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.

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.

"Go Hug Your Wife": Words of Wisdom From My Dad

I told you on Thursday I'm feeling sentimental with these Olympic games as I consider what our family was facing in 2012.

For Marriage Monday, I thought I'd share a great post my dad wrote when we were in the midst of that c-word journey, and even now, almost four years later, it still brings me to tears.

Married folks: I hope you'll listen to his wisdom and be grateful for your spouse!

___________________________________________

by Mike Calmes

So I figured it was time for me to put my thoughts to paper partly to share where I’ve been in all this, but also I knew it would be therapeutic for me. As most of you are aware, I’m not known as the communicator in our family. I am the quiet one. And as I like to joke: I’m not really that quiet; just in our family, for me, it’s an issue with opportunity….to speak that is. And you all know what I’m saying there!! So I say bear with me as I attempt in my own feeble way to communicate my experience and my heart since July 17th. (And I’m confident my “editorial staff” will dress up this weak attempt as well).

Let me start by saying I have an incredible wife. Not only is she the love of my life for 25 years of marriage this past week, but she is my best friend. She is my biggest encourager. She epitomizes the cliché “behind every good man is a strong woman” because she is just that for me. All of you know what a friend, an investor, an encourager, a teacher, and an example of gratitude and joy she is. Just imagine…Most get that part of her occasionally, but I get to be with her daily. I can only say I love my life with my wife. I did not need a crisis or adversity to confirm that; I’ve known it for a long time.

July 17, 2012 our life changed as you know. Tomi came home from her screening mammogram and said she knew it was abnormal, and they’d call her for repeat views. I, being the eternal optimist, said that they do that all the time, probably nothing, but we’ll get the extra views….nine days later we had a biopsy positive for breast cancer followed by surgery with the removal of the tumor. Now she’s undergoing chemotherapy to be followed by radiation therapy. You know the rest of the details from previous posts, and I’m here to tell you that her prognosis is very, very good….with treatment. But I also will tell you as a physician and husband, I still felt fear through this process. Not fear that her end result would be bad, fear that the process of treatment was not without risk of complications.

So now I come to tell you that my wife is strong, and I’m not. She even said during this process under the influence of pharmaceuticals, “I’m a tough cookie.” And repeated it over and over and over. But she’s right; she is a strong woman. And I’m here to tell you that I’m not a “tough cookie.” As a husband, I have seen myself as a protector of my family and especially my wife. But when this enemy, this battle came upon us, I was so disheartened and sad because I could not protect Tomi from this foe. Oh I have knives and guns and testosterone, but I feel helpless in this setting. Michalea said in her first post that I was hurting from a place they had not seen before, and she is so right. I have been hurting in a place even I didn’t recognize. I have been distressed because I couldn’t protect her from this, and I have been saddened because of her journey she must endure physically.

I find I cry frequently. I’m not gonna lie sometimes I think I cry like a “girl.” During those first days after diagnosis, in my morning quiet time, I’d cry to God to take this away from Tomi. Now I cry when I’m alone and not distracted by enough. The other day I was leaving church alone and cried on the way home….I don’t know why; I just did. Another day I was in a store, and they were having a bake sale for breast cancer awareness, and I bought some cookies wrapped in a pink ribbon and went to my truck and wept.

Brennan Manning in Ruthless Trust  says, “When the shadow of Jesus’ cross darkens our space, when pain and suffering intrude and our secure, well-regulated lives are blown apart, when tragedy makes its unwelcome appearance, and we are deaf to everything but the shriek of our own heartache, when courage flies out the window, and the world around us suddenly seems dark and menacing, self-pity is the first, normal unavoidable, and probably right reaction, and we only exhaust ourselves further if we attempt to suppress it. Human experience has taught me that there is no effective way to fight self-pity. Sure, we can spiritualize heartbreak, camouflage our emotions, and tap dance into religiosity. But such bravado is a denial of our humanity, and furthermore it does not work. We are not spiritual robots but sensitive persons.”

But he goes on to say not to stay in that place. It is a normal emotion, but there is a time it becomes pathologic. Ruthless means without pity. We need to have ruthless trust in a sovereign God and a compassionate Savior.

In Tuesdays with Morrie, the dying professor Morrie says regarding his terminal plight, “I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on all the good things still in my life.”

And that’s what I do. And I can’t begin to list all the good things that Tomi and I have in our lives. Let me start with three great adult kids. You’ve heard from Michalea and Laura and have heard their hearts, and they both have been tireless servants throughout this time. Clinton is also a fine young man with many talents and a giant-sized heart. Imagine, him holding me in his arms as I cried when they took Tomi into surgery. Our daughters have incredible husbands, and we are getting the best and sweetest daughter-in-law we could hope for in February.

