Category: Musings

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.

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

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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.

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.