it’s ours? If I write about sisters who hate each other, will people think I’m harboring some deep resentment toward my own sister? If I write about a mom/daughter or dad/daughter conflict, if I write about blending families or divorced parents, will people question my own family, my own relationships? Will people think I’m writing about them if their story is similar?

Maybe this is a normal concern for writers who are getting started, but I have felt so trapped by these fears for a while, and I think making the decision to re-write my manuscript last fall was my first step toward freedom.

But the fear of man is not just about my writing. I’ve entered a new season with a renewed desire to deepen the friendships I have—to invest in new ones and to return to being real and vulnerable with the old ones.

No area of people pleasing / people fearing affects me more than communities of women. Friendships.

This is not to say I can’t fall into the trap with my family or in my marriage, but there’s a certain level of security there, right? I have confidence in their love for me, no matter what I do or say.

The commitment to be friends—and stay friends—is not as certain.

And that uncertainty makes me feel insecure.

And insecurity makes me want to control.

And sometimes control looks like not engaging, because I’ll just get hurt.

Can you relate?

I like how it feels to be on the inside, but any reminder that I’m really just on the fringe makes me feel insecure. And the people I work the hardest to please and worry the most about disappointing are often not even really my friends. They’re acquaintances at best and strangers at worst.

I can sometimes get so caught up in wondering and trying to anticipate what other people want or think that I lose sight of what I even want or think.

And even more muddied from what I want or think becomes deciphering what God wants or thinks about me.

Isn’t that what happened with my writing and the back-and-forth genre struggle?

Isn’t that what happens when I shrink back from other women, when I choose not to engage, when I avoid getting hurt?

But if I listen to what God thinks about me, I would know He’s already pleased. I have his full approval. I’m accepted and loved. I have need of nothing else because nothing else can really top that.

The fear of man lays a snare, but I choose not to let the trapper trick me. Not this year.

I will trust the Lord. I will believe what He says about me. I will listen for his voice above the noise.

What about you, friends?

P.S. If you missed Part One, check it out here. 

Peace or Fear: Part One

“I don’t want to die.”

These are my forced, barely whispered words between gasps for air as Howell and I argued (again) about whether to call an ambulance and have (another) visit to the ER.

It sounds dramatic, but even now, weeks later I can still remember the fear that gripped me.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand, couldn’t think straight.

Because the only thoughts running through my brain were 1) our hospitals are over maxed capacity; 2) if I go to the hospital, they’ll put me on a ventilator; and 3) if I go in, I might not come out.

Fear. Fear. Fear.

I was truly terrified.

Obviously, I didn’t die, though I did feel like death for a while.

And while I did have COVID pneumonia, my symptoms weren’t actually related to the virus.

And while all of this did lead to another surgery this year (after the almost baseball-sized tumor on my thyroid this summer), I did not have to stay in the hospital this time.

But I keep coming back to that moment, to those words, to that level of gut-wrenching fear.

What if I don’t come home? What if I never see Howell’s face again? Never hold my girl?

I can think of at least two other life-threatening moments I have experienced (this was not), and the stark contrast between my fear here and the peace I felt in those moments is astounding.

Peace or fear. I get to choose, right?

I have experienced and witnessed a lot of fear lately.

Fear falls into two camps, one related to our (potential) circumstances and one related to people. I’m hoping to dive into this second one in a Part 2 post, but for now—and for this specific situation—my fear was definitely about a potential circumstance. What might happen.

Years ago, Jackie Mize called FEAR False Evidence Against Reality.

Isn’t that so true? What we fear almost never comes to reality.

Kris Vallotton says it like this: “Fear is imagining the future without God.”

Let’s look at Jesus’s words to us in John 14:27. He says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled; neither let them be afraid.”

How can He tell us not to have troubled hearts, not to be afraid?

Because He has given us his peace.

We have the peace of Jesus.

We have the gift of the Holy Spirit’s presence at all times.

We have the promise of God’s goodness and faithfulness always.

What better news could He give us? His Word tells us that no weapon formed against us shall prosper (IS. 54:17).

But here’s the question… Here’s where we have to get real: Do we really believe His word? Do we believe what He says is true?

I have struggled with this question more in the last year than most recent years, specifically in the area of healing.

