Teni was nine when she came to live with the Adeyemis. The paperwork had taken almost two years. There had been interviews, home visits, a court appearance and a final hearing where the judge looked at her over his glasses and said, “From today, this child is your daughter.” The family threw a small party that weekend. Her new grandmother sewed her a dress. Her new brothers argued over who would show her the neighbourhood.
Three months later, on an ordinary Saturday afternoon, Teni was helping in the kitchen and dropped a glass bowl. It shattered across the tiles. Nobody shouted. Mrs Adeyemi was in the next room and did not even hear it at first. But when she came into the kitchen a few minutes later, the floor was still covered in glass and Teni was nowhere to be seen.
She found her by the front door. The girl was sitting on the floor with a small plastic bag in her lap. Inside were her toothbrush, two sets of clothes and the dress her grandmother had made. She had packed her things and was waiting to be sent away.
Mrs Adeyemi knelt down beside her. “What is this, my dear?” Teni pointed toward the kitchen and began to cry. “I broke the bowl.”
Every legal document said that Teni was a daughter. The family had received her fully and permanently. But her expectations had been formed in other places, in homes where a broken bowl could mean a beating, and where a child’s welcome was never more than one mistake from being withdrawn. She was living in a family as though she were still an orphan.
PunchlineI wonder how many believers are sitting by the door with a packed bag.
Why does a believer who calls God Father still pray as though he has no home? He believes that Jesus died for him. He can explain salvation to someone else. Yet when he has failed, he stays away from prayer until he thinks he has something better to present. He serves anxiously, compares himself constantly, and reads every difficult season as a sign that the welcome may be running out. He has the documents of a son and the instincts of an orphan.
This teaching is for that believer. It may be for you.
God’s answer to the orphan
We need to settle what brought us into God’s family in the first place. If our conduct created the relationship, then a bad day would put the whole matter in doubt. But the gospel does not begin with us. It begins with the Father sending His Son. Listen to how Paul explains it:
But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons. And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father. Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.
Look at the two sendings. “God sent forth his Son” to redeem. Then “God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts.” The Son was sent to secure our standing. The Spirit was sent to give us the inward witness of it. God has provided both the legal fact and the personal experience of belonging. We do not have to talk Him into becoming our Father after He has already received us through Christ.
And then comes the conclusion, which Paul addresses to each reader personally: “Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son” (Galatians 4:7). Thou. Singular. Paul wants every believer in Galatia to hear it as though it were spoken to them alone.
The word adoption can sound like something less than full belonging in ordinary conversation, as though an adopted child were a second-class member of the family. Paul uses the word to announce exactly the opposite. In the Roman world, adoption was a serious legal act, often used by wealthy families to secure an heir. The adopted son was taken out of his old family and placed fully under the authority and care of his new father. He received the family name. He gained the full rights of inheritance. His standing could be as secure as that of a natural-born son, and in some cases more so, because he had been deliberately chosen.
That is the picture Paul has in mind. You were not taken in as a lodger. You were received as an heir. “And if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.”
It is worth saying clearly that sonship includes believing women as fully as believing men. A few verses earlier Paul has written, “For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:26), and then that in Christ there is neither male nor female. The language of sons is the language of full inheritance rights. It does not place the daughters of God in a lesser category. Every woman who trusts Christ stands in exactly the same place of welcome as every man.
NuggetYou were not taken in as a lodger in God’s house. You were received as an heir, with the family name and the Spirit of the Son in your heart.
The cry of a child
Notice what the Spirit of the Son produces in our hearts. He cries, “Abba, Father.”
Abba is an Aramaic word, the language Jesus spoke at home. It is a warm, intimate word for father, used within the family. Some have tried to make it mean something like “Daddy,” and while there is truth in the warmth of that, we should not reduce it to a childish nickname or assume that intimacy removes reverence. It expresses the trust of a child approaching a father who is known to be good.
The most remarkable place this word appears is on the lips of Jesus Himself, on the darkest night of His earthly life. In the garden of Gethsemane, with the cross only hours away and His soul “exceeding sorrowful unto death,” He fell on the ground and prayed, “Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me” (Mark 14:36). Even in agony, even when obedience was costing Him everything, Jesus spoke to God as a Son speaks to His Father. Nearness to the Father gave Him somewhere to bring His anguish.
