Image of God - Orphan vs. Sonship, Pt. 1

On the chart I referred to in the previous post the first line deals with our Image of God.  If you're coming under an orphan spirit you tend to see God as Master.  Under a spirit of sonship you see God as Loving Father.

Wow.

When I first saw this years ago I thought, well, of course He's our Master.  We serve Him and that makes us His servants.  There is a vast, cavernous difference between Master and Loving Father.

Some of us may have grown up in homes where one parent was the dominant disciplinarian.  I did.  It was my mom.  I think I got my view of God from how I viewed my mom.  She always taught us that if we did anything wrong we needed to get on our knees and repent.  Boy, do I remember doing some of that - alone in my room - not coming out until I had done it. I have to say, that did not give me the warm fuzzies for God.  I thought of Him as a guy in the sky waiting for me to screw up at which point He would thump me on the head or zap me at which point I would fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness so He would love me again.  Warped.

And as for serving, well, I suppose we did it because that's what Christians do.  They serve.  So we served because my parents served.  My parents had a mission in downtown Colorado Springs when I was a kid. I don't mean a calling - I mean a literal mission.  The Whosoeverwill Mission to be exact.  With a big glowing neon sign and a loudspeaker out onto the street and a soup kitchen and everything.  We were there every Sunday morning and Sunday nights and again on Wednesday nights.  And then there were the Revivals - night after night after night of Revivals.  Right next door was a bar.  A hard core bar.  I remember sitting in the car waiting on my parents after Sunday morning services and watching people come out weaving drunk.  At around noon.  That's hard core.  The highlight of the Mission was when they'd let my brother Randy and I sing hymns over the loudspeaker.  We thought we were amazing.  I can only imagine how that scared those poor people next door!  I can tell you more often than not our hearts weren't in it.  We'd rather have been anywhere else.  And I haven't even mentioned the church my dad pastored on the Indian Reservation in Arizona during my teens.  But that's a whole other story.

My point is that I grew up an un-indentured servant.  My parents may have made an agreement with God to serve Him in these places but I was a reluctant, resentful participant.  (I probably need a sozo for that.)  But I definitely viewed God as Master.

Today however, I am happy to report that I relate to God as my very Loving Father.  So how did I get to that point?  Lots of forgiveness.  Lots of working a myriad of issues, not only from the years of serving but mostly from the years I decided not to serve anymore.  I walked away from all that when I turned 18.  I'd had enough of serving a god that only loved me when I was perfect- because I couldn't be perfect.  That's when the darkness ensued.  That's when I entered the vast cavern that would become my prison until God, my Loving Father, saved me from my self.

I'm having a bit of an epiphany here.  That last line just rolled off my fingers.  And I'm surprised.  I hate caves.  I cannot go in them to this day.  The other night at Soaking I had a vision of a cave and I felt like God was asking me to come with Him inside it.  I couldn't go.  I didn't want to go so I sat down out of sheer fear.  But this was Soaking - a safe place - and this was God.  What was wrong with me?  He told me when my faith and trust in Him became bigger than the cavern we would go in.  He knew that's what it would take.  I sat there thinking about that and wondering when I let fear become that large again and I knew.  Writing.  It scares me to death.  Too many what ifs.  (like this.  right now.)  But here's the thing.  He sat down right beside me and waited.  Patiently.  Lovingly.  Leaning back, humming, twirling my hair - just as happy to be there outside the cave with me as inside it.  So I began to reason with myself.  How could some place God wanted me to join Him in be scary or dark or a prison?  It couldn't.  My faith and my trust in Him began to grow.  Soon I stood up and grabbed His large hand and said, "Let's go in."  He asked me if I was sure and I said yes.  We strolled in that big old cave like we owned the place.  Which He does.  And as His light began to illuminate the walls I saw millions, tens of millions of jewels all over the walls.  They were all different colors with rays shooting out into the space all around us.  I stared in wonder.  After what seemed like an eternity I asked Him what they were.  He told me to go get one.  As soon as I had it in my hand it turned into a word.  I can't remember what word it was, but it was a word.  I picked up another one.  Another word.  And on and on.  Revelation.  If I trust Him, He will take care of me.  He is right beside me giving me good, amazing gifts, filling me full to overflowing.  Because that's what a Loving Father does for His children.  He encourages them to be who He created them to be.  And that is how I came to know Him.  Moments like this.  Times I took to sit in His Presence and allow Him to minister to me, to serve me, to show me His heart.

So now I live on the opposite side of the chart.  Adopted into the family of God.  A joint heir with Christ.  Deeply loved.  And that is also why I serve others, because I want them to know my Daddy.