john 8:36
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Repentance has become a somewhat scary word in our Christian culture today. But in the days when Jesus walked our earth, it was everything they never knew they were craving. In Acts 3, Peter witnesses to an awestruck crowd who was hungry for change, and boldly proclaims, “Repent, therefore, and turn back, so that your sins may be blotted out, that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.” (3:19)
When we zoom in and take a deeper look into the “times of refreshing” Peter references, we learn the literal translation from the Greek to be “recovery of breath; revival” (Strong’s Concordance G403). A beautiful concept, to be sure. But when we dive even deeper, and couple it with Paul’s promises in 2 Corinthians and Ephesians that we are gifted with the Holy Spirit – the same ruach elohim of the Old Covenant, just in a new tongue – once we surrender our lives to Christ, we realize that the very breath our Father animated Adam’s flesh with thousands of years ago in the Garden, and the very same vibrant intimacy and relationship he and Eve knew pre-fall, miraculously become our own.
How’s that for an inhale?!
But even 2000 years later, we are not so far removed from an abundance of the same cold and heartless religion that blinded God’s people, confused His followers, and robbed repentance of its beauty. Of its rest. And of the simple, yet remarkable understanding of what living reconciled to our Abba truly means. Religion has twisted Scripture and paired repentance with shame, fear, and a ticket out of hell, rather than a life-giving invitation to breathe again and to return to what we were created for. And religion has taught us that Jesus died to make bad people good, when in truth, Jesus died to bring dead people to life.
Water refreshes the thirsty.
Bread refreshes the hungry.
Peace refreshes the anxious.
Rest refreshes the weary.
Throughout the Gospels, Jesus refers to Himself as all of these, and more! How refreshing it is to know that because of Him, living – not merely existing – can be our reality, even in the chaos of everyday life. Only then do we understand why of the two sisters, Jesus promised that Mary held the better portion.
Breathe in life. Breathe out love. Every day.
It’s what we were made for ♥
© Farrel DeBaltzo | March 15, 2023
As the 2018 seasons melted one into another – From the frigid winter air that constricted my airways, to the Goliath-sized allergies spring ushered in; from the humidity of the sweltering summer months, to the dramatic fall into, well, fall – Repercussions of cystic fibrosis induced lung infections, sinus surgeries, and my battle weary 5’3” 92lb frame acted as constant reminders of just how feeble my body is on its own.
It was in the exhaustion of waking up every morning to debilitating muscle and bone aches. It was in the heaviness of every inhale. It was in my doubt that when it came to my day-to-day living for Christ, I would ever be good enough, fast enough, or strong enough to bring glory to His name. It was in the nights I sobbed myself to sleep because I’d lost sight of His promise that healing, in His way and in His time, would come.
And then I would see her. I would see her faith. Her desperation. Her strength and her resilience and her determination. I would see her telling herself, as she recalled the stories of others who had been rescued from their plight, “If I can just touch Him… If I can just reach the hem of His garment… Just let me get close enough to touch Him…”
I saw her wrapping herself in her shawl, her mind racing with tremendous faith and fear, as she hurried down the street, desperate to not miss Him. I saw her standing on her tiptoes, watching the crowd for their reaction that He was near. I saw her riding the waves of dozens around her as He came into focus, and they began shoving their way toward Him. I saw her trip and fall, shielding herself from being trampled and kicked as others stumbled over her in return. I saw her face set like flint as she forced herself to crawl, completely devoid now of worry about what others might think, or what might happen if He didn’t come through. And then suddenly, I saw a spark of pure tenacity in her eyes as she spotted her opportunity and lunged, her prayers now answered in the healing upon her fingertips.
When we back up to Mark 5:29, Scripture tells us, “Instantly her flow of blood ceased, and she sensed in her body that she was healed of her affliction.” What it must have felt like, after more than a decade, to instantly be well! To instantly be free! To instantly realize that the life she could only remember in her dreams was once again her reality.
