Judges 12: Longing for Belonging

"The men of [the tribe of] Ephraim were summoned [to action], and they crossed over to Zaphon and said to Jephthah, 'Why did you cross over to fight with the Ammonites without calling us to go with you? [For that] we will burn your house down upon you.'"—Judges 12:1 AMP

As I read this verse, it felt strangely familiar—like I was watching a scene play out in my own home. The tribe of Ephraim was angry. Not because they were wronged, but because they weren’t included. Their response? I see jealousy and hurt feelings.

It makes sense to me because Jephthah and the Ephraimites shared the same father but had different mothers. My siblings and I are always competing for attention and approval from our parents. Even as adults sometimes. I haven’t witnessed this exact scenario with my own eyes, but I’ve seen the impact of family dynamics up close. I live in one. I am from one. I have one.

I’m not remarried, but our family is beautifully blended and undeniably complex. I have three biological children that I share 50/50 custody of. I’ve fostered and adopted. Two of my boys carry my maiden name; the other three share my previous married name. It’s honestly one of the most incredible AND hardest things I’ve ever been a part of.

I’ve watched the quiet tension, the competition, the heartbreaking need to “one-up” each other within the walls of our home. Even my two adopted boys—who are biological brothers—

struggle sometimes, of course, all siblings do. They share the same mom, but have different dads. My youngest makes it painfully clear to his brother that “his” dad isn’t really his dad. It’s crushing to witness how the enemy uses these fragile identity lines to divide and wound.

Historically, Jephthah’s people were seen as a tribe of “half-breeds”—less than, unworthy, dismissed. When I see my own children wrestle with where they belong or who fully claims them, it makes me so sad. I had both parents home and I have felt that same ache.

I love all my kids. My biological ones. My adopted ones. The ones who were with us just for a season. The Lord gives us supernatural love and authority for every child He places in our care—and that is nothing short of holy. I’m so thankful that none of us are defined by our family tree, our last name, or our bloodline. The cross is what defines us. It gives us value, belonging, and worth beyond measure. This is the TRUTH and yet in real life we don't always feel whole, loved and accepted. It grieves me how easily we fall into this trap—trying to prove ourselves, trying to secure our spot, trying to be seen. Sometimes we even tear others down in the process. I’ve done it too. I’ve felt the sting of being overlooked. I’ve also tried to make myself look better just to feel more secure. None of it feels good, no matter which side you're on.

Funny how all this got triggered reading this part of scripture. I’m just processing today through a lens I’ve carried for a long time—one that started when I was a young adult myself, watching in-law dynamics play out. The “hers,” “his,” and “theirs.” Watching certain children get treated differently based on who they belonged to. That alone kept me fighting for my marriage far longer than I probably should have. I never wanted my kids to go through anything like that if I could help it. The brokenness of it all just hurts. There Is comfort in knowing we're not alone in it.

I can’t help but long for something better. For something whole. For a home where nobody has to fight for love or prove their place. Maybe that’s just me longing for home-home. The real one. Heaven.