That is the cry the Spirit has placed in your heart. The same Spirit who was in Jesus when He prayed in the garden now lives in you, crying the same word. When you approach God, you are not borrowing someone else’s relationship. You are being given a share in the Son’s own relationship with His Father.
This should change ordinary prayer. “Father, I need wisdom for this conversation” begins from belonging. You do not first have to prove how useful you have been. “Father, I am frightened about this test result” begins from belonging. “Father, I got it badly wrong today” begins from belonging. The Son has given you a reason to speak, and the Father is concerned with the need you bring.
How an orphan lives in a father’s house
It helps to recognise what orphan thinking looks like, because it is often hidden behind religious activity. A believer can be busy, gifted and highly respected and still be living like Teni with her plastic bag.
The orphan believes he must earn his place. He works hard for God, but there is an anxious edge to his service, because underneath it he assumes that usefulness is the rent required to stay in the house. When he cannot serve, through illness or circumstances, he feels worthless.
The orphan hides his failures. Because every mistake feels like a threat to his belonging, he becomes skilled at concealment. He produces the testimony expected of him while keeping the real struggle out of view. He confesses to no one, including God, until he has somehow fixed the problem himself.
The orphan competes. If there are only a few places near the Father, then another person’s gifting or success feels like a threat. He finds it hard to celebrate others. He quietly keeps score.
PunchlineThe orphan hoards. He cannot be generous with time, money or credit, because he never quite believes there will be enough. Provision always feels temporary.
And the orphan waits by the door. He interprets correction as dismissal, and a difficult season as proof that the welcome has expired. When things go wrong, his first instinct is to pack.
There is a beautiful story in 2 Samuel that shows what God does with people like this. After David became king and his throne was secure, he asked a surprising question: “Is there yet any that is left of the house of Saul, that I may shew him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1). In those days a new king would usually wipe out any surviving members of the previous dynasty. But David had made a covenant with Jonathan, Saul’s son, and he wanted to honour it.
There was one survivor. Jonathan’s son Mephibosheth had been dropped by his nurse as a child while fleeing after his father’s death, and he had been lame in both feet ever since. He was living in a place called Lo-debar, which means “no pasture,” a forgotten man in a forgotten town. When David’s messengers came for him, he must have expected the worst. He came before the king and fell on his face. Listen to how he described himself: “What is thy servant, that thou shouldest look upon such a dead dog as I am?” (2 Samuel 9:8).
That is the voice of the orphan. A dead dog. But David’s answer is the voice of grace:
And David said unto him, Fear not: for I will surely shew thee kindness for Jonathan thy father’s sake, and will restore thee all the land of Saul thy father; and thou shalt eat bread at my table continually.
David restored all his grandfather’s land and gave him a permanent seat at the royal table. “As for Mephibosheth, said the king, he shall eat at my table, as one of the king’s sons” (2 Samuel 9:11). And the chapter ends with a sentence that has comforted many believers: “So Mephibosheth dwelt in Jerusalem: for he did eat continually at the king’s table; and was lame on both his feet” (2 Samuel 9:13).
He was still lame. His feet were not healed in the story. But when he sat at the king’s table, the tablecloth covered his feet, and he ate as one of the king’s sons. His place at the table rested on a covenant made with his father, not on the condition of his legs. And yours rests on a covenant sealed in the blood of Jesus, not on the condition of your performance.
The Spirit of adoption
Paul returns to this theme in Romans 8, and he describes the inner life of a son:
For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him , that we may be also glorified together.
“Ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear.” The Holy Spirit does not train us to keep wondering whether we have been left outside. He directs us toward the Father. “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.” There is an inward witness, a settled knowing, that the Spirit gives to God’s children. It may be quiet. It may grow slowly in a person who has known much rejection. But it is real, and it is His work.
Notice, though, that Paul does not present this assurance as permission to surrender to destructive habits. Just before these verses, he writes that “if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live” (Romans 8:13). And the verse that opens our passage says that “as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.” Sonship and obedience are not enemies. In fact, a secure relationship is what makes honest obedience possible. When a child trusts the father’s love, correction can be received without interpreting every instruction as an eviction notice.
