day six

There’s a certain tone we take when we talk to ourselves. You know the one. Urgent, anxious, a little accusatory. “I should be doing more.” “Why am I still stuck here?” “God probably expects better by now.” But the Father’s voice sounds different to what we often expect. It’s softer, steadier, kinder. He calls you daughter. He calls you son. He knows your name and your wiring and your weariness. And He doesn’t invite you into Kingdom work as a worker bee. He invites you as family. As beloved. That kind of love doesn’t demand performance. It fuels courage.

DAILY READINGS

14 For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. 15 The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” 16 The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. 17 Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.
6 Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba, Father.” 7 So you are no longer a slave, but God’s child; and since you are his child, God has made you also an heir.

DEEPER

It’s easy to forget who you are when everything around you is trying to cast you in a role. You start to internalise the expectations — parent, provider, employee, creator. Even in church spaces, the language can slip: volunteering becomes virtue, productivity looks like maturity. But Kingdom life doesn’t work like that. God isn’t handing out promotions for good behaviour. He’s pulling up chairs at the family table. Not because you’ve earned it, but because it’s where you belong. But the gospel pulls us into a totally different rhythm, the rhythm of adoption. Romans 8 doesn’t just say we work for God. It says we cry out to Him. That cry isn’t just poetic. It’s legal language and Spirit-wrought intimacy. It’s a deep kind of knowing that changes the atmosphere inside us.

To say we are children of God is not soft theology. It’s disruptive. It reorients everything: who we are, what we do, and how we live. Our identity doesn’t come from being needed, or being useful. It comes from being known. And once we know that, really know it, our doing becomes a natural overflow of our being.

This means we stop performing for God and start partnering with Him. The child doesn’t need to earn a place at the table. They sit down because it’s their home. And from there, they’re trusted to carry the heart of the household.

This is what Jesus shows us. His life with the Father wasn’t shaped by guilt or pressure, but by love. Every word He speaks, every person He heals, flows from that place of knowing He belongs. And He opens that same life to us.

So whether you’re leading a team, folding laundry, healing from heartbreak, or helping someone find their feet, remember this: You’re not hired labour. You’re family. And the Spirit of Jesus within you is not a taskmaster. He is a witness, whispering daily that you are the Father’s child. That is the starting line. Everything else flows from there.

RESPOND

When do I slip into working for God instead of living with Him as His child? How would my choices today look different if I started from belonging?

PRAYER

Abba, remind me today that I am Your beloved child. Help me live from that place of love instead of striving to earn it.

Also pray now for someone you know who lives on their own. That they would know God’s nearness in the quiet and be surprised by moments of friendship, care, and joy this week.

ACTIVATE

Take one risk in a conversation. Share an opinion, ask a question, or offer prayer, because your worth isn’t tied to how it’s received.

“The river is safe. Step in like a child, unafraid. It’s not your effort that makes it holy — it’s the presence of the One who’s already in it with you.”

Not Staff, Just Kids