I feel led to share this part of my testimony with you because this is something we all experience... even though (and maybe because) it's a lot more vulnerable than my average blog post. But if I can be honest about my story on my way to freedom, maybe you can too.
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I had the privilege of interpreting for a thirteen-year-old American girl in another part of the Dominican Republic earlier this year. Raised in a culture of missions, she had a clear message she wanted to share. Every time we went out on an outreach, she found a likely looking girl on the sidelines and encouraged her to believe a life-changing truth: “Did you know you are the daughter of the most high King?” You are not alone; you have a Father right with you.
A Father. More than just a male parent, biblically this tough concept implies a loving, caring, wise, involved, proud, reliable, trustworthy, admirable authority figure of integrity and strength. And the parent/child relationship implies a dependent relationship of trust and unconditional love, in which the child knows Daddy has the child's best interest at heart and will love him no matter what. Tall order? Probably. Earthly dads hardly ever live up to that descriptor, even the best of them. Sad to say, in the DR we often see a shortage of examples of fatherhood of any kind, save the dads who drop out of the picture, abuse their children, and "father" kids with lots of different women.
I know my dad isn't perfect, but honestly I have a hard time identifying his failures. He's about as perfect as it gets. And my mom is also extraordinary. I know both of them love me unconditionally and would never try to hurt me.
So how did I ever end up struggling with the mentality of the orphan spirit? I could probably delve into my childhood and dredge up a handful of wounding experiences, not necessarily at the hands of my parents, but through rejection or disappointment from other people I thought I should be able to trust. I'm pretty sure all of us could. Though the "how" is important to our healing, it's different for all of us. The point is that all of us, eventually, have to deal with orphan thinking, which is characterized by self-reliance, love of the rules, insecurity, striving for acceptance, shame and guilt, self-rejection, and seeking comfort in counterfeit affections like addictions and escapism and compulsions. Orphans hold others at arm's length, afraid of being disappointed.
A couple of years ago I found myself at my wits' end. I was working two jobs plus volunteering as a worship leader 6 hours a week plus devoted to working out for a couple hours each day plus trying to be a good roommate. I had just lost a lot of weight and changed myself completely, but I could see myself on the verge of gaining it back because suddenly food was my answer to every question and my hard-won self-control was going down the tubes. Then I found out I needed a hip replacement and I suddenly had no idea which end was up or even who to ask for help-- I felt like an inconvenience and a burden. And I feared asking for help because I was afraid I was important to nobody but me, and that others would disappoint me. And my insecure mind consistently focused on all the ways I felt I didn't fit in whatever situation, rather than on how God wanted to use me and mold me the way he made me.
Yep. Wits' end. Out of control. Other little selfish or greedy behaviors started manifesting themselves, and I felt like a failure because I couldn't live up to the standards I had set for myself. Even a twinge of loneliness sent me scrambling for a spoon and the peanut butter jar. I came to the realization that I had an eating disorder, compulsive overeating, of all things... So, orphan mentality in mind: In that scenario, we see striving, busyness, shame and guilt, insecurity, over-self-reliance, self-rejection, and seeking comfort in counterfeit affections and addictions! I was a textbook case of orphan mentality and slavery to fear, and I didn't even know it.
I have gained a lot of the weight back. But I have come to recognize that this, too, is part of my journey to find a healthy space.
Seeking to deal with my "symptom," the disordered food mentality, I spent time talking and praying with friends. One of them prayed out against an "orphan spirit," a concept I had never considered at that point. Orphan? Me? With my awesome loving parents? Yet... who was this person inhabiting and consuming my body, who ate like she didn't know where her next meal was coming from? As if somebody else who didn't care about her needs at all might get the pleasure of that morsel if she didn't snag it first? As if she didn't have a place just for her at the table? I am living like an orphan, I realized with shock.
Not too long after that, I read Heidi Baker's Compelled by Love, in which she describes an orphan child sneaking a Coke from the family fridge when he could have just opened the fridge and taken it, not able to grasp the fact that the Coke had been put in the fridge for him in the first place. That's... me again, I recognized. In so many ways, spiritual as well as literal.