We all knew Tomi was a huge investor in relationships with people, and we knew she had lots of friends…..but I don’t think any of us realized how many people and how far reaching her love, her ministry, her encouragement had reached until now.  The outpouring of the love of Jesus through the love and service of people, His hands and feet, to our family and Tomi has been overwhelming to say the least. People have been so kind and generous and considerate as well. With the upcoming race, Team Tomi continues to grow in numbers, reflecting the care and support for Tomi. I can’t say thanks enough but stand in awe of a loving God that wants to show us in real tangible ways that He loves us through others. Thanks to you ALL!!

To our young married couples…..and since I don’t have a Facebook page, I’ll say it here…..in your relationships with your spouse, don’t sweat the small stuff; keep your priorities right. Love your spouse with encouragement and serve one another always. Remember how special they are in your life.

We had a dear friend lose his wife to cancer recently. He was not aware yet of Tomi’s diagnosis. As I attended the visitation time at the funeral home (Tomi wasn’t able to attend), he hugged me, and he said, “go home and hug your wife and tell her you love her…and do it often.” Let me reaffirm that Tomi’s prognosis is very, very good, but when you hear the “Big C” word, it gives me pause and time to reflect on the importance of my awesome wife in my life.

So to you all…. Go hug someone dear to you and tell them you love them often because you never know when you may find yourself on…..

An unlikely journey.

2 Cor 12: 9-10

That Moment of Choice

Last Sunday, our church began a series on Ruth, so this week, I’ve been reading through Ruth 1 and 2 closely. 

I’ve never noticed how broken and bitter Naomi is until today. As a high schooler, I read Ruth as a beautiful love story, but in my naiveté and innocence, I didn’t comprehend or identify with the grief these women had faced. 

To lose their husbands, and for Naomi, to lose her sons too.

To have no means for income

To travel alone as women

For Ruth, to work in dangerous fields where young, beautiful women were often assaulted.

They had a right to feel bitter, to feel scared, to feel, especially, that the Lord had not dealt kindly with them. 

But what contrast between the two women. 

Ruth, as a Moabite, converts to Judaism—taking on the covenant of Naomi’s God. And in doing so, she believes for a better future. 

She is willing to work hard—not with bitterness or self-pity.

She is joyful and humble—not entitled.

She doesn’t demand; she doesn’t expect. 

And the Lord moves on her behalf to provide: His great providence. 

It’s sadly our culture and our generation to demand, expect, and feel entitled.

But God is moved by hearts that are willing to trust, to risk, to do the hard work, not knowing whether it will pay off. 

Ruth could have adopted Naomi’s attitude about God—that He didn’t care, that He wasn’t doing anything on their behalf, that His hand was against them. 

And given the grief she walked through and the uncertainty she faced, no one would blame her. 

It’s in our uncertainty that we sometimes feel most forgotten. 

In the midst of grief, providence seems the least likely—God’s goodness seems the furthest away.

Last Saturday, our three-year-old Wiemaraner discovered some poison in the shed. Once we realized what had happened, we immediately jumped into action. The emergency vet hospital is one hour away, so they told us how to induce vomiting immediately. 

 

Rizzoli threw up twice in the yard—bright chunks of green poison—and three more times in the back seat of Howell’s truck as we rushed to the vet hospital. We were laying hands on her, absolutely believing and praying that God would heal her.

Unless you’re a dog person, you may not fully understand how we felt, especially since our dogs are like children to us. 

So we get to the vet hospital, and we bring the box of what she got into, and the vet—who must have left his compassion hat at home—plainly tells us there’s not much they can do for that type of poison; there’s no real antidote. He said they would monitor her and give her fluids, but basically, either she’ll live, or she’ll die. 

I was choking on my tears. 

Talk about uncertainty. 

I felt like my legs weighed a thousand pounds as I walked to the truck—without our dog-baby.

Once I was in the cab, I started to weep. The Lord let me cry, let me feel, let me walk down all the worse-case scenarios and juggle my hope with the bad news. 

But when we pulled into the garage, I heard Him whisper so gently, Trust me. I’ve got you; I’ve got this—just trust me.

It’s always a choice, isn’t it? 

We picked up Rizzoli the next day, and although it took another day before her system was fully normal, she most certainly lived. 

But it’s in that moment—where the uncertainty lives, where the doc says she’ll live or she’ll die—that’s the moment of choice. 

And to choose faith is to be brave, to dare greatly, as Brene Brown would say. 

Ruth was a courageous woman. She dared to believe contrary to her circumstances and feelings, and in that moment: 

She dares to hope.

She dares to be brave.

She dares to be seen. 

What about you, dear friend? Do you feel like Naomi—hurt and bitter, as if the Lord has turned His hand against you? 

Can you trust Him with your heart today—to believe that He has a good purpose for you, and by His providence, He will make a way? 

Click to Share This Post: "Ruth made the hard choices IN THE MOMENT. Let's dare to be courageous, too, my friends."