The passage also guards us against a shallow picture of sonship. “If so be that we suffer with him.” Heirs with Christ may suffer with Christ. A few verses later, Paul writes about creation groaning and believers groaning as they wait for the redemption of their bodies. Being God’s child does not mean every season will be comfortable. It means that suffering cannot cancel your place in His family.
That truth needs room in our hearts, because some of us have been taught to recognise God’s favour only when circumstances are favourable. When the business is growing, the children are well and the visa has been approved, we feel like sons. When the contract falls through or the diagnosis comes, we feel like orphans again. Romans 8 refuses that whole way of thinking. It places adoption and suffering in the same chapter, and then closes with the declaration that nothing, “nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
When trouble comes, you may still need to ask what needs attention. A mistake may require correction. A decision may need to change. But you do not need to begin by assuming that the Father has stopped loving you. Let the relationship Christ established remain the place from which you examine the matter.
“I will not leave you comfortless”
On the night before the crucifixion, Jesus spoke to disciples who were about to be frightened, scattered and grieving. He knew how much they did not yet understand. He knew they would feel abandoned. And He made them a promise:
And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
“I will not leave you comfortless.” The Greek word translated comfortless is orphanous. It is the word from which we get orphans. The King James translators even noted this in their margin. What Jesus actually said was, “I will not leave you orphans. I will come to you.”
Jesus knew that His going away might make His followers feel fatherless. So He promised the Comforter, the Spirit of truth, who would not merely be with them but in them, and who would abide with them for ever. Fellowship with God would continue through a presence they could not see with physical eyes, but who would be closer than any physical presence could ever be. A few verses later He adds that the Father and the Son will come and make Their abode with the one who loves Him (John 14:23).
We need this when prayer feels ordinary. God has not made His nearness depend on our ability to produce an atmosphere. Worship may stir strong emotions, and that is good, but emotion is not the door through which the Father enters. Christ has made the way, and His Spirit dwells in those who belong to Him, on the quiet Tuesday mornings just as surely as on the Sunday nights of revival.
Some readers have known fathers whose presence meant danger. Others have known fathers who were simply absent, emotionally or physically. If that is your story, calling God Father may awaken painful associations, and you are not wrong to feel that. Please hear this: Jesus gives us the reliable picture of the Father. “He that hath seen me hath seen the Father” (John 14:9). We learn His character through the Son, not by transferring every failure of an earthly parent onto God.
Look at how Jesus receives those who come honestly. Watch how He tells the truth without exploiting weakness, how He touches lepers and welcomes children, how He gives Himself for the people He loves. That is what your Father is like. The psalmist, who knew that human parents can fail, wrote, “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up” (Psalm 27:10). And another psalm calls Him “A father of the fatherless” (Psalm 68:5).
Healing that understanding can take time. Reading one article will not erase years of fear. Return to these passages. Pray with their truth in view. Let faithful people help you recognise God’s care. And where painful experiences continue to disturb your daily life, receiving appropriate professional support does not make your confidence in the Father any less real. An earthly father’s failure must not be allowed to write the final definition of God’s fatherhood.
Heirs, not hired hands
Paul does not stop at “son.” He goes on: “and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.” In Romans 8 he says it even more boldly: “heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ.” That phrase deserves to be read slowly. A joint-heir does not receive a smaller share. Whatever belongs to the inheritance belongs to the joint-heirs together. Paul is saying that what the Father has given to the Son, He has given to those who are in the Son.
Think about the difference between a son and a hired worker in the same house. Both may wake up early. Both may work hard on the farm. From a distance, on a busy morning, you might not be able to tell them apart. But their relationship to the house is completely different. The hired worker is paid at the end of the month, and his connection to the house ends when the work ends. The son works on what will one day be his. His labour flows out of belonging, and his future is bound up with the father’s estate.
That is why orphan thinking is so costly. A believer who lives like a hired hand will always be calculating wages: what he has done, what he is owed, whether his efforts have been noticed. A believer who knows he is an heir can rest from that whole calculation. He still works, often harder than before, but the work has changed its meaning. Peter calls it “an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you” (1 Peter 1:4). Reserved. Kept with your name on it, the way a loving father might keep a title deed for his child, safe in an envelope with her name written on it.