A spontaneous prophetic song in Spanish by Marco Barrientos put me in tears not long after that. "Believe that I am your father, and you are not an orphan anymore! Believe that through the blood of Jesus Christ, you have been redeemed. Believe that all of your needs have been supplied for through my riches in glory. Believe that for you there is a place at my table! That you are not a stranger or foreigner. But believe you are a citizen among the saints, and a member of the family of God!" The simple truth of that passionate prophecy continued to guide my heart toward the truth: I needed to find my place at the table of God.
As we grow in confidence in our identity in Christ, each of us must deal with our own walk from slavery to sonship. So many of our offenses and reactions, and even the ways we treat other people are embedded in a belief that we must try harder, perform better, be something other, and earn respect and advancement. Orphans are willing to put others down if it will take them higher. Orphans are willing to blame authority if it means a better situation for themselves.
Sons and daughters don't need that. They understand that their position is secure because it's based on their identity as children of their father, not on their actions as mere employees or strangers who must prove themselves before they can belong. They are already invested in the family business because it's their inheritance. So the journey from slavery to sonship does not merely mean an identity change-- it requires a mentality change as well.
In fact, it represents our perceived identity as humans to an uncanny degree-- it even shows up in pop culture. Take for example all 3 main characters (Harvey, Louis, and Mike) from the TV show Suits. Harvey is a self-made man, disappointed by his mom's infidelity and abandonment in his youth, now an externally successful lawyer internally closed to legitimate love and feeling. Louis constantly seeks affection and approval and is willing to put down or betray others to get it. Mike was actually orphaned as a kid, and through his masquerading as a lawyer, is seeking a place to belong as if he has no home. Did the show's writers sit down and go, "Hey, let's give all our characters orphan complexes!"?? I think not. The orphan mentality is ingrained in our broken state.
Since my recognition of my orphan mentality, I have had to do battle with it. The war hasn't ended yet. My first year in the Dominican Republic I didn't really feel I had a home. New culture, new job, new family, no friends. New attack of the orphan spirit. I didn't even have so many of the things I count on for encouraging others-- not even a thank-you note to write in or a pencil to write it with. I've had it so much easier than so many missionaries before me, but I see those things as vital to my identity. So what did I default to? My "identity" as an orphan. Self-reliant, independent, and freaking lonely because I was afraid of crossing my perception of other people's boundaries. Life as an orphan sucks.
Then I started noticing the sons of the folks I work for. They are unafraid to let their personalities or their desires influence the group activities or atmosphere. That confidence brings their mother joy, because I think she knows (like the wise woman she is) that it's a sign of them knowing they have a place in their family. When we are confident enough to share who we are... we have more potential to bless other people.
I've been here more than a year now-- this is my home, too, and my community, if not my family. The same dynamics apply. And if I hope to be effective in ministry I need to be all that I am, with no apologies (unless of course I am in the wrong).
I am not their child. They don't owe me, and I'm not entitled. I don't want to inconvenience people... but neither should I live invisible. That prevents me and my personality, however crazy we might be, from being useful and impactful to other people. That insecurity and fear is what keeps me quiet when I have a chance to speak up. That's what holds me back when I have a chance to make a difference.
Living with less fear (because I'm still on the road to eradication of it) has given me more freedom to just be me. Living as a child of the king gives me a sense of authority and confidence.
What if we all understood who we are as children of the king? What if we based our actions less out of fear that we would lose our hard-won position, or worse, never advance at all-- and based them more on our solid identity as children of a most high God? What if we walked in confidence and security, as well as the understanding that this means coming underneath those in authority over us to push up and make their vision come to fruition?
Do you realize you are the child of the most high King? Do you know what that makes you? Do you know the inheritance that's yours?
Me, I have a place at his table.
