Neophyte

Author: Sony

  • Letting G♡d Be the Parent We Needed

    Returning to the Wounded Places

    Lately, I’ve found myself returning to this idea of reparenting, and how it might be a doorway into grace. Reparenting is a term I first encountered in therapeutic language, but the more I have reflected on it, the more I wonder if it has something to say about spiritual formation as well.

    Reparenting, in psychological terms, is the process of learning to care for the parts of ourselves that didn’t get what they needed growing up. If love felt inconsistent or conditional, if safety was lacking or affection was only offered when we performed, those experiences can leave a deep mark. And sometimes, without realising it, we carry those same expectations into our spiritual life.

    Conditional Love and the G♡d we imagine

    I am beginning to notice how hard it has been for me to really believe in a G♡d who loves without conditions. I can say all the right words about grace. I can affirm the theology. But there’s still a part of me that flinches (a younger part of me, perhaps) that believes love has to be earned.

    Be good enough.

    Be useful.

    Don’t mess up.

    Somewhere along the line, that became the script. And it’s a script I’ve projected onto G♡d.

    So what happens when we begin to let G♡d rewrite that story?

    Letting G♡d reparent me

    This is where the language of reparenting has started to open something up for me. What if part of following Jesus means allowing G♡d to re-father or re-mother us? Not in a way that erases my childhood or dishonours my loving parents, but in a way that gently tends to the wounded, striving parts of me that still don’t quite know how to receive love.

    To be reparented by G♡d, I think, is to let myself experience love that does not require anything of me. Love that is not earned. Love that simply is.

    Love that comes first

    There are moments in Scripture that speak so clearly of this kind of love – a love that comes before performance.

    “But G♡d showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.” (Romans 5:8)

    Not when we had our act together.

    Not once we repented properly. 

    While we were still sinners.

    And then there’s that beautiful moment at Jesus’ baptism:

    “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17)

    These words are spoken before Jesus has done any public ministry, before the sermons, the healings, the cross. The Father’s love and pleasure are not the reward for a job well done. They’re the foundation.

    What would it mean to hear those words spoken over us? Not as a motivational quote, but as a voice from heaven saying, 

    “You are loved. You are my child. I delight in you.”

    Becoming like Little Children

    I wonder if this is part of what Jesus meant when he said we must become like children to enter the kingdom (Matthew 18:3). Not childish, but childlike. Able to receive, trust and willing to be loved.

    To me, that feels like sacred work — especially for those of us whose instincts still whisper that love must be earned. Unlearning that pattern doesn’t happen quickly. It takes time to trust that we are loved simply because we are. And sometimes, even receiving that kind of love can feel unfamiliar, even a little uncomfortable. But perhaps that is where grace does its quiet work, not in dramatic breakthroughs, but in the slow softening of our defences.

    Reparenting with G♡d doesn’t happen overnight. Sometimes I can only take in love in small doses. Sometimes I resist it. But I’m learning that even the resistance – the hesitation, the struggle – are part of the process. Healing takes time, and that’s okay. G♡d is patient with us, even when we are still learning how to be loved.

    Still unlearning, Still becoming

    I don’t have a tidy ending for this. It’s something I’m still unlearning, still becoming. But I sense that G♡d is patient with me. And perhaps patient with the little child inside who is still learning how to trust.

    If any of this resonates with you, if you too carry stories of conditional love, or if receiving grace still feels awkward or foreign, you’re not alone. Maybe G♡d is inviting us to rest, to receive, to be reparented by love itself.

  • When Faith Feels Like Performance, Is That Really Obedience?

    On the tension between G♡d -sized assignments and quiet intimacy with G♡d

    I have been sitting with a chapter from Experiencing God by Henry Blackaby. One phrase that stuck with me was his description of how encountering G♡d often involves “G♡d-sized assignments”- the kind of callings that stretch us beyond our own ability, and make space for G♡d to show up unmistakably.

    It is an inspiring thought. It reminds me of the stories of Abraham, Moses, Gideon, or the early church – people whose obedience led to miracles and movements. There’s a clear thread in Scripture: when we step out in faith beyond our limits, we often come to know G♡d in new ways. And when things happen that we know we couldn’t have done on our own, G♡d gets the glory.

    That part resonates. But I also found myself wondering:

    Does this focus on “G♡d-sized” work risk turning our relationship with G♡d into something results-driven?

    Here’s what I’m noticing.

