Unless You Receive the Kingdom as a Child

There's a verse Jesus spoke that sounds almost absurd the first time you really hear it.

Not "it would be nice if you had childlike faith." Not "mature believers sometimes exhibit childlike qualities."

No. Unless you receive the kingdom as a child, you will by no means enter it.

That's not a suggestion. It's a requirement.

And the longer I live, the more I understand why Jesus made it non-negotiable. Because everything about adulthood in the Western world is designed to strip that childlikeness away. To replace trust with control. To exchange dependence for self-sufficiency. To trade rest for perpetual striving.

And in the process, we lose access to the very kingdom we claim to seek.

I grew up in a place (Konongo, Ghana) where anxiety wasn't normalized the way it is in America.

I'm not saying people didn't worry. I'm not claiming some idyllic childhood free of hardship. But there's a difference between occasional worry and a culture that has made anxiety its default operating system.

Here in the West, particularly in America, rest is almost offensive.

If you're not busy, you're lazy. If you're not stressed, you're not important. If you're not anxious about something, you're probably not paying attention.

Recently, my church addressed anxiety, depression, and trusting God. We had a Q&A where people submitted questions in advance, and the pastors answered them as best they could, led by the Spirit.

And what became clear, painfully clear, is this: most people cannot even conceptualize a life free from worry.

It's not that they don't want it. It's that they literally cannot imagine it. They have no frame of reference for what it would feel like to live without the low-grade hum of anxiety running in the background of every decision, every plan, every thought about the future.

When anxiety becomes that ingrained, it stops feeling like a problem. It starts feeling like wisdom. Like responsibility. Like maturity.

"Of course I'm anxious. I'm an adult. I have bills. I have responsibilities. I have people depending on me."

He might be enough in theory. Enough theologically. Enough on Sunday mornings when the worship is good and the sermon is encouraging.

But in real life? When the bills are due and the job is shaky and the future is uncertain?

We don't actually believe He's enough. So we take matters into our own hands. We worry. We plan. We control. We strive.

And we call it adulthood.

So when Jesus says, "Unless you receive the kingdom as a child," what is He actually requiring?

He's not talking about immaturity. He's not romanticizing ignorance or naivety.
He's talking about posture.

A child doesn't wake up in the morning wondering if there will be breakfast. They don't lie awake at night calculating whether their parents can afford next month's rent. They don't strategize backup plans in case their father fails to provide.

They just trust.

My son Charlie is four years old. And when he wakes up in the morning, he doesn't wonder if I'll take care of him. He knows I will. Not because he's done the math. Not because he's seen my bank account. Not because he's verified my competence.

He knows because I'm his father. And fathers take care of their children.

That's it. That's the whole equation.

And that absolute reliance, that complete trust, that refusal to hedge his bets or develop contingency plans in case I fail him... that's what Jesus is calling us back to.

Not because God wants us to be helpless. But because He wants us to stop pretending we're not.

Here's the uncomfortable truth: Western culture has convinced us that dependence is weakness.

We celebrate independence. Self-made success. Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. Not needing anyone.

And somewhere along the way, we started applying that logic to our relationship with God.

"God helps those who help themselves," we say. Even though that's not in the Bible. Even though it's actually the opposite of what Scripture teaches.

It doesn't honor those who have it all together. It exalts those who are willing to admit they don't.

Notice what He doesn't say. He doesn't say, "Figure it out and then come to Me." He doesn't say, "Clean yourself up first."

He says, "Come."

Laboring. Heavy laden. Exhausted from carrying what you were never meant to carry.

Come. And I will give you rest.

Not "I'll give you a strategy." Not "I'll give you a five-step plan." Not "I'll give you the tools to fix it yourself."

I will give you rest.

But we don't know how to receive rest. Because we've been trained to earn everything. And rest that's given, not earned, feels irresponsible. Lazy. Weak.

So we keep striving. We keep controlling. We keep worrying.

And we wonder why we're so tired.

One of the things I love most about God is that He's a gentleman.
He doesn't barge in. He doesn't force. He doesn't manipulate or coerce.

He invites. "Come to Me."

Not "I'll drag you here whether you like it or not." But "Come."

He waits. He extends His hand. He offers rest, mercy, grace.

But He doesn't impose it.

And there's something profoundly beautiful about that. Because in a world that demands, that pressures, that insists you hustle and perform and prove yourself, God does the opposite.

He simply says, "I'm here. When you're ready, come."

No guilt. No shame. No condemnation for how long it took you to realize you need Him.

Just an open invitation.

But here's the tension: we've been so conditioned to earn that we don't know how to simply receive.

And that's where childlike faith dismantles everything we've been taught.

Let me tell you something deeply countercultural.

My wife and I don't take vacations

Not because we can't afford them. Well, actually, we probably can't. But that's not really the point.

We've chosen not to because we're paying off debt. And every dollar that would go toward a hotel room or plane ticket is a dollar closer to financial freedom. A dollar closer to being able to keep what we earn. A dollar closer to being generous without restriction.

And here's the shocking part: we're content.

We don't feel deprived. We don't feel like we're missing out. We don't lie awake at night scrolling through Instagram, envying other people's beach photos.

