“Brandon, you tend to talk more like a soldier than a son.”

With one sentence, my counselor leveled me and the session was over. All I could do was stare and blink. And then I had to leave so he could see (and, I assume, destroy) his next client. Walking back to my car, I rubbed my neck like I was sore from whiplash. Maybe my body was sympathizing with the needed blow my heart had just received. Or maybe I wasn’t prepared to go back to work and pretend like I hadn’t just had my dome rocked.

I’ve been going to this counselor for a few months now and God is meeting me in some massively impactful ways through him. When the fit with a counselor is right, it’s wild how much work can happen in a relatively short period of time. He has been talking to me about several topics that I didn’t realize until this session were deeply interconnected. We’ve addressed my desperate need to perform in order to earn love and affection. We’ve addressed how deeply my heart desires to always do the right thing. And we’ve addressed the paralysis that happens in my heart when faced with a major decision and no clear answer from God. Now, I am under no illusion that I am unique in these issues. Quite honestly, that’s why I’m sharing them here, hoping that the revelation can help someone who is in a similar space.

What my counselor is helping me unravel is that each of these things connects to the mindset of a soldier and not of a son. A soldier shows up in the exact right place at the exact right time, receives his orders, and executes them as flawlessly as possible. And then, he returns again for the next set of orders. I’ll be honest. To me, this sounds like holiness. Forget your desires and your flesh and your heart. Show up, shut up, and put up. God will tell you what needs to be done to further His Kingdom. You should be humble and obey and not be concerned about your own hopes or dreams or happiness. That stuff is worldly and pulls Christians away from the purposes of God.

Maybe I’m the only one who has felt this, but these thoughts flood my mind whenever I hear someone ask about my passions and dreams. They don’t matter. Only what God wants matters. Besides, isn’t the heart wicked and deceitful above all things? Aren’t I bent toward depravity, by virtue of being a human?

My counselor has challenged me deeply in these beliefs, and if I’m being completely transparent, I’m still wrestling with this. But his argument to me is that, as a born-again believer in Christ and because of His atoning work on the cross, I hold both depravity and dignity. He challenged me that I focus too much on my depravity and not enough on the imbued dignity of all image-bearers, but especially those born again into the new covenant in Christ. Now, he’s not telling me to go wild out and do whatever the heck I want. But he has been gently (and not so gently) prodding my notions of sonship. He argues that a beloved son doesn’t worry about having everything figured out. Instead, he lives wisely, but adventurously, safe to make choices and trust that his Father will take care of him if something goes wrong.

“Could God really be such a loving Father that instead of giving me marching orders, He asks me how I’d like to join Him and participate in establishing and building His Kingdom here on Earth?”

Again, being honest, the dignity of choice—the invitation to partner and partake in the plans of God in my life as an active, loved, valued participant instead of a nameless, faceless executor of orders—still often feels out of reach. But something about this challenge is eating away at me inside. It feels like a potentially life-changing revelation and also like it’s too good to be true. Could God really be such a loving Father that instead of giving me marching orders, He asks me how I’d like to join Him and participate in establishing and building His Kingdom here on Earth? I can only liken it to a Dad spending a day with his son.

If he loves his son, he would likely be more concerned with what the son wanted to do during his special day with Dad than with getting away to the golf course all day because he loves it himself. Maybe the kid wants to run around the park or hit some baseballs or see a movie or go to the zoo.

This is messing with me in profound ways, but I think I’ve needed it for a long time. I feel many invitations from the Father in this year, but not many direct commands. I prefer commands. They’re easy to obey because God says so, end of story. But making my own choices and trusting that I’m following the Spirit’s leading? With no direct yes or no? In this economy? Part of the invitation I feel led into even includes the invitation to fail. I may make a wrong choice (hard to believe, I know), but if and when I do, He will be there to help me clean it up, make things right, and move forward by His leading. That messes with someone with a perfectionistic performer’s mentality, but that’s probably the point. My counselor offered that, for me, taking the time to do less and be more may actually stretch my faith more than just adding to my already overflowing plate of service to God’s Kingdom.

Perhaps for me, the deep formation of trust that’s needed in my heart will come from learning to accept being loved by my Father, even if I don’t fill my life with hours of ways I can “show my work” in being a good son. Maybe it will just come from accepting that I am as loved as I ever will be, regardless of what I do or don’t do. And maybe a healthy heart of service for God’s Kingdom can only come from that place of identity. Maybe getting honorably discharged from the army I enlisted myself in will be the best thing that ever happens to me as a beloved son.