But as soon as her miracle was upon her, so was the enemy with a new tactic: Fear. Mark 5:30 says that in that same instant, Jesus knew power had gone out from Him, and He asked, “Who touched me?” In response, she fell at His feet, and in fear and trembling confessed what she’d done.
For a split second, I saw hopelessness return to her eyes. What if He wasn’t the man she’d thought He was? Heard He was? What if He hadn’t wanted her to be healed? What if she’d just stolen something that didn’t belong to her?
Instead, Christ saw her… Really saw her… And in seeing her, called out the true identity she had long forgotten: Daughter.
To us, she is most often referred to as “the bleeding woman”. To her society, she was “unclean”, and of barely more worth than livestock. But to her Savior, she was and will forever be “a daughter of God; acceptable to God, rejoicing in His peculiar care and protection” (Thayer’s Greek Lexicon: Strong’s G2364).
The healing Jesus offers is far more than just physical. It’s all-encompassing. In her case, she was healed of any pride or unbelief that might have prevented her from doing whatever it took to find Him. She was healed from the physical assault of her disease, and the shame and isolation that had been her closest companions for over a decade. And in the immediate aftermath of her miracle, she was healed of her identity crisis, and any lingering fear that Jesus may not be exactly who He said He was.
For twelve years, Abba had prepared for her to be healed. Now, it was time for her to live healed, and to make His name known for generations to come.
May we all, as His daughters, follow suit.
© Farrel DeBaltzo | March 8, 2022
Chayil. (Khah’yil.)
The first time I heard this beautiful Hebrew word in April of 2014, something about it resonated deep within me. As a baby conceived with Cystic Fibrosis – a life-threatening genetic illness that pegged my life expectancy at around 8 years old – I was, quite literally, born a fighter. However, CF was only the first of many fires awaiting me in this lifetime, and as a result, I spent the better part of ten years self-destructing in every way imaginable, determined that if I was going to die young, I was going to have a heck of a time doing it.
So when I was introduced to the marrow of chayil while deep in the trenches of my rock bottom… And I learned the black and white of it to be “excellence” and “valor”… My shame and unbelief found it easy to shrug off.
What I failed to understand then was that chayil isn’t something we muster up on our own. It knows no separation from, and is entirely dependent upon, our relationship with our Abba. And in time, we learn that to be a woman of chayil is to be a woman of innately-driven excellence. Strength. Beauty. And honor.
It is quiet courage and confidence that knows it doesn’t have to roar to make a difference, or shove its way into the spotlight to be heralded.
It is borne in the hard and holy and hidden places of our hearts. Places that are steeped in the value of being before doing, and that understand why Jesus promised that Mary held the better portion.
It is fully recognizing that we hold both the sword and its victory in our hands, yet still kneeling before Him and asking Him how to wield it.
It is a war cry, a desperate reminder of who and whose we are when the fight in front of us feels too big… Because most of the time, it is. And we should never be ashamed to admit we don’t have what it takes without Him.
It’s bold. It’s counter-cultural. It’s often mistaken for weakness, and almost always viewed as insane.
But that’s OK. So was our Jesus.
The essence of chayil is most often depicted as a fierce warrior woman. If I’m honest, that’s what I had in mind myself when I sat down to render this image. But as it began to come more and more alive, I realized He was driving home the heart of where our excellence, courage, and strength truly come from: Our union with Him.
Daughter of God, if this all seems intimidating to you, take heart, because you were made for this. The walk of a godly woman isn’t easy… It goes against every societal norm we’re taught, it draws mockers and critics, it costs us close friendships, and it consistently forces us to shed our comfort zones and step into the unknown, where tensions can be high but our Greatest Prize is higher. And by His grace, we come to realize we have nothing to fear. Because we’ve been bought with a price and adopted into His army to overcome lies with Truth, fear with faith, hatred with hospitality, and bitter with forgive. We weren’t made to give the world a piece of our minds, but a piece of His heart. And we were created to help heal, and leave this world that we’re in, but not of, in better shape than we found it.
