I am a mom.

It’s hard for me to use the word “mom;” there’s just so much baggage.

Real Moms don’t insist their children satisfy them. Real Moms don’t use manipulation, control or guilt. Real Moms offer love with a fierceness and steadfastness; amazing fathers stand in wonder. A father’s love is miraculous, needed, strong. But a mother’s love is like gasoline. It burns up anything that hinders love. It has search and destroy missiles. Anything going after your son or daughter, and all bets are off.

I keep running into orphans. Nothing breaks a mamma’s heart like orphan culture. You see a kid who doesn’t have the slightest idea how to navigate life, and you want to offer a hand. Not to DO it for them, but to show them a few times, at least show them how you do it, and then they can decide how they want to do it for themselves.

Here’s an example: Imagine I’m in the room with inexperienced adults, and they keep facing difficulty because their phone is dead. They all gather around one another for pats on the back, encouragement and support. All the while, Rodney and I are standing in the doorway, noticing the charger keeps falling out of the outlet. We want to show them a better way to charge their phones, but really all they want is a pat on the back, or for us to listen to them talk about their difficulty.

I understand the need to be heard. I have the same need. But when is it okay to admit that you might not know everything? That maybe your parents were great, or maybe they weren’t, but you need some help? Why must we keep comforting them about the same issues when we could just teach them a different way to charge their phones?

Why is it so hard for orphans to receive from parents?

I feel as if the orphans feel rejected by parents automatically, or they aren’t comfortable in their love, so they’re trying to “prove themselves.” I want to put my arm around them and help them relax. I want them to know they don’t have to try so hard. They can just be for half a second. Just be a son or daughter. Just be loved. Be flawed. Be enjoyed. Be crazy. Just Be.

Being a dearly loved son or daughter comes with benefits. It means someone who knows a thing or two about life has your back. Someone with the strength of years has seen more horizons, has climbed higher and farther. And while I love the strength of the next generation, they really need ours. Orphans cannot father orphans.

I keep hearing about the orphans that have “lost their faith.”

I just want to point out that they never had it. They didn’t lose anything. They just changed their language, that’s all.

Orphans want to be a god. They can’t trust.

Everyone, not just orphans, has this choice: god or man? Am I going to be a man, or am I going to be a god?

The witchcraft/orphan culture just changes clothes: dressed up to go to church, or stripped down to hop in bed. It’s the same god. It’s the same demon. They just realized they don’t have to play nonsense games dressed up to look like faith. Both systems allow them to be in charge of their life. Call it doubt. Call it empowerment. Call it freedom. It’s none of these.

Having doubts and having questions are completely normal in the context of a family. But with orphans: it’s a crisis. They have such little stability. It’s as if they fuel one another with dilemma, conflict resolution, and supporting one another. I’m growing impatient with the language “doubts.” Just be honest. You want to be in control of your life. Quit calling it doubt and own it. You think you’ll do a better job than god.

The witchcraft/orphan culture doesn’t trust in a good father. They can’t endure pain, difficulty, or delay. They don’t trust in goodness. They don’t trust. They see no value in learning from parents. They have no stomach for a parent’s perspective.

I see many things in their lives more clearly than they do. I wish they’d let me lend them my eyes from time to time. I wish they’d let me love them.


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