Children of God

Transcript

Hello, my friend… so glad you're with me today. This is By God's Call — day 30, Children of God.

Listen to what John writes, and let it settle deep: "But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God." John 1:12.

He gave the right. Not the chance. Not the possibility, if you manage to clean yourself up enough. The right. What a heavy word. What a generous word.

Everything in this verse turns on one single action: receive. Not earn, not accumulate, not prove. Receive. Becoming God's child starts with open hands — not a polished résumé of good behavior, not years of religious effort, not a life you think has finally earned heaven's approval. It starts with open hands. That is the door.

And look what walks through that door — not an honorary title, not a warm feeling that comes and goes depending on how your day went. John says the right. Adoption is a standing that God grants — established, settled, on record in heaven. When the anxious voice inside you whispers "you don't really belong here," it is lying. You are not chasing a feeling; you are standing on ground that God himself prepared.

Now consider the distance between creature and child. Every human being who has ever lived is God's creation — that is true. But not every human being lives as His child. Faith in Jesus moves you — it actually moves you — out of the anonymous crowd and into the family. Not as a guest. Not as an employee. As a son. As a daughter.

And that changes everything about the way you move through the world. Because you are a child before you are a worker. You are a son or daughter before you are useful, before you produce anything, before you prove anything. What you do — your service, your obedience, your generosity — flows from whose you are. It is not your effort that qualifies you; it is your adoption that sends you.

And here is what that looks like on the ground, in the ordinary grain of your day: children don't make appointments with their father. Think about that. A child doesn't walk to the edge of a room and say, "Excuse me, I'd like to schedule a meeting for next week." They just walk in. They talk. They interrupt dinner if they have to. In Christ, the door to God stands open to you all day long — early in the morning, in the middle of the mess at work, late at night when the weight of the day is still sitting on your shoulders. You don't have to qualify to enter. You already belong inside.

So today, before breakfast — before you reach for your phone, before you start running — stop. Open your first prayer of the day with a single word: Father. Not a long prayer. Not the perfect prayer. Just that word. And then thank Him out loud for adopting you. Let your own voice hear what you believe. Let the whole day begin from a different place — not from the place of a child trying to prove something, but from the place of a child who already knows whose they are.

Stay close to God. Pray — then act. I'll see you tomorrow, my friend.