Expect difficulties. Expect attacks. Expect setbacks, to be sure.
But more importantly, expect victory. Expect freedom. And expect to know the love and companionship of the God of the universe… Who is somehow also our personal Lord and Savior… Who is somehow also our Father who bends low to hear His children cry… So deeply that we shine His radiance from the inside out.
It will feel impossible at times, but that’s why He made us warriors.
That’s why He made us women of chayil.
© Farrel DeBaltzo | January 3, 2023
There are two diametrically opposed choices we’re faced with every day, multiple times a day, as human beings: Life and Death.
They are driven by two diametrically opposed forces: Love and Fear.
And of them are borne two diametrically opposed realities: Light and Darkness.
They can not co-exist. We live from one or the other.
The Greek word for “casts out” here is “ballō”, and it does not convey fear as a worthy adversary that love gently tells to bugger off. It is much more fierce, painting fear out to be worthless and a waste of time and energy. Other Scripture where this context is used is Matthew 5, when Jesus says salt that has lost its saltiness has no other fate than to tread underfoot and be thrown out; Matthew 13 when it describes fishermen sifting through their catch and throwing away the foul ones; and John 15 when Jesus invites His followers to abide in Him continuously, warning that those who refuse to will be like branches that wither and are thrown into the fire — Not as a threat, but a very real picture of what happens when we choose to cut ourselves off from Life Himself.
Fear appears daunting to us, but it doesn’t have to be. And notice it doesn’t say “authority” casts out fear, but “perfect love”. When we fix our eyes on the beauty of all Jesus is, all He has done, and all the love that drove Him to do so, there is no other logical result than for fear to disintegrate before our very hearts and eyes. He always does the heavy lifting.
There are certainly times in our human frailty when we will stumble. But at the end of the day, and the end of all days, the core of our beliefs and allegiance belongs to one or the other.
May we all who bear His name today choose Love, choose Light, and choose LIFE ♥♥♥
© Farrel DeBaltzo | April 4, 2024
I grew up right outside of Lindale, Texas in blink-and-you-miss-it Garden Valley. When Dad had to leave, Mom and I relocated to a rent house her father owned in Tyler, where I spent years 10 through 20.
At age 21, I hightailed it as fast as I could out of East Texas and to Dallas, then across the country to Washington State, then back to the Dallas/Fort Worth area, then across the country in the other direction to Florida, before finally ending up back in Tyler in 2017 — A place I swore to my love, my friends, my family, and even my God I would never, ever, under any circumstances return to.
I imagine that gave Him a pretty good chuckle, considering He knew what sovereign plan He had in store for me. In His perfect grace, He let me run for a long time — 13 years, to be exact — because only He knew exactly when I would be ready to tackle my past, piece by piece, and heal from it.
And now… Just about the time I’d finally gotten used to being back in Tyler… Here Zack and I are, plunked back down in Lindale, in a home where our route in and out of civilization takes us directly through downtown. Past the old post office I reference in Love You More Than Life: A Memoir. The post office where I used to go with Dad every couple of days to check his business box. The post office that, if I had words for it, I could still describe exactly how it smelled inside. Past the brick corner store, now a guitar and gun shop, that once housed Rexall Drugs and filled my Cystic Fibrosis prescriptions as a baby. Past First Baptist Church, where I was dedicated as a newborn. Past all of the places and memories and emotions still sailor-knot-tied to a ranch and a home where another family lives and whose kiddos now play.
There is no such thing as coincidence.
Especially when it comes to redemption.
Coming home — really, truly coming home in every sense of the word — is both comforting and uncomfortable. Familiar in the best and the worst ways. Messy. Confrontational. And, in the end, utterly freeing.
Because nothing, nowhere, and No One knows you like home ♥
© Farrel DeBaltzo | February 19, 2024