    The Value in What the Book Is Saying

    Blackaby’s emphasis on action-oriented faith is important. Faith isn’t just something we believe privately; it’s something we trust publicly, with our lives. There’s something beautiful (and biblical) about letting our limits become the place where G♡d’s power is revealed.

    When G♡d works through human weakness, He gets the glory, not us. That’s part of the mystery of obedience.

    And to be clear: Blackaby is not promoting a works-based spirituality. He was quite emphatic from early on in the book that our relationship with G♡d must be rooted in love, not effort. He said “A love relationship with God is more important than any other single factor in your life.”

    Those lines are easy to miss if we jump straight to the “assignment” chapters. But they are foundational. And they reshape how we understand what it means to follow G♡d into something big — or even something small.

    But There’s a Real Risk Too

    Even with all that said, I still find myself wrestling, not with Blackaby’s theology, but with my own tendencies.

    Because I know how easy it is to slip into a posture where I chase results rather than presence. I start to assess my faithfulness based on outcomes. I start to confuse spiritual maturity with measurable fruit.

    And that shift, even if subtle, can hollow things out. It can lead to:

    • A constant sense of pressure to “do big things”
    • Discouragement when nothing spectacular happens
    • Disappointment when prayers are unanswered or not answered “soon enough”
    • Neglect of the small, quiet, faithful moments like prayer, listening, stillness and obedience in smaller simpler things

    It’s not what Blackaby is calling for. But it’s a way his words could be misread, and I think that’s worth naming. Not to critique him, but to guard my own heart.

    So What’s the Better Way?

    I’m learning (slowly) that intimacy comes first. That the healthiest kind of obedience flows from love, not just ambition. Jesus withdrew to quiet places not to get recharged for the next miracle, but simply to be with His Father.

    Blackaby’s earlier chapters helped me see that more clearly. They remind me that any outward assignment G♡d gives is always meant to flow from inward relationship never replace it.

    When we start from love, the boldness to follow G♡d into big (or small) things can overflow naturally. The point isn’t to do “G♡d-sized” work, it is to be in a G♡d-centred relationship, and let Him lead the way.

    In Short…

    • G♡d does invite us into work that is bigger than us.
    • But His main invitation is always into deeper love.
    • Obedience is powerful when it’s rooted in presence, not performance.

    And in some ways, that’s exactly what the early chapters of Experiencing God are trying to teach. The assignments are not the goal. The relationship is.

    If you’re curious to explore more: I have been reading Experiencing God Study by Henry Blackaby, and it has been one of the most shaping books I have read in this season. It is not a book about doing more for G♡d, it is about walking more closely with Him. If you are in a place where you are trying to rediscover what intimacy with G♡d can look like, it might be worth sitting with.

  • The People Who Helped Me See G♡d – Without Saying Much

    There are people who changed my life without ever trying to.

    They did not preach. They did not have a platform. They were not trying to convert me or inspire me. They just walked with G♡d in a way that was real, and something in that walk stirred a quiet longing in me.

    I did not always know what I was seeing at the time. It was not loud. It was not impressive. But it was steady. Deep. Peaceful in a way that did not make sense.

    And in that quiet, I began to wonder: Could that kind of relationship with G♡d be possible for me too?

    They talked about G♡d like He was someone they loved

    Not someone they worked for. Not someone they called on in crisis. Just someone they enjoyed.

    They spoke of G♡d with warmth, sometimes even humour. Not in a way that made Him smaller, but in a way that made Him nearer.

    Sometimes it was the way they would laugh when telling a story, or say “I think G♡d knew I needed that,” with a kind of quiet affection. They never talk about Him like a doctrine, but like a dear friend.

    They never tried to teach me theology. They just gave me language I didn’t know I needed, like:

    “I felt G♡d just sit with me in it.”
    “I was so angry, but I knew He could handle that too.”
    “I didn’t get answers, but I didn’t feel alone.”

    Those phrases stayed with me. They taught me something sermons hadn’t: G♡d is not just a Saviour, He’s a Companion.

    They let me see the waiting, not just the outcomes

    I used to think faith was about getting results. But these people were not always sharing breakthrough stories. Sometimes they were still in the middle of it. Still unsure, still praying, still holding hope gently.

    And somehow, that made it all feel more honest.

    “I’m not sure where this is going,” they said, “but I want to stay close to G♡d through it.”

    It did not feel like a performance, but like trust. And in watching that, I started to believe that maybe G♡d wasn’t just worth following for what He could do, but for who He is.

