Skip to main content

A Closed Womb Can Still Produce

"He makes the barren woman abide in the house as a joyful mother of children. Praise the LORD!"
-Psalm 113:9

We've seen God's faithfulness unravel many times in the Bible with stories like Isaac, who prayed to the Lord on behalf of his barren wife, Rebekah and she conceived. Also, when the Lord saw that Leah was unloved, He opened her womb. We also know that Sarai was barren. Then God remembered Rachel and opened her womb.

"For nothing will be impossible with God."      
  -Luke 1:37

Tonight, several women sat attentively listening to Pastor Spivey deliver a timely message about "expectations." As we close out this season and enter into our upcoming season, she posed several questions that hit home for many and made each one of us shift uncomfortably in our seats. While everyone carries their own unique stories' close to their hearts, we are in different seasons. However, there was one shared commonality--each of us "expected" to produce.

Whether you are in the waiting room or delivery room, Pastor Spivey reminded us that the devil will come after your seed. (I dare not give all her nuggets away, because that's not my assignment--it's hers). I can only transpose my authentic experiences to you, as being an available vessel, near the well of Jesus in great expectancy.

I don't know what you are looking to produce or your God ordained season of necessary preparations. What I do know is his word says, "There shall be no one miscarrying or barren in your land; I will fulfill the number of your days." -Exodus 23:6 That's enough to get excited about in itself. There is no failure in Him! As Pastor Spivey so eloquently put it, "You get what you expect!" Then to add insult to injury, she dug a deeper flesh wound by asking, "What are you expecting?" I'm glad; I wrote the vision on Monday night, so I was making some progress!

Even though my mind still hadn't landed safely from the turbulence of a prior question, "What are you doing with your seed?"

I rocked back and forth, moved from side to side and did everything short of shouting! My imaginary praise dance disturbed the stillness of my feet. This is the kind of stuff that you just can't keep to yourself. You gotta give God an advance praise for the manifestations that are on the way. If He didn't leave the women mentioned above barren, what makes you think that your closed womb can't produce?

As I reflect over my day, I'm reminded of an earlier message (on a prayer call) asking God to stretch us like a rubber band in this next season. Then I tuned into a broadcast later in the day and listened as an Apostle talked about the year of expectancy. God was already preparing my cervix for delivery. I hadn't dilated and it won't time to push but I was "expecting!"

In fact, I sat in the presence of some beautiful ladies tonight that were glowing and radiating. The Holy Spirt impregnated them also. We were all "expecting!" There was no rivalry about who would deliver first, who would birth the biggest baby or the following accommodations.

We were full.
We were stretched to capacity.
We were available,  despite the busyness of the holiday season.
We had something bigger "brewing" than buying presents.
Were were making preparations.
We were packing our bags.

The word confirms that, "You shall be blessed above all peoples; there will be no male or female barren among you or among your cattle."
-Deuteronomy 7:14

"God blessed them; and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it: and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living things that moves on the earth."
- Genesis 1:28




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Broken Covenant

Once upon a time— I wanted to believe something was real so desperately that I silenced the Spirit within me just to keep the illusion alive. I saw every red flag— not as warnings, but as tests of how much  I was willing to endure to feel chosen. I asked no questions because truth was already whispering, and I feared what obedience would cost me. So I made a covenant with denial— calling lies “grace,” and confusion “patience,” because the truth felt too vast, too holy, too disruptive to the future I had built in my mind. I clung to potential like it was promise, and mistook absence for peace. Yet the weight of it— this thing I called love— crushed my spirit daily. Still, desperation dressed itself as loyalty and convinced me to stay. And it didn’t get better. It decayed. Quietly at first… then unmistakably. Each time God unveiled truth, I chose the comfort of shadows over the calling of light. I pleaded. I prayed. I begged— not for revelation, but for permission to remain where I w...

From Chaos to Calm

After a while… the need to be heard at full volume begins to dissolve. The rooftops grow silent. The flames you once fed with trembling hands no longer feel like power— only exhaustion. What you burned never built a home. And somewhere along the way, you realize— not every echo returns, not every seed takes root, not every mountain was yours to climb. The grace you poured out like water in a desert, the love you offered with open, unguarded hands— it did not come back the way you imagined. And still… you are here. So instead of fighting what refuses to bend, you loosen your grip. Not in defeat— but in awakening. You release the need to be answered, to be chosen, to be understood by those who never learned your language. Your hands, once reaching outward, begin to rise— not in desperation, but in devotion. Upward. Open. Steady. God… I see You now in the quiet I once avoided. I hear You not in the thunder— but in the space where my striving used to live. And I am ready. Something within ...

Do Not Resuscitate (DNR)

What unsettles me most about some people is not the harm they cause— but the silence that follows it. No conviction. No trembling. No evidence that a soul was ever stirred. As if something sacred once lived there… and quietly left. What remains is form without fire. A body that breathes, but does not  feel . A Walking corpse. Spiritually vacant,  yet socially skilled— fluent in imitation, but foreign to truth. They move through people like weather— touching everything, anchoring nowhere. I once mistook that emptiness for mystery. Confused detachment with depth. Thought restraint was discipline, when it was really disconnection. But there was  no rootedness in him— only appetite. An endless hunger dressed as desire. A man grazing on bodies, scrolling through souls like they were disposable moments. Not searching. Not building. Just consuming— to quiet something unnamed within him. Unhealed wounds don’t stay still. They wander. From bed to bed, from face to face, from high ...