From my room I can hear the unmistakable sound of a church bell. It’s calling me, telling me that it’s time to assemble, to come back to the Father.
We all, like sheep, have gone astray. We have wanted our own and not the Father’s. I, though covered in the blood of the Lamb since the day that I said yes to Him, have retained rooms in my home where I can think about just me. I am part of the temple of the Living God. This is His home. But in this home there was a room for anxiety; I didn’t want the Father to go in there, because when He did, He rearranged and dejunked what I thought was crucial to my existence. There was a room for performance, where I attempted to put myself together in such a way that I would be presentable to the Father, and to others. Certainly no one was allowed to enter there, because then they would see me, just me.
This room was called the orphanage; I lived there, though I was a daughter. My thought was to care for myself, protect against pain, and fight the question of my Father holding out on me. God said that I could not eat from one tree, and someone else said that it would make me more powerful by knowledge; I would know good and evil, and be like God. But as I bit into the fruit, I heard a noise behind me, something being established. And as I turned to see it, it was a statue of me. I thought I knew better than God in biting into this fruit, and now the statue served as a competition between me and my God. Then I went into the orphanage.
Father drove me away, because He saw my rebellion and knew how capable I was of eating of the tree that would make me live forever. But even in my rebellion, He clothed me with honor by not allowing me to live in my Self eternally. Much later on, I would find out that being a daughter is just that: showing honor and lifting up another, even if they don’t deserve it. He showed me through honor that I am His daughter.
When I was introduced to grace, I thought it was ridiculous to think that after what I had done, there would be love where I didn’t deserve it. But I did see genuine love in Father’s eyes, and I welcomed Him into my home. But in the back rooms, I went to the statue of Self, and said, “I don’t understand what He wants from me for all He’s offering; I have to make a way to love.” I had many rooms that I didn’t allow anyone to enter. One room which was for impressing others led to fear of man, which led to building walls around my heart, which led to loneliness.
When Father saw the walls around my heart, He said, “You are not an orphan.” And I said, “I know; I have You.” And then He showed me a picture of myself.
He said something that really stuck a bell with me. He said, “This is My house. Where do you want Me to come in?” Suddenly I realized that I had only allowed Him to go so far in His own house, and how patient He had been. “You are not an orphan, ” He reminded me. “Orphans have no inheritance, and they look longingly at sons and daughters, wishing to have what is theirs. But you are Mine, and you have an inheritance.”
“I AM your inheritance.”
Continued…