Because sometimes God doesn’t heal in the way we want or ask, no matter how firmly we believed or how repeatedly we prayed.

And because sometimes hard stuff still happens to us, even when we prayed it wouldn’t.

In these moments, it feels like God’s word isn’t true.

But we have to choose. We choose to say yes to His word, yes to His nature, yes to His character. We stand on His faithfulness in the past. We stand on His sovereignty and the good plans He has for us.

It’s okay to ask the hard questions. How are you being real with Him if you don’t?

Ask and listen—and then trust and believe.

And if you find your heart troubled by present or potential circumstances, don’t give in to the fear. Embrace the peace that is available.

 

p.s. If you need a pep talk for overcoming fear and embracing what God says about you, read Romans 8 every day this week. I promise you’ll be encouraged.

When I can't let go of that empty tube of toothpaste

This post is an oldie but a goodie--especially with Psalm 23 still on my heart:

Sometimes I think I’m a product of the 1930s, as if I lived through the wrong generation and instead I'm more like my grandparents, who survived the Great Depression. 

Either that or I’m cheap—and I prefer to think it’s the former and not the latter. 

Right now I have two un-opened packages of mascara in my cabinet, and my current tube is seriously empty, but I am still—and have been for weeks—scraping the edges for some black goodness that makes my eyelashes look longer and thicker than they really are. 

And it’s not just makeup. I refuse to depart with a near-empty tube of toothpaste. Even though I have a new one under the sink, I will squeeze that tube for days, even weeks, putting teeny-tiny dollops on my tongue (yes, that’s where I put it, and that’s why Howell refuses to share a toothpaste tube with me). 

In the shower, I’ll fill my conditioner with water when it gets to the very end and shake it for the stuck sides of conditioner to “rain out” on my head. I’ll do this for at least two or three showers—until it’s really just water I’m pouring on my head—before I finally give in, throw it away, and grab the new bottle under the sink, the one I bought months ago in preparation for this day. 

Why do I do this? I have no idea… Howell just laughs at me and says, “Babe, just get a new one.” 

I mean, I have a black dress from 8^th grade in my closet. I wore it faithfully through my senior year of college when I was consistently half my current size. Today, it does. not. fit. It never will fit. 

Why do I still have it? 

Obviously, I have a very hard time throwing things away, and I’m not only talking about cute sentimental things like cards (although, yes, I also keep every stinking card because I am crazy, and I guess I believe I will someday read through those boxes and boxes of paper). 

But seriously, y’all, I can’t even depart with a tube of toothpaste. 

With Howell and others who know me well, we joke about this, but I’ve been seriously thinking about it this week, especially as I (for real) am scraping my mascara bottle’s edges each morning. 

I believe the root of my sometimes comical behavior is fear of lack. 

I don’t think I consciously feel that way—and it’s not like we can’t afford an $8 tube of mascara. (I mean, I have two new ones in the cabinet!)

But somewhere in my heart is the root—

I must hold on or else…

I can’t let go or there won’t be enough….

I’ve blogged about fear of lack before—mostly related to seeing myself as if I'm not enough, as if I can’t contribute, as if I have nothing to offer.

For months, we had this thing on our kitchen counter: “Through Jesus, I am whole, complete, lacking nothing.” 

This is not only true for me as a person, but it’s also true for the Lord’s provision. He is enough, and He will always provide enough. 

I have never not been taken care of. (How’s that for a double negative and passive voice?!) Honestly, though, I cannot recall a time where the Lord hasn’t provided, and there were plenty of dire months where we needed it. 

But even in those paycheck-to-paycheck days, He provided. And He provides now. 

Yes, it’s funny, and we can laugh when I’m still holding on to that tube of toothpaste, but in all sincerity, it’s about my heart. 

And in my heart, I need to believe that I do not lack. 

He provides not only my vanity products like mascara—but my everything: physically, emotionally, spiritually, and financially. 

“The Lord is my Shepard; I shall not lack.”

What are you holding onto today that might be connected to a fear of lack? Dear friends, I encourage you to remind yourself--as I need to often!--that He is our source and provider.

Click to Tweet: When we're holding on too tight, when we can't throw anything away, do we have a fear of lack?

