There is a lie so old it predates every religion, every philosophy, every self-help system ever written.
It goes all the way back to a garden. And it sounds like this: reach out and take something — because what you need isn’t already yours.
That’s the original lie. Not just that God was withholding, but that you have to do something, grab something, earn something, in order to become something. The serpent didn’t tempt Adam and Eve with overt evil — he tempted them with the idea that they were lacking. That who God made them to be in His own image, was not yet enough. That the gap between where they were and where they “needed to be” could only be closed by their own reaching.
We’ve been reaching ever since.
Romans 8:14-15 cuts right through it.
“For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are the sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, Abba, Father.”
Two spirits are named here. The spirit of bondage — which produces fear. And the Spirit of adoption — which produces sonship.
Fear is an emotion, yes. But in this context it’s more than a feeling — it’s an entire operating system. It’s the posture of someone who believes they are on their own. Someone who has to perform to be accepted, strive to be loved, and earn what others seem to receive freely. That’s not just anxiety. That’s an orphan mindset.
And Paul says — you did not receive that spirit. That is not what was given to you.
What was given to you is adoption.
Adoption changes everything about how you relate to the Father.
You didn’t earn your way into this family. You were brought in. Blood bought. Welcome, not because of what you produced but because of the precious sacrifice of Jesus paid on the cross in order for you to choose to be chosen! And the proof that the adoption has taken hold — the sign that it’s real and not just theological language — is that something in you rises up and says Abba. My Father.
That word Abba is intimate in a way that translations can’t fully carry. It’s not a formal address. It’s the cry of a child who knows they belong. My Father. When Jesus was teaching His disciples how to pray, He started with, “My Father”. Not a distant authority. Not a judge waiting to rule on your performance. A Father that you can call your own. Jesus prayed for us a powerful prayer in John 17:23 where He prayed that we would know that we are loved just as Father loves Him. Isn’t that amazing?
That truth our adoption removes entitlement entirely!
The orphan grasps because the orphan has no guarantee of provision. The orphan hustles, manipulates, performs — not out of malice but out of survival. When you don’t have a Father, you have to secure things for yourself. You reach out and take because nobody is holding anything for you.
But a son or daughter doesn’t live like that.
That’s not being passive — but because they know who their Father is. They know the table is already set. They know the inheritance is real. They don’t have to grab, because they already belong to the One who holds everything.
Grace can only be fully understood through the lens of sonship.
Because grace isn’t just unmerited favour — as true as that is. Grace is the atmosphere of the Father’s house. It’s what the air is made of when you know you’re home. You can’t really receive grace while you’re still operating as an orphan — because an orphan turns everything, even grace, into a transaction. What do I need to do to keep this? How long before it runs out? What if I blow it?
Sonship is what allows grace to land.
When you know you’re adopted — when that cry of Abba is more than theology and becomes something your heart actually knows — grace stops being a concept and becomes a reality you live inside of.
This month I’m releasing a 7-day devotional called You Were Never The Project — Discovering the Grace That Loved You Before You Were Good.
It was born out of exactly this. The realization that so many believers are still reaching — still living as though the gap between them and God’s love is something they have to close. Still performing for a Father who has already pulled them close.
You were never the project. The cross of Jesus speaks of your incredible worth! Father God was declaring what He already knew — that you were worth everything. Before you were good. Before you got it right. Before you figured it out.
You can stop reaching now.
You Were Never The Project is coming this month. Stay close.
Before we close this out, I want to give you something practical. Because all of this — sonship, adoption, the Father’s love — isn’t just something to believe. It’s something to experience.
One of the ways God speaks to His children is through spontaneous thoughts — impressions, pictures, and words that arise quietly in the mind and carry a quality that is different from our usual mental noise. These thoughts tend to be uplifting, life-filled, and encouraging. They don’t condemn. They don’t crush. They call you up. They sound like love.
Paul prays in Ephesians 1 that the eyes of our understanding would be enlightened — and this speaks directly to what some have called the sanctified imagination. This is part of the technology God has given us to commune with Him. The imagination, submitted to the Holy Spirit, becomes a place of encounter. It becomes holy ground.
If this feels unfamiliar, I want to reassure you with something Jesus said. In John 10:27, He makes a remarkable promise: “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” He didn’t say some of His sheep hear His voice. He didn’t say the specially gifted or the spiritually advanced. He said My sheep — and if you belong to Him, that means you. Hearing from God is not a rare privilege reserved for prophets and mystics. It is the ordinary inheritance of every child who has been adopted into His family.
The exercise below isn’t about manufacturing an experience or talking yourself into something. It’s about quieting down long enough to become aware of the One who is already there. In a previous article I called this “practising awareness”. Your imagination, surrendered to the Holy Spirit, is not a gateway to deception — it’s a faculty God created, and one He loves to fill. Come with an open and willing heart, and trust that the Good Shepherd knows how to reach His own.
So we’re going to use both today. We’re going to journal, and we’re going to imagine. And the one rule as we do is this: don’t judge what comes. Just write it out. You might be surprised at what surfaces when you stop filtering and start receiving.
Take a piece of paper or open your journal. Don’t think too hard. Don’t edit yourself. Just write out whatever comes in response to these two questions:
Father, what lies have I been believing about myself?
What are some beliefs I have about you that I know are not true?
Write whatever comes. Don’t judge it. Don’t filter it. Let the Holy Spirit surface things you may have been carrying for a long time without realizing it. The page is safe. This is just between you and your Father.
Find a quiet place. Close your eyes. Take a few slow breaths and let your body settle.
Now picture yourself in your favourite place. It might be a beach, a forest, a quiet room, somewhere from your childhood, or somewhere you’ve always dreamed of. Let the scene come. Take a moment to really inhabit it — the smells, the textures, the light, the sounds, the emotions that rise when you’re there. Don’t rush. Spend time just being in that place.
And then — notice that Jesus is there with you.
Take in the details. Notice His face. What does He look like? What is He wearing? What is His expression as He looks at you? Take your time. There is no rush here.
Now take the piece of paper you wrote on in Activation One — those lies, those false beliefs — and hand it to Him. Notice what He does with it. Notice His hands. Notice His face. Let the encounter unfold without forcing it. Take in the whole experience.
Stay there as long as you need to.
When you’re ready, take a fresh sheet of paper. And ask the Father this one last question:
Father, what are the names you give to only me?
These are not names the world gave you. Not the name your wounds gave you. Not the name your performance gave you. These are the names only a Father knows. The names He whispered over you before the foundations of the world.
Write down everything that comes. Don’t judge it. Don’t dismiss it. You are a child of the Father. And He knows your name.