(If any of the ideas in this post speak to you at all, I highly recommend Jack Frost's book Spiritual Slavery to Spiritual Sonship. A lot of the ideas in this post come directly from its pages.)
-------
I had the privilege of interpreting for a thirteen-year-old American girl in another part of the Dominican Republic earlier this year. Raised in a culture of missions, she had a clear message she wanted to share. Every time we went out on an outreach, she found a likely looking girl on the sidelines and encouraged her to believe a life-changing truth: “Did you know you are the daughter of the most high King?” You are not alone; you have a Father right with you.
A Father. More than just a male parent, biblically this tough concept implies a loving, caring, wise, involved, proud, reliable, trustworthy, admirable authority figure of integrity and strength. And the parent/child relationship implies a dependent relationship of trust and unconditional love, in which the child knows Daddy has the child's best interest at heart and will love him no matter what. Tall order? Probably. Earthly dads hardly ever live up to that descriptor, even the best of them. Sad to say, in the DR we often see a shortage of examples of fatherhood of any kind, save the dads who drop out of the picture, abuse their children, and "father" kids with lots of different women.
I know my dad isn't perfect, but honestly I have a hard time identifying his failures. He's about as perfect as it gets. And my mom is also extraordinary. I know both of them love me unconditionally and would never try to hurt me.
So how did I ever end up struggling with the mentality of the orphan spirit? I could probably delve into my childhood and dredge up a handful of wounding experiences, not necessarily at the hands of my parents, but through rejection or disappointment from other people I thought I should be able to trust. I'm pretty sure all of us could. Though the "how" is important to our healing, it's different for all of us. The point is that all of us, eventually, have to deal with orphan thinking, which is characterized by self-reliance, love of the rules, insecurity, striving for acceptance, shame and guilt, self-rejection, and seeking comfort in counterfeit affections like addictions and escapism and compulsions. Orphans hold others at arm's length, afraid of being disappointed.
A couple of years ago I found myself at my wits' end. I was working two jobs plus volunteering as a worship leader 6 hours a week plus devoted to working out for a couple hours each day plus trying to be a good roommate. I had just lost a lot of weight and changed myself completely, but I could see myself on the verge of gaining it back because suddenly food was my answer to every question and my hard-won self-control was going down the tubes. Then I found out I needed a hip replacement and I suddenly had no idea which end was up or even who to ask for help-- I felt like an inconvenience and a burden. And I feared asking for help because I was afraid I was important to nobody but me, and that others would disappoint me. And my insecure mind consistently focused on all the ways I felt I didn't fit in whatever situation, rather than on how God wanted to use me and mold me the way he made me.
Yep. Wits' end. Out of control. Other little selfish or greedy behaviors started manifesting themselves, and I felt like a failure because I couldn't live up to the standards I had set for myself. Even a twinge of loneliness sent me scrambling for a spoon and the peanut butter jar. I came to the realization that I had an eating disorder, compulsive overeating, of all things... So, orphan mentality in mind: In that scenario, we see striving, busyness, shame and guilt, insecurity, over-self-reliance, self-rejection, and seeking comfort in counterfeit affections and addictions! I was a textbook case of orphan mentality and slavery to fear, and I didn't even know it.
I have gained a lot of the weight back. But I have come to recognize that this, too, is part of my journey to find a healthy space.
Seeking to deal with my "symptom," the disordered food mentality, I spent time talking and praying with friends. One of them prayed out against an "orphan spirit," a concept I had never considered at that point. Orphan? Me? With my awesome loving parents? Yet... who was this person inhabiting and consuming my body, who ate like she didn't know where her next meal was coming from? As if somebody else who didn't care about her needs at all might get the pleasure of that morsel if she didn't snag it first? As if she didn't have a place just for her at the table? I am living like an orphan, I realized with shock.
Not too long after that, I read Heidi Baker's Compelled by Love, in which she describes an orphan child sneaking a Coke from the family fridge when he could have just opened the fridge and taken it, not able to grasp the fact that the Coke had been put in the fridge for him in the first place. That's... me again, I recognized. In so many ways, spiritual as well as literal.