    They had a peace that didn’t match their circumstances

    It was not fake calm or toxic positivity. It was deeper. They were able to carry joy and grief in the same hand. They did not deny hardship. They just weren’t crushed by it.

    And I remember thinking: If that is what walking with G♡d looks like… I want to know that kind of steadiness.

    They did not offer explanations for the hard stuff. But they radiated a kind of groundedness, like their roots were somewhere I could not see yet.

    Looking back, I don’t think what drew me in was just them. It was the fruit of something deeper. A peace that wasn’t self-made. A joy that didn’t match the moment. It felt like G♡d’s presence, quietly spilling through someone who had been with Him.

    They let me in not to impress, just to share

    Sometimes it was a prayer request. Other times, a question they were still wrestling with. But the openness meant a lot.

    They never made me feel behind or like a project. They simply opened a door. Shared a part of the journey. Let me walk alongside for a while.

    There was no pressure to believe anything. Just space to wonder if maybe, just maybe, G♡d could be like that for me too.

    I’m still learning from them

    I don’t think they set out to lead me anywhere. They were just living with G♡d in full view, not loudly, but honestly. And that honesty opened something in me.

    It did not change everything overnight. But it gave me a glimpse of G♡d as Someone I could know, not just someone I could learn about.

    And maybe that’s what true witness looks like.

    Not trying to convince anyone. Just walking with G♡d, and letting that walk be visible.

    If you’re reading this and wondering…

    If you’ve ever felt like your quiet life doesn’t “count” for much, or like your faith isn’t dramatic enough to make a difference, please know: you might already be the kind of person who helps someone else see G♡d.

    Not by your results. But by your rootedness.

    Not by your words. But by your way of being.

    The people who helped me see G♡d didn’t even know they were doing it. They were just faithful. Gentle. True. And through them, G♡d became a little more real to me.

  • Can G♡d Suffer?

    I’ve been sitting with the idea of a ‘personal G♡d’ – something I’ve always been told, but I’m beginning to realise I never really asked what it means.

    Is G♡d like a person? Can we talk to Him like we talk to a friend or a parent? Does He really care when we’re hurting?

    These are big questions. And honestly, I don’t have all the answers. But I’m starting to wonder if there’s more to this than I used to think.

    Talking to G♡d, not just about G♡d

    In the Bible, people speak to G♡d like they know G♡d. They cry out. They ask for help. They say thank you. Jesus even taught people to pray like children talking to a loving parent.

    That sounds personal, right?

    But it also raises questions. G♡d isn’t a person like you or me. We don’t know if He feels things the way we do. So what does it mean to say He loves, or listens, or suffers with us?

    Some people say we’re just using words we understand. That when we say G♡d loves, it’s kind of like human love, but also way beyond it. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s still real.

    Still, that makes me wonder: can love be real if it doesn’t feel anything? And that’s led me to another question I didn’t expect to ask…

    Does G♡d hurt when we hurt?

    For a long time, many people believed that G♡d couldn’t suffer. That He was too perfect to feel pain. They said if He could be hurt, then He would be weak like us.

    But after terrible things happened in the world, like wars, injustice, and deep human pain, some people began to ask: What kind of love doesn’t suffer? How could He really care if He never feels pain with us?

    One writer, Jürgen Moltmann, said something I can’t stop thinking about:

    A G♡d who cannot suffer cannot love.

    That hits me hard.

    If love is real, maybe it has to hurt sometimes. Maybe G♡d isn’t distant or watching from far away. Maybe G♡d is right here in the middle of our pain. Loving us from the inside.

    Other writers have said something similar. Kazoh Kitamori said G♡d’s love comes from pain. Abraham Heschel wrote about a G♡d who cries with people. They believe G♡d isn’t cold or untouched, but full of deep feeling.

    Where does this leave me?

    I don’t know how it all works. I don’t know exactly what it means to say G♡d feels. But I hope it’s true that G♡d does.

    I hope G♡d is close to those who are hurting. I hope G♡d hears us, even when we don’t have words. I hope love, real love, is at the centre of who G♡d is.

    And maybe love like that doesn’t stand far away. Maybe that Love steps into our mess, sits with us, and says, “I’m here.”

    That’s the kind of G♡d I want to believe in.

  • Is G♡d Male?

    This is a question I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. And it’s a good one, especially when we see so many references to G♡d as “Father” or “He” in the Bible. If G♡d is called “Father,” does that mean G♡d is male?