From Ordinary to Extraordinary

Howell and I have been married for a little over seven years. I don’t want to gush, but in all sincerity, he is my greatest gift from God. We understand each other, even though our personalities are very different. I can’t remember the last time we had a fight, but it’s been weeks, maybe even months. I believe we have an extraordinary marriage, and when I really do think about it, I feel lucky.

But the Lord reminded me recently that our journey to get here was paved with grace and forgiveness and hard work—not luck. During our two years of dating, we probably fought every day if not every other day—about something. Anything. And our first two or three years of marriage seemed only slightly better.

I was constantly offended; my feelings were always hurt. Generally, our arguments were based on this: I hoped/thought/expected that he would do/be/say X. And when he wasn’t doing/saying/being X, my feelings were deeply hurt. Clearly he didn’t love me because he if loved me, he would say/do/be X. And since he didn’t say/do/be X, I shouldn’t trust him, respect him, or love him either.
It was exhausting—for the both of us.

But today, our marriage is a source of joy and a safe place because we have chosen to persist in two major areas: expectations and forgiveness.

One of my issues—the creation of false expectations—was closely related to our culture’s view of love—our very false, very misplaced presentation and consumption of love: that love is romantic and fairytale, that love says your man will be transformed and will eventually—and at all times—meet your greatest desires with the right lines and big gestures.

So I had a lot of expectations about marriage and about Howell. Most of them were uncommunicated, too, so they became guesswork for him.

When we would argue, I would shut down, waiting for him to say the right line—the magical words. Read the script, Howell!

Of course, he didn’t know what his lines were supposed to be.

I remember one fight—a pretty serious one—where I left the house. I went to a park. I was hurting, and my instinct in our arguments was always to run. But in Hollywood, the boy always follows. He knows instinctively where she is. So I sat, and waited, and eventually (more angry than before), I went back home where my husband was also hurting and stressed out and unsure of what to do. I hadn’t given him the script then, either.

So maybe Hollywood and our culture are to blame, but the real ownership on my part comes from recognizing that my expectations were for Howell—not Jesus—to be my everything: to fill me, complete me, know me fully inside and out, comprehend my every thought and desire.

There is only one perfect man, and His name is Jesus. He made the greatest gesture any man could ever make for us; He became the ultimate example of self-sacrifice. Nothing trumps that. Nothing.

God’s story for us is one of pursuit and redemption, of lavish gifts and sacrificial love. This is not an epic love story—it’s The Epic Love Story.

God is love.

I love my husband. And over the last almost nine years, our relationship has grown from initial attraction and interest to deep love and affection; it has, at times, been both passionate and romantic, and other times, both ordinary and comfortable.

But Howell cannot be the lover of my soul. He cannot fill all my desires. He can’t complete me or satisfy me or fill me.

Only Jesus can do all of that.

And the moment I put that expectation on Howell: I fail, he fails, and our relationship stops working. Who can live up to that pressure? Who can trump Jesus?

It may sound paradoxical—let Jesus have all my desires, and my desire for Howell will be greater. Let Jesus fill me, and my love for Howell will be fuller. But that’s precisely how it works.

Today, we do have an extraordinary marriage not because of luck but because we’ve chosen to fight for our marriage—to choose forgiveness and to release expectations. Walking out forgiveness is even more countercultural than our expectations for love.

Deep down, here’s the battle. I love my husband, and I know he loves me. I know that he’s not spiteful or mean-spirited. He never intentionally hurts my feelings or disappoints me. But in the moment, I also feel hurt or disappointed. So the battle is determining what to choose—to choose what I know or to choose what I feel. And on paper, this sounds easy.

Obviously, I should choose what I know. But in the moment of your hurt feelings or disappointment, it’s a much more difficult decision. You think, if I choose to resolve this now, he won’t know how big of a deal it was. Or, if I choose to forgive, it’s just the same as saying it’s okay—and it’s not okay. Actually, the greatest lesson we could have learned (and I really believe this) was to stop saying “it’s okay” altogether. To, literally, stop using those words, and instead to say “I forgive you.”

Forgiveness brings freedom to your marriage. When you take the steps to surrender that issue—whether big or small—God comes in and does the supernatural work of healing. God comes in and restores love and grace in your heart toward your spouse. If the issue is small, the process of forgiveness is often easier, quicker. You remember why you love your spouse, you remember to expect the best in them, and you remember that you don’t want to keep record of wrongs. And so, you surrender and you release.

If the issue is great, sometimes that process takes more time. But don’t lose faith in His supernatural power; God is a God who heals—physically and emotionally. He can make you whole and free. He alone can fill your every desire. And He can bring extraordinary love to even the most ordinary marriages.

Laura 

Note 1: this post originally appeared on the blog "Among Women." See the original version here. 
Note 2: all images on this post were found through Bing.com with a license listed as 'free to share and use.'