Happy Am I

The month of Shevat arrives quietly, in the deep stillness of winter. Trees stand bare. Branches hold no visible fruit. To the untrained eye, nothing seems to be happening. And yet, life is moving under the surface. I relate to this deeply right now, being in a place of transition. Beneath the frozen ground, roots are active. Sap begins to rise. Strength gathers where no one can see it. Knowing this natural picture, makes me happy and hopeful.

In the Land of Israel, Shevat marks the first stirring of awakening, even while winter still claims the surface. This is not a dead season (for you or for me). It is a root season: naming what is yet not seen.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of realities not seen.” (Heb 11:1, TLV)

Shevat teaches us that God often works where growth is hidden. Beneath habits, beneath reactions, beneath the words we speak and the words we think. Long before fruit appears in our lives, something is forming at the level of meaning. What grows there will determine what we eventually bear. This is why Shevat is associated not only with trees and living waters, but with something far more intimate and revealing: the sense of taste.

Taste is discernment. Taste tells us whether something nourishes or harms. Taste determines what we take in, and what we refuse. And in Shevat, taste is not only about food. It is about words, because words are seeds. Words we think and speak to ourselves, words we think and speak to and about others, and words we speak to God all matter.

Words are meant to produce fruit – hopefully good fruit, but we also are just as capable of producing bad fruit. Long before fruit appears, something more fundamental is happening while they are still seeds: meaning is being formed. What we call our experience, what we name as good or bad, blessed or barren, begins to shape the roots from which everything else will grow. I don’t know about you, but I want that fruit to be good and holy.

This is why Shevat is tied to trees, which carry life through seeds and fruit. And this is why Shevat is tied to taste, because we consume fruit, seeds, and even leaves and bark for nourishment and healing. So, why is Shevat tied to Asher?

Asher’s story does not begin with abundance, fertile land, or oil. It begins with a woman who dared to name blessing before her circumstances were resolved. In seed form, upon Asher’s birth, she declared:

“Happy am I.”

 

Leah’s declaration is profoundly prophetic, not just for her son and his tribe, but for us too. She spoke into unresolved circumstances, relational tension, and long-standing comparison. How many of us need to make her same declaration into our complexities? Asher was the son of Zilpah, Leah’s maidservant, yet Leah claims and names him:

“Then Leah said, ‘Happy am I! For women will call me happy.’ So she named him Asher.” (Gen 30:13, NASB)

This moment was pivotal. Leah lived for years in comparison, rejection, and longing. She named sons out of her pain, hope, and desperation. She knew what it felt like to be unseen or second best. By the time Asher was born, her story is still unresolved. And yet, she names blessing anyway. The Hebrew root behind Asher (H833) does not describe fleeting happiness. It carries the sense of going straight, advancing, walking forward in alignment (with Adonai). Leah was not saying, “Everything is finally good, so I can be happy.” She was saying something far deeper: I am no longer defining myself by rivalry. I am choosing what meaning I will take in. I am moving forward. This was a transition, a maturing of her walk.

Before land, oil, favor, or strength were proclaimed upon Asher, there was a mother who has already begun to change. With Judah, Leah first turns from naming her pain and longing to naming praise. This was the first stage of her transition. By the time Asher is born, that earlier shift had ripened into discernment. Leah realized she no longer wanted to keep telling the same story. She did not name Asher the way she named her earlier sons, out of striving or comparison. First she praised (Judah), then she blessed (Asher). She recognized the old pattern and interrupted it.

Years later, Jacob blesses Asher:

“As for Asher, his food shall be rich, and he will yield royal delicacies.” (Gen 49:20, NASB)

Food in Scripture is never neutral. It represents what sustains life – what is consumed, digested, and absorbed. This blessing is not about excess, but about quality. Asher’s food is rich. His nourishment is fit for kings! How many of us want to produce this sort of (spiritual) food?

These royal dainties are about inner consumption, one’s spiritual diet, which are: the thoughts we believe, the interpretations we agree with, the words we repeat within ourselves. All the things that will eventually produce fruit – from our identity to our behavior. These things become what sustain us day after day. Asher does not live on scraps like resentment, comparison, harsh inner speech, fear-based conclusions, or rigid assumptions. His inner world is nourished by godly discernment. He tastes before swallowing.

