Exposing The Spirit of Rejection

When the Child in Us Locks the Door

One morning, my wife stepped outside to check the mail.
Our daughter, a toddler at the time, quietly closed the door behind her and locked it.

My wife stood outside.
Locked out.
No keys.
No way in.
And now our daughter was trapped inside alone.

She called me in a panic.
I was 40 minutes away, but I dropped everything.
I drove like my life depended on it—breaking every speed limit to get home and open the door.
It was the most reckless I’ve ever driven.
Because my child was inside, and she couldn’t let herself out.

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The Deception Of Rejection

There’s a child inside all of us—
The wounded, scared, confused version of ourselves—
And sometimes, that child locks us out of our own life.

We try to move forward,
But shame slams the door.
We try to trust again,
But fear bolts the lock.
Our trauma pulls the latch and whispers:
"You’re safer alone."

And it takes a Father to come back—
To close the distance,
To unlock what we never could,
To remind us:
You were never truly locked out.

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When Your Father Doesn’t Show Up

But what happens when the Father doesn’t show up?
What if the key never comes?
What if you’re left standing in the cold,
The door locked tight,
And the child inside doesn’t even know how to open it?

That’s what rejection does.

That was my story.

I never met my father.
He refused to believe I was his.
Not just emotionally—biologically.
I was abandoned before I was even known.

So I grew up locked out of identity.
Every room felt like a closed door.
Every crowd felt like a silent verdict.
I assumed I didn’t belong—so I stopped trying to.

Public speaking? I could do that.
It’s easy to hide behind a mic.
But in a small group, I’d disappear.

Because when you live with rejection long enough,
You learn this twisted logic:
You can’t be rejected if you never give people the power to accept you.

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The Architecture Of Rejection

Rejection isn’t just a feeling.
It can be a spirit.
A fog.
A filter.
It warps how you see yourself, others, and even God.

“Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us ‘Beloved.’”
— Henri Nouwen

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That spirit shows up all over Scripture:

• Joseph was rejected by his brothers.

• David was overlooked by his father.

• Moses was dismissed by his own people.

• Jeremiah was silenced by the crowd.

• And Jesus…

“He was despised and rejected by men…” (Isaiah 53:3)
“The stone the builders rejected…” (Psalm 118:22)
“He came to His own, and His own did not receive Him.” (John 1:11)

Yet the Father still said:

“This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17)

And that was before the miracles,
Before the sermons,
Before the cross.

Because...

In the world, you work for worth.
In the Kingdom, you work from it.

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Accepting the Acceptance

Even now, we see rejection driving people in ways they don’t even recognize.

Unhealed rejection turns vision into vengeance.
Or sometimes, it hides behind apathy—
Because if I don’t try, I can’t be rejected.

Francis Chan knows that story firsthand.

His mother died giving birth to him.
That’s how his life started—with loss.
By the time he was 12, both of his parents were gone.

He was raised by relatives who didn’t want him.
He’s spoken about how his stepmother verbally abused him—how she told him, “You’re just a stupid mistake.”
His father was cold and often angry, a strict man who rarely showed affection.

Francis grew up feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere.
Not at home. Not in family. Not in life.

And even when he found faith, he didn’t fully trust love.
He saw God the way he saw his father—distant, demanding, ready to punish.

So he performed.
He built.
He tried to earn what he didn’t believe could be freely given.

He said:

“I always felt like I had to prove myself. Even in ministry.”

That’s what rejection does.
It doesn’t just leave a scar—
It writes a script:

“Be better. Do more. Don’t need anyone.”

But healing begins when we stop performing—and start receiving.

Francis came to see God not as a cold authority figure,
But as a tender Father.
Not a God who demands from a distance,
But One who runs toward you—
Even when you feel unworthy of being chased.

“Until you believe you are loved by God—not for what you do, but because of who He is—you’ll never really rest.”

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Rejecting Rejection

That’s where healing begins:
Not in striving,
But in surrender.
Not in earning,
But in being embraced.

Rejection can lock us out of who we truly are.
But sometimes, it’s not just that we’re locked out—
It’s that the child inside us is afraid to let the Father in.

So how do we break free?

Not by hiding.
Not by performing.
Not by proving.

We break free by remembering who we are—
And more importantly, whose we are.

• Chosen, accepted, and loved (Ephesians 1:6)

• Fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14)

• Seated with Christ in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6)

• Never forsaken (Isaiah 41:9)

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Rejection doesn’t get the final word.
That locked door isn’t the end of your story.
It never was.

Because sometimes, it takes a Father to come running—
To travel the distance,
To turn the key,
And to remind you:

You are not locked out.
You are still His.
And He’s already on the way.

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