                                                                                                                                     

The Freedom Paradox

Have y’all heard the new Meredith Andrews’ song, Spirit of the Living God? It’s my new jam right now. I recently heard a little interview blurb on K-LOVE where she talks about the verse that inspired the song: “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

She said that the meaning of the expression is actually “Where the Spirit of the Lord is Lord, there is freedom.”

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.  

                    

The word for Lord there is kúrios, which means master. Think of this in contrast to the word doúlos, which is the word Paul uses at the beginning of so many of his letters. It’s usually translated as Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ (see, e.g., Philippians 1:1), but the more literal translation is like a slave or bondservant.

Consider James 1:1: James calls himself a doúlos of kúrios—a slave of his master.

Freedom comes when we submit to the Lord as Master. At first, that seems contradictory, paradoxical even. 

And to consider ourselves as slaves feels very un-American, right? And yet, what 2 Corinthians 3:17 suggests is that if the Spirit of the Lord is Lord, there is freedom.

I know in my life, when I try to do something on my own or out of my own strength, not only am I miserable (and usually unsuccessful) but also I become entangled in bondage. Fear or pride takes over, and I begin working from a position for acceptance rather than from a position of acceptance.

It never goes well.

Submitting my heart to my Master does not come naturally. I must be intentional.

But when I submit my heart to the Lord, when I place my plans, my vision, my opinions at His feet, I’m actually released in a supernatural way to walk in the fullness of Christ, filled with grace and power.

I’m a little slow sometimes, so I’m still learning what this means, but I know I want to walk in freedom, and therefore, I must let the Lord be Lord at all times.

How about you, friends? Let’s walk in freedom by submitting ourselves to the Lord as Master!

When You Need to Be Reminded: Our God is BIG!

First of all, I’d like to give a shout out to my hubs. Today is his birthday. Woot Woot! J (Last year, I wrote a post with my 30 favorite things about him.)

I’d add to that list how grateful I am that he’s always willing to go with me to my conferences. I’ve presented at a few academic conferences over the years, and he hasn’t missed a single one. St. Louis. Pittsburgh. San Antonio. Santa Fe. We’ve been to some fun places.

This last week, he went with me to Portland, where I presented at the ATTW conference.

We made a trip of it (more on that Monday—so stay tuned) and took a few vacation days before the conference to enjoy ourselves on the West Coast.

As the day of my conference approached, I started feeling very anxious. Actually, I’d felt pretty anxious for the weeks leading up to it, but by the time the actual week arrived, I felt like throwing up just thinking about it.

I was uncharacteristically nervous.

I don’t know if it was the enemy or my flesh—maybe both, but my head was full of lies. This conference is small and an elite group of presenters. They only accepted 26% of the proposals this year (and I’ve been on the 74% side three times).

I don’t say that to toot my own horn; I say that because the days leading up the conference I started thinking, “Man, I’m a fraud. I don’t belong on that panel. My research isn’t good enough, isn’t serious enough. I’m not prepared. I’m not enough.”

And on and on and on, to the point where I was physically sick the day before the conference.

That night I finally told Howell all the lies I felt inside. Do you know how much power comes from speaking your fears out loud?

He encouraged me and prayed for me that night, and immediately, the Lord showed me something really cool.

We’d been on our trip for four days at that point, and God started showing me how He’d taken care of us at every little moment along the way.

Our flights were on time.

Our rental car was perfect, which was essential for the 1500 miles we were going to put on it.

He’d kept our car safe and secure while we’d been out the first day (before we checked into the hotel). For some reason, I kept imagining that someone was going to break into our car and steal my laptop and notes while we sat at a restaurant, and I’d have nothing for the conference.

He’d led us to stay in Brookings, Oregon, instead of Crescent City. Brookings turned out to be MUCH nicer, but we didn’t know that til we were driving through Crescent City.

He’d led us to choose the perfect road to Crater Lake, and He’d led us on the perfect week. We later learned that two other roads into the park were closed because of snow, and if we’d have come the week before, we probably wouldn’t have made it because of all the snow they had. But they’d cleared our road, and although we considered taking the other route, we chose the road, by God’s grace, that was open.

He just kept giving me example after example—really recent examples—of how big and how powerful He is.