Those of us with dogs know this well. They often swallow food whole, barely tasting it at all. They gulp first and sort it out later. Humans were not designed to live that way spiritually. We are meant to chew, discern, and choose. This is why Yeshua could say:

“I have food to eat that you do not know about.” (John 4:32, NASB)

Did you know that you have access to that food too? He was not speaking of physical sustenance, but of a deeper nourishment, one rooted in oneness with Adonai, obedience, and discernment rather than reaction or appetite.

Shevat’s association with taste ties directly into this:

• • • Taste allows us to pause before consuming meaning.
    • Taste warns us when something looks acceptable but carries bitterness.
    • Taste asks: Is this ripe? Is this nourishing?

Leah practiced this before Asher ever did. She refused to keep consuming bitterness. She knew that thinking, believing, and doing the same things over and over would only get her the same results, and she wanted something else, something better. That choice shaped the soil from which Asher’s life would grow. Inner speech, the way we talk to ourselves is crucial in this place. The words we repeatedly speak to ourselves, especially under pressure, will shape who we become. Some thoughts strengthen life. Others quietly poison the roots. What mantras do you tell yourself over and over?

“This will never change.”
“I should be further along by now.”
“I already know what this means (or what they meant by this).”

These thoughts often feel true. They arrive quickly, confidently, and without invitation, so they feel right. But Shevat teaches us to taste them before agreeing with them, to slow down long enough to discern whether they nourish life or constrict it.

Asher’s blessing assumes a healed relationship with inner intake. The richness of his food comes from the seasoning of discernment at the seed level of thought and meaning. He chooses to use seasoned words that nourish and sustains life. He casts flavors that erode life out of the kitchen. But Scripture does not leave Asher’s blessing in the inner world alone. What is taken in eventually shapes how a person walks, how they are received by others, and how they endure over time.

Moses expands Jacob’s blessing by showing what happens when inner discernment is healthy.

“Of Asher he said, ‘More blessed than sons is Asher; may he be favored by his brothers, and may he dip his foot in olive oil. Your bars will be iron and bronze, and as your days, so will your strength be.’” (Deu 33:24-25, NASB)

Favor flows where judgment is restrained and gauged in righteousness. People feel safe around those who do not rush to conclusions or assign motives. Even unspoken assumptions shape posture, tone, and presence with others. When inner speech is seasoned with patience, favor follows naturally. It is felt by others. Asher is favored because his inner world is not abrasive.

“Let him dip his foot in oil.”

Oil in Scripture is consumed, burned for light, used in cooking, poured out in sacrifice, applied in anointing, and used to bind up wounds . It enters the body, illuminates the path, transforms what is prepared, and consecrates what is offered. Oil is a powerful metaphor with many applications.

What is consumed becomes part of how we move; thus, oil can lubricate your walk. Oil soothes what has been bruised, allowing wounded places to heal. In the same way, the thoughts, interpretations, and repeated words we take into our inner life shape our walk. A diet of harsh inner language produces stiffness and strain; discernment produces strength and steadiness.

“Where will you be stricken again, as you continue in your rebellion? The entire head is sick, and the entire heart is faint. From the sole of the foot even to the head There is nothing healthy in it, only bruises, slashes, and raw wounds; not pressed out nor bandaged, nor softened with oil.” (Isa 1:5-6, NASB)

Oil burned for light makes the way forward visible. Oil used in cooking changes texture and flavor. Oil applied in anointing marks the walk as purposeful rather than reactive.

“And you shall command the sons of Israel that they bring you clear oil of beaten olives for the light, to make a lamp burn continually.” (Exo 27:20, NASB)

Moses says Asher will dip his foot in oil. Oil is not merely something he possesses; it powers his walk. His movement is shaped by what he consumes, how he sees, how he processes, and what he offers. Asher walks straight because his inner speech does not continually wound him.

“Your bars shall be iron and bronze.”

