I have always thought I wasn’t supposed to like myself, and certainly not love myself. I thought loving myself would take me far from God. But one night when I was ruminating at 4am, I realized that God likes me and loves me; so liking and loving myself puts me in alignment and agreement with God, and therefore closer to Him. I can like myself and love myself. I can be kind to myself. I can marvel at what I am capable of as a human being, made in the image of God Himself.
As I mentioned in my March 2nd post, reading The Whole Language, by Gregory Boyle, has been transformational for me. One day I came across these words, spoken by the homie Raul: “I take myself to court every day…and every day…I find myself guilty.”1 And I cried. I sobbed. I could have written those words. I taste the pain they carry.
But what about this exchange? Victor, another homie who is discovering he is loved, says to Boyle (whom the homies call “G”), “Damn, G.—I’m in love and it feels proper.”
“Who ya in love with?” Boyle asks.
“Myself,” says Victor.2
And I wondered, could that be my experience? Dare I move from being on trial to being loved? I wrote in my journal:
I am not on trial. There is no standard I am being held to.
Previously, at times, I have felt some relief by adjusting the standard, but always it has been there, mocking me—jeering, prodding, torturing. I think it’s very much like being a prisoner of war, with perfectionism as my captor. No matter how I behaved, my captor tripped me and then laughed at me sprawled on the muddy ground; yet all the while telling me that if I just behaved better, things would be better for me. There was very little living as a POW.
But outside of camp I am not always afraid. I am treated with tenderness regardless of what I am experiencing. I am not watched, but I am seen. I am not becoming better, but I am healing.
God has been patient with me over the years as I have held Him at arms length with reasons He really didn’t love me—either because of me, or because of Him. I think, surely acceptance is tied to performance (haven’t my fellow human beings made this clear?). Surely God is not a masochist, eager to hang out with someone who is short-tempered and vindictive. I have been a wounded child, over-performing, because being loved is too good to be true.
But if I don’t love myself, God’s love stays “out there.” Every criticism I have of myself is a criticism I have of someone else. So when I learn to love myself, be playful with myself about my shortcomings, wink at my missteps, embrace myself when I have caused pain… can you imagine? Then I will do unto others as I have done unto myself.
My human experience tells me this: people don’t care about me unless I am performing well or operating on their agenda. And poor God, I slathered this mindset all over Him. I figured that since I was not performing well and was way off what I thought God’s agenda was, that He just didn’t care, didn’t have time or interest for me. I would have never put those words to it, but that’s the spiritual space I was living out of, whether I knew it or not. This had nothing to do with God, but with lies I believed about Him. The truth is, my performance was never on His radar, except for that afternoon on the cross when He took it from me and that resurrection morning when He replaced it with His life of perfection. It is His delight to remind me who I really am, to provide everything for me, and then to sit back and watch me enjoy being alive.
I’m reading a Bible study about parenting with the Holy Spirit, and I came across this: “The One who remains with us doesn’t need anything from us.”3 Wait, what? Wow. As a mother of young children, I find this exhilarating. I am needed, all day, every day, by everyone in my home. But God who dwells in me doesn’t need anything from me.
Jesus said it is better to give than to receive, yet we are confused that He is giving to us and not asking anything from us. Boyle writes, “God is only interested in lavishing us with extravagant tenderness, and yet we are convinced that God is thinking we all could just do a better job.”4
“Enter by the narrow gate,” Jesus said, “because wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to death and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and confined is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” (Matthew 7:13, 14). This is true not because God is not abundantly present, nor because it is hard to be good, but because it is hard to be loved. Love seems too good to be true, so we don’t believe it. We have settled for trying to be better, instead of being loved. But what riches, what broken-open extravagance, await those who receive frightening, crazy, juicy love, and who throw their arms wide open and love themselves.
What is God’s agenda? To love me. I have made this extremely difficult for Him. It is entirely my fault that there have been some necessary precursors to living loved: first, to take my eyes off my performance; and second, to rivet my gaze to His abundance. God who gives: His mind (1 Corinthians 2:16), His Spirit (John 14:16, 17), His resurrection power (Ephesians 1:19, 20), His faith (Revelation 14:12), His grace (Ephesians 4:7, NKJV), His love (1 John 4:19, NIV). He has given us every spiritual blessing, redemption, forgiveness, abundant grace, knowledge of the mystery of His will, an inheritance (see Ephesians 1:3-12), and so much more.
A God whose only agenda is to love me, and who has already redeemed me, does seem too good to be true. And here is where I sit with my back to God. I have come to Him, but I have not dared to look at Him. I have responded to His call, but I have come into His presence with my head down, holding in my hand a wrinkled picture of Him that Satan drew in the garden millennia ago. I know all too well that as long as I picture God holding a ruler instead of a rose—with an expression of disappointment instead of desire—I remain unchanged. But when I dare to let my guard down and look God in the face, for the first time I know who He is, and simultaneously who I am: His daughter. The devil’s drawing in my hand turns to dust as I look at God’s face and see compassion, welcome, belonging, tenderness, and joy.
Just as someone anxious for news looks into the face of their loved one, and without any words knows it is good news, and cries tears of relief; so I have looked into the face of God, known who I am, and cried tears of relief. The news is good. Death has ended in resurrection. Lies have been exposed and turned to dust. Slavery is over. Jesus is alive, and He has brought me with Him.
As I sit with God I can’t help but wonder, why now? Why didn’t I know I was loved when I read the Bible through at eight years old, or when I got baptized—also at eight years old, or when I prayer-journaled daily for 15 years, or when I was in ministry, or when I got married, or when I had babies? How could I spend all that time as a “Christian,” knowing that God doesn’t love as people love, but never truly knowing. This grieves me. I have interacted with myself and others from an identity of not-enough, which looks a lot like fear and anger. So I ask God, why this confused and bumbling journey? And He says, this journey has not been what you thought it would be, but you are what I wanted all along. I have always enjoyed being with you. That you are alive in the world delights me. I don’t need anything else.
It is in receiving the truth that I am loved, and that God doesn’t need anything from me, that I am finally able to give Him anything at all; that I sit down in His lap and know I belong.
Endnotes:
1Gregory Boyle, The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness (New York: Avid Reader Press, 2021), 32.
2Ibid., 28.
3 Jeannie Cunnion, Never Alone: Parenting in the Power of the Holy Spirit (Nashville: Lifeway Press, 2021), 28.
4Boyle, 9.
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