I’m a little girl sitting in at the edge of our driveway waiting. I’m waiting for my father to come get me for the weekend that he is supposed to have with me. By father, I mean the man who got my mom pregnant, not the Dad that is a part of my every day life. But these visits are supposed to happen, and as much as part of me doesn’t want to go, another part of me is begging inside for him to actually show up. I want to know I am wanted by the very man who helped to give me life. I want to know that he insists on these visits because he want to be with me not because he wants to dig into my mom’s heart a little harder.
I’m just a girl. In the single digits. Yet even as we wait there and it gets later and later, I try to make it seem like I don’t care because I can’t stand to see my mom look so hurt for us. I want to seem strong, unaffected. I don’t want to hurt my step-dad or make it seem like his love isn’t enough. So I make a sarcastic comment and go back inside.
But for all the love others gave me, for all the couldn’t-care-less attitude I tried to give off, I felt cast off, unimportant, unloved. I felt abandoned. And I learned to not totally trust my heart with anyone.
Move forward a few decades, and I sit as a 42 year old women sobbing in front of the piano as I sing song after song about being set free and God’s intense love for me and how all he wants is my heart. And I lose it.
Because I have given him my heart, right? I’m a missionary! I live in Africa, I’ve been evacuated because of war-that must give me some points, right? I share his love with others. I have been in full time ministry since I was 21 years old! One doesn’t do that without having trusted in him completely, right?
But I feel the shame that I can’t seem to let go of this feeling of…what?
It’s not that I don’t trust God can do it – he can provide, he can protect, he can set free. I know he can, he is God. I long ago learned that words of affirmation was my love language – tell me sincere, loving things and I will love you back quickly and whole-heartedly. Yet that also means that if the words are harsh, or even if they are slippery and not genuine, I can see that and it cuts like a knife to my soul. It makes me angry and stand-offish because I don’t want false praise or inauthentic relationships.
Too often it feels like that is what His word is.
I read in the bible about how I am his child. Adopted into the kingdom and chosen. Given every right of the kingdom and set free from my old self. How wide, how high, how deep, and how great is his love for me.
But it feel like just words…
Like when my birth father would call and make an excuse and say how much he wanted to be my dad and would try harder. But I knew they were words and nothing more.
So I sit at my keyboard, crying and exhausted. “What is this, Lord? I must believe somewhere that you can break through this or I wouldn’t even ask. Please, use this little mustard-seed size belief and help me. I want to be free.”
Free from what? I don’t even know what I am a prisoner too.
What is the lie I am believing so completely that I can’t even see it in front of me? That is has become part of the very DNA that make me react and live and breath?
Quickly – so quickly that I am taken aback and I don’t believe it at first – a phrase comes to mind.
What? I work for Serge – we base our whole reason of ministry around the truth of Sonship. We are not orphans. We are not abandoned. I should know that this is a lie. I have gone through the intense “Sonship” course, taught bible studies and classes on what this means. I have mentored young women and helped to rebuke lies of abandonment from the Father and to grab on to the truth and the promises of God and his word. I reminded them of their identity – of who they truly are in Christ and what it means to wear the title of Daughter of the King, Co-heir with Christ. I’ve pushed into the areas of their lives where they didn’t believe (couldn’t allow themselves to believe) that they were and are worthy and God is not only able but acting in his ability to give us more than what we could ask or imagine.
But do I believe it? For myself, I mean. I DO believe it for others – completely! But what about me?
So I go back to me knees. “I can’t do this.”
No, my child, you can’t.
“I don’t want to carry this anymore. I am so tired. I come to this default thought and feeling and belief each time. I’m done.”
Child…my daughter. I love you.
“Lord, please. Please. Please. I don’t know what to pray.”
I will speak for you.
“I need to know you love you. I need to know you have the best for me.”
Look at your children. Do you love them? It’s time to really let this go. I love you. I love you. I love you with a perfect and holy love.
“I don’t know how…I can’t. It’s been a part of my identity for so long. I thought I have. I thought I did. But it pops up again and again.”
There is no condemnation.
I start rebuking the feeling of abandonment and the belief of being an orphan in the name of Jesus Christ. I can feel this is important – a real battle for the next part of my life and a turning point for what lies I will walk away from for good. After what seems like every scripture I have ever read coming to mind in waves of miraculous memory I start to say them out loud with more and more conviction.
I AM a child of God. My soul is sealed by his Spirit. You have not place here, father of lies. I am wholly and dearly loved. I am a masterpiece of His. I am chosen. I am beautiful. I am make perfect through his blood and redeemed. I am forgiven. I am wanted. I have been battled for. I am worthy to him.
I collapse, exhausted, yet feeling a sense of hope.
My child. You can never escape my love.
I am not abandoned. I am not an orphan.
I never was. I never will be.
I may lose sight of this truth again. I will lose sight of it again.
But He will draw me back. He will remind me. He will parent me with a perfect love and each time I will remember who I am a bit quicker and with more intensity. I am his and he is mine.
I am free.