Abide || August 1

Adopted

The world will spend all week telling you who you need to become. Every Saturday morning, we’ll remember who you already are in Christ. Friend, welcome back to Abide.

Have you ever desperately wanted to belong somewhere?

Not just to be invited. Not just to be accepted. To belong. To know there wasn't anything you had to prove before someone called you family.

I think every human heart is looking for that kind of home.

Some of us spend our entire lives trying to earn it. We perform. We achieve. We become whoever we think people need us to be. We try to deserve love instead of simply receiving it. We spend years wondering whether we'll ever feel fully known and fully wanted at the same time.

The beautiful news of the Gospel is that God never intended for His children to live that way.

He didn't simply forgive us.

He adopted us.

Scripture teaches that through Christ, we are adopted into the family of God.

Now, before you skip ahead because adoption sounds like a nice theological word that belongs in seminary classrooms and Bible trivia, stay with me. Because understanding your adoption may completely change the way you see God—and yourself.

When we hear the word adoption, we usually think of a loving family choosing a child and bringing them into their home. That's certainly part of the picture. But when Paul wrote about adoption, his original readers would have understood something even more significant.

The Greek word translated adoption is “huiothesia,” formed from huios ("son") and thesis ("placing"). Literally, it means "the placing of a son." Strong's Concordance defines it as "the placing as a son, adoption; Christian sonship in respect to God." It wasn't simply welcoming someone into a household. It was a legal act that permanently conferred the full status, rights, inheritance, and privileges of a natural-born child.

In the Greco-Roman world, adoption wasn't primarily about providing a home for an orphan. It was often about choosing an heir. Someone was intentionally brought into a family and given a new identity, a new future, and a permanent place at the table. Their old status no longer defined them. Their new family did.

Doesn't that make the Gospel feel even more breathtaking?

God didn't reluctantly let you in because there was extra room at the table - He intentionally chose you.

Paul writes that God "predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will" (Ephesians 1:5, ESV).

Not because you finally got your life together. Not because you proved yourself useful. Not because you became the "good Christian."

Simply because it pleased Him.

That may be one of the hardest truths for many of us to believe. Me included.

Most of us know we're saved by grace, yet we quietly continue living like interns in God's Kingdom instead of His children. We keep trying to earn promotions we've already been given. We behave like we're on a ninety-day probationary period with Heaven.

"Maybe if I read my Bible more..."

"Maybe if I stop struggling with this sin..."

"Maybe if I serve enough..."

"Maybe if I can just get my life together..."

Meanwhile, God is gently looking at us like, "My child...you're already home."

The Apostle Paul contrasts these two ways of living beautifully in Romans:

"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'" (Romans 8:15, NIV).

Notice the contrast:

• A slave lives in fear. A child lives in relationship.

• A slave worries about being dismissed. A child runs into their father's arms.

• A slave performs for approval. A child already has it.

One of my favorite details in this passage is the word Abba. It's an intimate, deeply personal way of addressing a father—not casual or disrespectful, but incredibly close. Through Christ, we don't simply know facts about God. We are invited into relationship with Him.

That's what adoption gives us. A Father we can approach. A family we belong to. A home we never have to earn.

Paul expands this picture in Galatians:

"God sent his Son...to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship. Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, 'Abba, Father'" (Galatians 4:4–6, NIV).

Did you catch that?

We don't become God's children because we feel close to Him.

We cry "Abba" because we already are.

Adoption isn't the reward for spiritual maturity. It's the starting place. It changes everything! You receive a new identity, a completely clean slate, full forgiveness, an eternal inheritance, direct access to the Father.

Paul goes on to say that if we are God's children, then we are "heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ" (Romans 8:17, ESV). Think about that for a second.

Jesus doesn't merely save us from sin. He shares His inheritance with us.

If someone told you that a billionaire you'd never met had legally adopted you and made you an heir to everything they owned, you'd probably need a minute to process it.

And yet what we've received in Christ is infinitely greater.

Which makes me wonder how many of us are still spiritually living like orphans while holding the paperwork that says we're sons and daughters.

Orphan hearts strive. They hide. They perform. They assume love must be earned and belonging can be lost.

Adopted hearts rest.

Not because life is easy. Not because they never struggle. But because they know whose they are. There is incredible freedom in realizing that no amount of success makes God love you more, and no amount of failure makes Him love you less.

Children don't wake up every morning wondering whether they're still part of the family - Neither should we.

Maybe that's the invitation for us this new month.

To stop approaching God like employees asking to keep our jobs. To stop praying like defendants trying to convince the Judge to show mercy. To stop exhausting ourselves trying to earn a seat that already has our name on it.

Instead, we come as sons and daughters.

Chosen.

Wanted.

Known.

Loved.

Secure.

No matter what your earthly family looked like—or still looks like—you are not defined by it. Some of you were raised in homes overflowing with love. Others carry deep wounds from parents who were absent, harsh, inconsistent, or unable to give what you desperately needed.

God never asks us to pretend those things didn't matter.

But He does offer something they can never take away.

A perfect Father. A permanent family. An unshakable identity.

The invitation of the Gospel isn't merely to believe in God.

It's to come home to Him.

And once you're home, you don't have to spend the rest of your life proving you belong.

You already do.

This Week’s Reflection

This week, pay attention to the moments when you begin relating to God like an employee instead of a child.

When you catch yourself thinking, I need to do better so God will be pleased with me, pause. When you feel tempted to hide because you've failed, pause. When you find yourself striving to prove your worth through productivity, perfection, or performance, pause.

Ask yourself one simple question:

Am I responding from an orphan heart or an adopted heart?

An orphan heart believes love must be earned - An adopted heart knows love has already been given.

Spend a few quiet moments each day reading Romans 8:15–17 or Galatians 4:4–7. Before you rush into requests or your to-do list, simply sit with the truth that you have been welcomed into God's family. Let yourself call Him "Abba, Father." Not because you've had a perfect day, but because Christ has already secured your place.

This week, don't just thank God for saving you. Thank Him for bringing you home.

Keep walking with Jesus, friends.

bytaylormcgee