    The short answer is: no. But let me explain why.

    Masculine Language doesn’t mean G♡d is a Man

    In the Bible, G♡d is often described using male words and images. G♡d is called Father, King, Shepherd, and even Warrior. The Greek word theos, which means “God,” is also grammatically masculine.

    But that doesn’t mean G♡d is a man. These words come from a time and place where men had more power in society. So, it made sense for people in ancient Israel to describe G♡d using the strongest and most respected roles they knew, and those roles happened to be male ones.

    Still, even back then, people didn’t think of G♡d as a man with a body or with male sexuality. G♡d wasn’t thought of as a human being. G♡d is Spirit – not male or female. Things like gender and sex are part of the world G♡d made, not part of G♡d’s own nature.

    G♡d is also described like a Mother

    Even though the Bible mostly uses male images for G♡d, it also includes some beautiful pictures of G♡d that sound a lot more like a mother:

    • In Deuteronomy 32:18, G♡d is described as the one who gave birth to Israel.
    • In Isaiah 66, G♡d is like a woman in labour and a mother comforting her child.
    • In Exodus 16:4, G♡d feeds and provides like a mother cooking bread for her family.

    So even though male language is more common, the Bible also uses female imagery to help people understand who G♡d is. G♡d is strong and protective like a father, but also gentle and nurturing like a mother.

    G♡d is beyond Gender

    Here’s something that helps me: G♡d made humans in G♡d’s image – male and female. That means both men and women reflect something of who G♡d is. But G♡d is not limited to either one.

    When the Bible says G♡d is “Father,” it’s not talking about biology. It’s talking about a kind of relationship. Just like a good father provides, guides, and loves, G♡d cares for us in those ways too. But G♡d can also be imagined as a mother who holds, feeds, and comforts us when we’re scared.

    A theologian named Wolfhart Pannenberg once said that even though the Bible often calls G♡d “Father,” that doesn’t mean G♡d is a man. The Bible also uses motherly images to describe the same love and care.

    And another theologian, Sallie McFague, reminds us that when we call G♡d “Mother” or “Father,” we’re using metaphors, not exact facts. These are pictures that help us understand something deep and mysterious. They aren’t the whole truth, but they point us toward it.

    G♡d is not a woman. G♡d is not a man. G♡d is G♡d.

    So what does this mean for us?

    Here’s what I’m sitting with:

    • The Bible mostly uses male words for G♡d, but that’s because of the culture at the time; not because G♡d is male.
    • G♡d is not a human being with a body or gender. G♡d is Spirit, and G♡d is beyond all the categories we use to describe people.
    • “Father” is about love and care and relationship, not gender.
    • G♡d is described both as a father and a mother, because both can show us something true about how G♡d loves.
    • The words we use for G♡d are helpful, but not perfect. That’s okay. The important thing is to know that G♡d is loving, close, and always bigger than we can fully imagine.

    If you’ve ever felt like the word “Father” for G♡d was hard, especially because of your own experiences, you’re not alone. It’s okay to wrestle with that. I’m still learning how to hold these metaphors gently, trusting that G♡d is bigger than any one name.

    And maybe, just maybe, we can begin to see G♡d not through the limits of gender, but through the wideness of love.

  • A Journey of Sacred Discovery

    I’m so glad you’ve found your way here.

    Neophyte was born from a place of both wonder and weariness – a space between longing and loss, between sacred questions and a deep, abiding trust. Like many of you, I’ve wrestled with rigid doctrines, felt disillusioned by institutional religion, and carried doubts I wasn’t always sure I was allowed to voice.

    And yet, I have never been more certain of G♡d’s presence.

    This blog is my offering. Not as an expert, but as a fellow traveller. A neophyte in the truest sense: a beginner, a learner, a seeker who chooses to walk forward not in confusion, but in faith.

    Here at Neophyte, as I journey through Scripture Studies and deepen my understanding of Systematic Theology, I’ll be sharing reflections for the weary, the curious, the deconstructed, and the rekindled – offered with honesty, faith, and an open heart.

    My prayer is that Neophyte becomes a quiet companion on your spiritual journey. A place where you can breathe. A space where your questions are honoured. A path where G♡d is not a concept to conquer, but a Presence to encounter – mysterious, merciful, and close.

    If you’ve ever felt too broken, too uncertain, or too burnt out to begin again – you belong here.

    Let’s walk this sacred path together.