The Children’s Bread

There is a moment in the Gospels that has always stayed with me. A desperate mother comes to Jesus on behalf of her daughter who is severely tormented. In the middle of their conversation, Jesus says something that at first seems unusual:

“It is not meet to take the children’s bread, and to cast it to dogs.” — Matthew 15:26

But within that statement is a powerful truth.

Deliverance is the children’s bread.

Bread in Scripture represents provision. It is something necessary for daily life. It is something expected at the table. When Jesus used this language, He was revealing that freedom from the power of darkness was never meant to be rare or reserved for a select few. It was meant to be part of what belongs to the family of God.

Children do not beg at their father’s table.

They don’t stand outside the house hoping for scraps. They sit down because they belong there. The table is theirs because they are part of the family.

Yet many believers approach God like outsiders. They feel as though they must plead long enough, cry hard enough, or prove themselves worthy before God will move on their behalf. That they must strive to obtain mercy. But the gospel paints a very different picture.

“Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.” — Hebrews 4:16

Boldly.

Not with arrogance, but with the confidence of children who know their Father welcomes them.

The foundation of our relationship with God is grace, not performance.

“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.” — Ephesians 2:8

A gift is not something you earn. It is not something you beg for. It is something freely given.

When Jesus walked the earth, people came to Him bound and oppressed, and He set them free. Demons fled. Minds were restored. Lives were transformed. He did not require people to prove their worthiness first. He responded to faith and to those who simply came.

That same grace is still available today.

“Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son.” — Colossians 1:13

Deliverance is not merely something we hope for one day. Through Christ, the authority of darkness has already been broken.

This does not mean believers never face spiritual battles. Scripture makes it clear that we do. But we fight from a place of belonging, not rejection. We approach God as sons and daughters, not as strangers hoping for mercy.

The children of God do not have to beg for bread.

The bread has already been placed on the table.

Jesus Himself said, “I am the bread of life.” — John 6:35

Through Him, the Father has provided everything we need for life, freedom, and restoration.

So when you come to the Lord seeking freedom, come with humility, but also with confidence in His grace. Come like a child who knows the Father’s house is open.

Sit down at the table.

The bread was always meant for you.

Father,

Thank You that through Jesus we are welcomed into Your family. Thank You that we do not have to beg for what You have already provided through Your grace. Help us to come before You with humble hearts and confident faith, knowing that we belong to You.

Lord, for anyone who feels bound, oppressed, or weary in their spirit, I ask that Your freedom would flow into their life. Remind them that through Christ they have been delivered from the power of darkness and brought into Your kingdom. Let faith rise in their hearts to receive the freedom that You freely give.

Teach us to live as Your children, resting in Your grace, trusting Your goodness, and walking in the freedom that Jesus purchased for us.

In Jesus’ name, amen.

When the Past Still Pulls at You

There have been seasons in my life when I’ve asked myself a quiet question:

Why does this still affect me?

A name from the past.
A memory I thought was healed.
An emotion that rises unexpectedly.
A connection that technically ended, but somehow never fully released.

If I’m honest, there have been relationships that lingered long after they were over. Not always in dramatic ways. Sometimes just subtle threads. A pull. A tenderness. A weight I couldn’t quite explain.

Scripture reminds us how deeply human connection can go. Genesis 2:24 says, “The two shall become one flesh.” That kind of joining is not casual. It is spiritual. Intentional. Powerful. And I’ve come to realize that not every bond we form is meant to last.

Some connections are holy. The friendship between David and Jonathan is described in 1 Samuel 18:1 as souls knit together. That was covenant friendship — strengthening, faithful, life-giving. Marriage, when formed in God’s design, carries that same sacred unity.

But other ties are formed in broken places.

Sometimes through intimacy outside of covenant.
Sometimes through trauma.
Sometimes through manipulation, dependency, or shared sin.
Sometimes through vows spoken in emotion that we were never meant to carry.

And even when those relationships end, something can remain.

I don’t always like admitting that. But I have felt it. A difficulty moving on. Thought patterns that circle back. Emotional reactions that feel disproportionate to the present moment.

Hebrews 12:1 says, “Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us.”

Sometimes the weight isn’t obvious rebellion. Sometimes it’s a lingering attachment.

Unhealthy bonds can quietly shape how we see ourselves. They can influence our decisions, our boundaries, even our spiritual growth. I have had to ask myself hard questions in prayer.

Is this connection drawing me closer to Christ — or subtly pulling me back into who I used to be?

Am I carrying guilt that Jesus already covered?

Am I confusing familiarity with covenant?

These questions are not accusations. They are invitations.

John 8:36 says, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.”

Freedom isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it looks like quiet release. Sometimes it looks like repentance. Sometimes it looks like forgiving someone who never apologized.

There was a time when I thought breaking unhealthy ties meant anger. Harshness. Cutting people off abruptly. I’ve learned it is often more gentle than that.

It starts with honesty before God.

Admitting where I stepped outside His wisdom.
Confessing where I formed agreements I shouldn’t have.
Acknowledging where I allowed someone to occupy a space in my heart that belongs to Him.

Then comes forgiveness. Not because what happened was acceptable, but because I no longer want to be spiritually tethered to it.

Proverbs 4:23 says, “Guard your heart, for out of it flow the issues of life.”

Guarding your heart isn’t about building walls. It’s about discernment. Not every connection is meant to be permanent. Not every bond is meant to define you.

What comforts me most is this: the goal is not simply cutting ties. The goal is being rightly anchored.

Hebrews 6:19 calls hope in Christ “an anchor of the soul.”

That phrase steadies me.

Because I don’t want to live detached and guarded. I want to be securely attached to the right place. To Christ first. Then to relationships that reflect His heart. Then to friendships that strengthen faith instead of weaken it.

If something from your past still pulls at you, do not hide from it. Bring it into prayer. Ask the Lord to show you whether it is blessing or burden.

And if it is a burden, trust that the same God who allowed the connection can also untangle it.

Freedom is not cold. It is clean.

And being bound to Christ is the only tie that never needs breaking.

Release and Redemption

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