It was a year ago we make a birthday jaunt to the southwest to visit dear friends and spend another Fourth of July in the mountains. And a week later that the kids and Daddy cried on the car ride home…Well, mourned, I guess is the better word.
Why did we ever move away?
We moved, I calmly reminded them, because Dad had a big job opportunity and didn’t want to “wake up one day wondering how life might’ve been different if we’d only moved to a bigger place when we had the chance.”
Which we laugh about now. This is exactly the place we want to be—not regretting the move to the eastern slope or subsequent years spent introducing the kids to the Midwest, but so thankful to return to our home, the place where all my babies were born, the place I was sure we’d never see again once we pulled our U-Haul out of the driveway in southwest Colorado.
Since I think about tomatoes a lot, the pruning, especially—I do this daily to focus the plant’s energy on growing fruit—I see these gardening methods as they apply to our family decisions…the dividends paying out as we focused special energy on prioritizing Joe’s work and letting him blossom within his career.
Many years ago I had considered returning to work, the kids (ages one to seven) all driving me crazy at home surely had me eyeing any reprieve, even if it meant getting my master’s while teaching via a scholarship program. (What makes a person in our culture think spreading ourselves thinner might offer more peace? Why are there countless folks who applaud the working mother when it means saddling them with more worries?) This would’ve meant Joe would have to meet me in the middle, compromising his management career. He was so busy, and I was so busy—had no help at home, nobody to watch them so I could grab groceries or take a nap, etc.
But I didn’t really want anyone else raising my babies, didn’t want a babysitter or daycare to do my job, so if Joe couldn’t grant me reprieve, then we were each going to have to grind it out the way we’d already been doing it, me being the home-body, he, the work-body and bread-winner.
Snipping low leaves and suckers off the plant, the yellowing limbs.
I pruned back my ideas of a career. (I usually have lots of ideas…most of them I’ve pruned back…)
I won’t say this didn’t cause some pain in the moment; it certainly did. There was pleading and tears and hurt as I broke off whole branches. We followed his work, turning the focus toward his job…Which blossomed into a huge tomato of a blessing.
It’s not just about a paycheck, though by remaining loyal to his employer he has “climbed the ladder” with nothing more than a bachelor’s degree and an incredible work ethic. Because of his job we’ve been able to pay off our old college loans, buy houses, two cars, remain debt free, and give money and things generously and cheerfully to those in need. Because of his job we’ve learned not to hold tightly to things in this world (even the idea of calling one place a “home”). We’ve learned to depend on one another—he to be a strong worker, content with his employment; I, to love being home and find joy in some of the endeavors I would’ve never dreamed of pursuing without his stable career.
I’m so thankful we didn’t spread ourselves so thin. I’m glad I didn’t push to get that early teaching job and miss out on the raising babies work.
Not only have I seen tomatoes appear on the vine, but they are beginning ripen.
We love to cheer each other on in the things we are good at—and, here I’ll sneak in a little lesson about that (sometimes) rankling church word religious leaders like to toss around when mentioning marriage—submission.
Why is this word so cringey when a preacher-man yells it out over a silent congregation, as if to lasso women back into their proper, restrained place in the home? Men are to love their wife as they love their own body, which, to me, is far more noteworthy and difficult than a wife’s job to cheer on her husband. (As much as they love NFL on a Sunday afternoon? Fantasy football? Brisket? Paid time off? A whole Saturday on the golf course? Hunting season? A new motorized toy? Talk to me more about how much a man ought to love his wife…)
Submission is nothing scary or yell-worthy.
And this is what the spirit of submission is: the responsibility to prune the vine so you can confidently, lovingly, and faithfully tell your partner: You got this. Keep going.
You got this, Joe—you’re amazing at what you do. Don’t stop, I’m here for you.
Keep going, Joe—My favorite thing to do is watch you succeed.
Submission isn’t delicate restraint, it is intentional pruning paired with a deep desire to see our shared plant grow and produce a harvest.
We are focused on the tomatoes, the fruit of the vine, and we mercilessly whack off every part that doesn’t bear fruit so that the parts that can produce will be made more fruitful (John 15:2).
Submission isn’t explicitly about work, or a woman’s place, child rearing, or any of the arguing points a preacher man might like you to think. Submission itself is in black and white—it must be done, as all things go that come with a promise (Do not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time it will reap a harvest if we do not give up, Galatians 6:9)—but one must extend the brushstroke into the gray, private areas of her own life where the conscience makes it explicit.
Submit is action word, imperative, forward-motion, not a hovering, cowering act, as if a person ought to cave into herself with pity and self-abasement. Submission is doing, not retreating, and can only be performed with rock-solid faith that understands and trusts the words of Jesus— “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5
What branches are you pruning? Tell me—what tomatoes are you growing?
Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. Ephesians 5:21-22
Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the body of believers and gave Himself up for her…Husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. Indeed, no one ever hated his own body, but he nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the body of believers. Ephesians 5:28-30