My conference presentation turned out to be just fine—and when I stopped stressing, I was able to enjoy the experience. By the end of the trip, we had even more cool stories like that!

But I loved that He reminded me, just when I need it:

He takes care of us.

He goes before us.

He’s always with us.

If you feel afraid, if you feel like you’re not enough, if you feel like you’re lacking, I pray that today you’ll be encouraged to see how big your God is.

He fights for you.

He stands with you.

He fills you with all the grace and power and confidence you need.

Planting Seeds of Faith: Reminders This Harvest Season

It’s harvest season around here—a time of year when our farmers work long hours.

At 10:30, in full darkness, after the kids are all asleep, and you’re in your PJs, many of our farmers are still on the combine, their headlights like bright stars in an expansive darkness.

We don’t farm, but we live next to a field, and this year they planted cotton.

For weeks, I’ve been driving by and thinking, I’ve got to capture that field—a blanket across the land with bolls like big, fluffy snowflakes.

I’ve always admired fields of white cotton. I remember as a kid, after the farmers had harvested and taken their modules to the gin, their trucks left behind white sheets along the side of the highway.

As a five- or six-year-old kid, I remember thinking it had snowed.

Only it wasn’t flakes of frozen moisture.

For the last several weeks, I keep looking at white fields.

Every day passing them on my way to and from work.

And thinking of the fruit of one’s labor—the present reality of a promise delivered.

What was once only seed and hope is now birthed and fully grown, ready to be received.

When they planted and watered and waited, they were believing for, hoping for the evidence of things unseen.

Isn’t that what faith is?

Pastor Paul said last week that we exercise our faith by standing in the presence of the future.

A leap of faith is a leap only because one’s feet must leave what is present reality for what is unknown, uncertain, unseen—and one must stand, placing her foot on the other end of the gap, to say, “This is what I believe for my future.”

I shy away from that sometimes, from making bold declarations of faith because aren’t I then held to that expectation? Won’t I be judged for whether it comes to pass?

But to remain so means my feet are stuck, are glued only in reality.

No leaping. No daring. No believing. No planting.

That’s the picture I’ve had lately as I pass these fields.

I’d be like a farmer who didn’t put seed in the ground for fear that nothing would produce.

Yet our farmers live by faith ever year, season to season.

And now, it’s harvest time—the blessing of yesterday’s unknown becomes the present of what was once future.

So, I’m daring today, to plant a seed of faith—a word that’s out there that I’ve been too scared to say in this space.

I am healed.

Despite former diagnoses related to infertility, I believe God has fully healed my body, that my reproductive system is whole and restored.

He doesn’t call me Barren One.

He has opened my womb, and He’ll make me to be the joyful mother of children.

So why would I be scared to say so?

Well…this didn’t just happen. God has healed my body every month for about 18 months, and every month, I witness the evidence of my healing.

If I’m taking this leap of faith only to silence the doubt, then so be it.

Doubt says, why have we not conceived if I’m healed? After 18 months, why is my status unchanged?

I don’t have an answer for that.

But I submit my heart to His Lordship.

I submit my heart to the King.

He knows all things.

He knows what I need and when I need it.

He holds time in His hands.

But for a year and a half, Howell and I have been timidly holding this little seed of faith.

In secret, we water it; we shower it with prayer.

We expose it to the sunlight and comfort of only those closest to us.

But on the whole, it’s been hidden.

And now, I feel like the Lord keeps telling me, it’s harvest season!

It’s time.

I’m planting my stake, the word of my mouth and all that’s in my heart, in the Promised Land.

I’m standing today for my future reality.

I used to read Joseph’s story and think he was crazy for telling his brothers about his dream. Why didn't he just keep his mouth shut?

But I now know it took courage and boldness to share what he did. And to continue to believe.

It says in Psalm 105:19, “Until what He said came to pass, the Word of the Lord tested him [Joseph].”

God’s word over us—that He’ll make me to be a joyful mother of children—continues to test us, month after month when we see no result.

But we believe the words we’ve heard, and the dozens and dozens of prophetic words spoken over us, we receive them.

I pass fields of white cotton.

Promise upon promise of yields planted in faith.

And I declare, our harvest will come.