Bars are boundaries – restraint and healthy limitations. This blessing describes the capacity to:

• • • notice a thought without obeying it
    • hold an assumption without acting on it
    • pause between what happens and what it means

Iron and bronze bars are healthy boundaries – within and with others. Without them, the mind floods with urgency and false certainty. Or, relationships with others become dysfunctional.  With them, discernment returns, and choice and agency are restored.

“As your days, so shall your strength be.”

This is the culmination of Asher’s blessing: sustainable strength. A soul fed on harsh inner speech burns out. A soul that tastes before swallowing endures. This is why Asher’s joy lasts. It is rooted, not reactive. The winter inner work has been accomplished. Joy that is reactive burns out. Joy that is rooted endures. Asher’s strength lasts because it begins at the level of meaning and thought.

The Healing of Taste

Shevat teaches us that taste can be healed. Taste buds regenerate. Discernment can be restored. When we slow down enough to notice the flavor of our thoughts, our appetite begins to change. We begin crave words, spoken and unspoken, that nourish life rather than constrict it.

• • • Not every thought deserves agreement.
    • Not every interpretation deserves belief.
    • Not every true observation is ready to be consumed.

Pressure in this season is not punishment. Pressure is what causes the sap of life to rise. If Shevat feels quiet, unresolved, or heavy, it may be because something essential is awakening beneath the surface. Embrace it! What looks like delay may be preparation. Get ready! What feels like stillness may be strength gathering in the roots. Rejoice!

We do not rush the fruit. We trust the Gardener. And sometimes, the holiest act is simply to say—

Happy am I.

 

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A Prayer for Shevat – “Happy Am I”

Holy One,
Gardener of what is seen and unseen,
we come to You in this quiet season of Shevat,
when nothing looks finished
and everything feels tender beneath the surface.

You see what is moving within us
before we do.
You know the thoughts that rise automatically,
the meanings we assign without noticing,
the words we repeat until they feel like truth.

So we pause before You now.

We do not argue with our thoughts.
We do not rush to fix them.
We simply bring them into Your light.

Adonai,
draw our attention to the words we have been living by.

The quiet sentences.
The familiar conclusions.
The stories we tell ourselves when we feel pressured, unseen, or uncertain.

Without judgment,
we notice them.

And now, in Your presence,
we taste them.

If these words were food,
would they nourish life within us?
Would they strengthen our roots?
Would they allow us to walk forward freely?

Where the taste is bitter,
we will not swallow.

We loosen our grip.
We set those words down.
We release the need to agree with every thought that passes through us.

Adonai,
where we have mistaken interpretation for truth,
gently widen our vision.

Where we have spoken to ourselves in absolutes and false certainties,
rewrite our inner language.

Where we have assumed we already know what something means,
restore curiosity.

Teach us to hold our thoughts
without being held by them.

Now, Holy One,
bring to mind the places where comparison has shaped our joy.

Where we have measured ourselves by others’ stories.
Where we have named lack instead of life.
Where old rivalries, spoken or unspoken, still whisper to our hearts.

As Leah once did,
we choose to name something new.

Not because everything is resolved,
but because alignment with You is possible even here.

Before fruit appears,
before answers arrive,
before circumstances change,

we practice naming blessing.

Not from denial.
Not from pretending.
But from discernment.

We say with intention,
with courage,
with rooted trust:

Happy am I.

Not because life is easy,
but because we are choosing what we take into ourselves.

Adonai,
strengthen our inner boundaries.

Give us the quiet strength
to pause between what happens
and what we decide it means.

Let our thoughts slow.
Let urgency dissolve.
Let choice return.

Where our inner speech has been harsh,
anoint our steps with oil.

Where our walk has become heavy,
smooth the way.

Where we have grown tired from carrying unexamined meanings,
renew our strength, day by day, moment by moment.

Teach us to trust the work You are doing beneath the surface.

When growth is hidden,
keep us from despair.
When pressure increases,
remind us that sap is rising.

May our inner world become rich soil.
May the words we live by become royal food, fit for a king.
May joy grow steady and enduring.

And as this month unfolds,
may we learn to name life wisely,
taste our words carefully,
and walk forward gently with You.

We trust the Gardener.
We trust the process.
We trust that fruit will come in its time.

In Yeshua’s Name,

Amen.