We drive to neighboring towns we haven't explored yet. We connect with people. We find joy in simplicity.

And the longer we live this way, the more we realize how enslaved most people are to the lie that more will make them happy.

In American culture, especially among the middle and working class, there's an obsession with experiences. With keeping up. With deserving.

"I work hard. I deserve a vacation."

And most people, if we're honest, cannot afford the vacations they take. The travel expenses. The hotel bills. The recreation costs.

But they go anyway. Because the culture says you need it. You've earned it. You can't just stay home and be content.

Except you can.

My wife and I have discovered something most people haven't: contentment is not found in what you accumulate. It's found in being grateful for what God has already given.

This is one of our anchor verses as a family. One of our core values.

If you have food, clothing, and shelter, you have enough. Everything beyond that is bonus. And you can be grateful for it. But you don't need it to be content.

This is the age-old wisdom of delayed gratification. Of choosing future freedom over present indulgence.

And every month, when we see our debt decrease, the excitement we feel far exceeds any temporary thrill a vacation could provide.

Because we're not just managing money. We're stewarding a vision. A life where we're not enslaved to payments, to debt, to the tyranny of "I deserve this."

We're choosing freedom. And it's glorious.

Let me share three beliefs that keep me grounded.

First: God never permits anything beyond my strength.

If I'm experiencing something, it means I'm capable of bearing it. Not because I'm strong in myself. But because God knows my capacity, and He doesn't allow me to be tested beyond what I can handle.

This is a matter of identity. When anxiety whispers, "You can't handle this," I remind myself: if God allowed it, I sure can bear it.

Second: I'm not entitled to anything.

This might sound depressing, but it's actually liberating.

I'm not entitled to a comfortable life. I'm not entitled to success. I'm not entitled to health, wealth, or ease.

Everything I have is gift. Undeserved. Unearned.

And when you live from that posture, gratitude becomes effortless. Because every meal is a gift. Every paycheck is provision. Every breath is grace.

My wife and I often say to each other and our kids: if God stopped here with us, it would still be enough.

Not because we don't have dreams or goals. But because we refuse to make our peace contingent on achieving them.

God is good to me right now. Not after we buy our dream car. Not when we own our first home. Right now, in this moment, with what we have.

That posture grounds you in contentment, gratitude, and peace that the world cannot give or take away.

Third: God's goodness is not contingent on my circumstances.

We don't wait for life to improve before we declare God's goodness. We declare it now. In the waiting. In the struggle. In the uncertainty.

Because His goodness isn't rooted in what He gives us. It's rooted in who He is.

And when you anchor yourself in that truth, circumstances lose their power to dictate your peace.

So how do you move from anxiety to rest? From striving to trust?

Tell yourself the truth: anxiety is abnormal.

The first stronghold you must break is the belief that anxiety is just part of life.

It's not.

It's abnormal to live in perpetual worry. It's abnormal to be chronically anxious. That's not living. That's survival mode.

And God didn't call you to survive. He called you to abundant life.

So start by naming the lie: anxiety is not my portion. God calls me into His rest.

Come boldly to the throne of grace.

Stop waiting until you feel worthy. Stop waiting until you have it all together.

God invites you to come. Broken. Weary. Heavy laden.

Come. And you will find what you need.

Practice daily contentment.

This is not a one-time decision. It's a daily discipline.
Account your blessings. Give thanks for food. For shelter. For breath.

When you're tempted to desire more, remind yourself: I don't need it. I have enough.

This is the practice of the Spirit-led life. Literally training yourself to see abundance where the world sees lack.

Live within your means.

Don't chase what culture says you need. Don't compare. Don't accumulate debt to maintain an image.

Live simply. And find joy in what you already have. Be content with what you have.
I know; it’ll feel awkward in the beginning. However, once you go a week, month, or year without all the extra things you once thought you needed to live a meaningful life, you’ll immediately begin to register their worthlessness.

Trust like a child.

Receive the kingdom as a child. In faith. In humility. In absolute dependence.

Trust that your Father will take care of you. Just like Charlie trusts that I will take care of him.

I'm living this. And I know it's hard to explain.

I do not wallow in worry. I know what it means to live in the liberty of God. In the rest He offers.

And I'm not saying this to boast. I'm saying it to testify: it's possible.

This is not theory. This is not aspirational nonsense that sounds good in sermons but doesn't work in real life.

This is real life.

Real life is being content with two T-shirts. Real life is being grateful for the food you ate this morning. Real life is thanking God for a roof over your head and choosing joy in that.

Most people will never experience this. Not because it's unavailable. But because they refuse to let go of the belief that more will satisfy them.

But I'm telling you: more won't.

Only God will.

So stay the child of God. Don't abandon the simplicity, the humility, the trust He's calling you into.

Receive the kingdom as a child. And watch what happens when you do.

At Called to Marriage, we believe peace in marriage and family flows from childlike trust in God. If you're ready to break free from anxiety and step into rest, call upon the Lord. Go boldly to the throne of grace to obtain mercy and find help. In prayer, in fellowship with other believers, in abiding in the presence of God, and in contentment and gratitude.

Share this. And take the step today.

Come to Him. And find rest.