A spontaneous prophetic song in Spanish by Marco Barrientos put me in tears not long after that. "Believe that I am your father, and you are not an orphan anymore! Believe that through the blood of Jesus Christ, you have been redeemed. Believe that all of your needs have been supplied for through my riches in glory. Believe that for you there is a place at my table! That you are not a stranger or foreigner. But believe you are a citizen among the saints, and a member of the family of God!" The simple truth of that passionate prophecy continued to guide my heart toward the truth: I needed to find my place at the table of God.
As we grow in confidence in our identity in Christ, each of us must deal with our own walk from slavery to sonship. So many of our offenses and reactions, and even the ways we treat other people are embedded in a belief that we must try harder, perform better, be something other, and earn respect and advancement. Orphans are willing to put others down if it will take them higher. Orphans are willing to blame authority if it means a better situation for themselves.
Sons and daughters don't need that. They understand that their position is secure because it's based on their identity as children of their father, not on their actions as mere employees or strangers who must prove themselves before they can belong. They are already invested in the family business because it's their inheritance. So the journey from slavery to sonship does not merely mean an identity change-- it requires a mentality change as well.
In fact, it represents our perceived identity as humans to an uncanny degree-- it even shows up in pop culture. Take for example all 3 main characters (Harvey, Louis, and Mike) from the TV show Suits. Harvey is a self-made man, disappointed by his mom's infidelity and abandonment in his youth, now an externally successful lawyer internally closed to legitimate love and feeling. Louis constantly seeks affection and approval and is willing to put down or betray others to get it. Mike was actually orphaned as a kid, and through his masquerading as a lawyer, is seeking a place to belong as if he has no home. Did the show's writers sit down and go, "Hey, let's give all our characters orphan complexes!"?? I think not. The orphan mentality is ingrained in our broken state.
Since my recognition of my orphan mentality, I have had to do battle with it. The war hasn't ended yet. My first year in the Dominican Republic I didn't really feel I had a home. New culture, new job, new family, no friends. New attack of the orphan spirit. I didn't even have so many of the things I count on for encouraging others-- not even a thank-you note to write in or a pencil to write it with. I've had it so much easier than so many missionaries before me, but I see those things as vital to my identity. So what did I default to? My "identity" as an orphan. Self-reliant, independent, and freaking lonely because I was afraid of crossing my perception of other people's boundaries. Life as an orphan sucks.
Then I started noticing the sons of the folks I work for. They are unafraid to let their personalities or their desires influence the group activities or atmosphere. That confidence brings their mother joy, because I think she knows (like the wise woman she is) that it's a sign of them knowing they have a place in their family. When we are confident enough to share who we are... we have more potential to bless other people.
I've been here more than a year now-- this is my home, too, and my community, if not my family. The same dynamics apply. And if I hope to be effective in ministry I need to be all that I am, with no apologies (unless of course I am in the wrong).
I am not their child. They don't owe me, and I'm not entitled. I don't want to inconvenience people... but neither should I live invisible. That prevents me and my personality, however crazy we might be, from being useful and impactful to other people. That insecurity and fear is what keeps me quiet when I have a chance to speak up. That's what holds me back when I have a chance to make a difference.
Living with less fear (because I'm still on the road to eradication of it) has given me more freedom to just be me. Living as a child of the king gives me a sense of authority and confidence.
What if we all understood who we are as children of the king? What if we based our actions less out of fear that we would lose our hard-won position, or worse, never advance at all-- and based them more on our solid identity as children of a most high God? What if we walked in confidence and security, as well as the understanding that this means coming underneath those in authority over us to push up and make their vision come to fruition?
Do you realize you are the child of the most high King? Do you know what that makes you? Do you know the inheritance that's yours?
Me, I have a place at his table.
(If any of the ideas in this post speak to you at all, I highly recommend Jack Frost's book Spiritual Slavery to Spiritual Sonship. A lot of the ideas in this post come directly from its pages.)