Being an heir also shapes how we face lack and delay. The heir does not panic every time the month is lean, because he knows whose house he lives in. He may need to work, plan, ask and wait. He may go through hard seasons, as we have seen. But he does not conclude that the estate has run out or that his name has been removed from the will. “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs.” The witness of the Spirit and the certainty of the inheritance belong together.
Belonging becomes visible
Sonship is deeply personal, but it is never merely private. Christ brings former outsiders into one household. The same grace that gives me access to the Father gives my brother and sister access too. Paul describes it this way:
For through him we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father. Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God; And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone ; In whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord: In whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of God through the Spirit.
“Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). We come to the same Father through the same Son by the same Spirit. My responsibilities in the house may differ from yours, but responsibility does not create a superior grade of divine affection. Spiritual pride has no proper home in a family created through the cross.
This should change the way we do ministry. A leader who knows he belongs can let another person’s gift flourish without feeling displaced. He does not need to be the only voice, or the most celebrated one. A worker can admit tiredness without assuming that usefulness is the rent required to remain in God’s house. A believer can take on an unnoticed assignment and do it well, because love has already settled the question of worth. Sons serve differently from orphans. They serve because it is the family business, not to keep their place in the family.
It should change repentance too. If you have spoken cruelly, go back and address the injury. If you have been dishonest, tell the truth and repair what you can. Sonship gives no permission to leave people wounded while you quote verses about acceptance. What it gives you is the courage to face the matter without trying to save your image. You may still need to apologise, change a decision or rebuild someone’s trust. Sonship does not erase responsibility. It gives you a secure place from which to take responsibility.
Let me return to Teni by the front door.
Mrs Adeyemi did not lecture her. She did not say, “You should know better by now.” She took the plastic bag gently out of her hands and held it for a moment. Then she said, “Teni, do you know what we do in this house when someone breaks a bowl? We sweep it up. Together. And then we buy another bowl.” She walked her back to the kitchen. They swept the glass together. On the way back from the market that evening, they bought a new bowl, and Teni carried it home.
The bowl still needed to be cleared away. Teni still had something to learn about carrying glass carefully in a busy kitchen. Correction was part of the afternoon. But it happened inside the home. Nobody needed to wait at the door.
Mrs Adeyemi told her church group years later that she unpacked that plastic bag four more times in the first year. Each time a little sooner. After that, the bag disappeared, and they never saw it again.
Perhaps that is where some of us are. You have been sitting by the door with your bag packed, waiting for God to finally send you away. You have been living like Mephibosheth before the king’s invitation, calling yourself a dead dog in Lo-debar. Hear the Father’s word again. Thou art no more a servant, but a son. You have a seat at the King’s table, and the tablecloth covers your feet.
Bring your actual need to the Father today. You may come with an unfinished understanding and a trembling voice. That is all right. You come through Jesus Christ, and His redeeming work has given you a home. Unpack the bag.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- Which of the orphan patterns described here do you recognise in yourself: earning, hiding, competing, hoarding, or waiting by the door?
- How does the story of Mephibosheth speak to the parts of your life that still feel “lame”?
- What would you bring to the Father in prayer today if you fully trusted His welcome?
- How could your treatment of another believer reflect the household described in Ephesians 2?
This Week
Read Galatians 4:4-7 every morning this week, and once a day say aloud the words of verse 7 with your own name: “_____, thou art no more a servant, but a son.” When you notice yourself reacting like an orphan, pause and name it. Then bring that situation to the Father in one honest sentence that begins, “Abba, Father...”
A Prayer
Abba, Father, thank You for sending Your Son to redeem me and Your Spirit to live in my heart. I confess that I have often lived like an orphan in Your house, earning, hiding, comparing and waiting to be sent away. Today I unpack my bag. I receive Your welcome through Jesus Christ. Let Your Spirit bear witness with my spirit that I am Your child. Teach me to bring my failures to You, to receive Your correction without fear, and to serve You as a son and not as a hired servant. I am at home in Your love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.