The Lie You Don’t Know You Believe: A Guest Post by Jennie Allen

I grew up unsure if I was accepted or liked. I knew my family loved me, and I knew on principle that God loved all people. But to be liked? That’s an altogether different story. It was one I couldn’t believe would ever be true, especially of a God I thought was disappointed in me. To be wanted is a powerful craving in our souls, because love can be an obligation. Parents are supposed to love their children no matter how much they rebel. A spouse is supposed to love their husband or wife. But that “supposed to” part of things meant it was sometimes an obligation. If even parents and spouses sometimes loved out of obligation, how could it be true that God didn’t just love me but actually liked me?

As I look around, I see a generation of people struggling with this same thing, crumbling beneath the weight of rejection and shame. The voice of a disapproving father drowns out God’s voice of love and grace. When we’re honest, we ask questions like . . .

What if I’m doing it wrong?

Why would God like me if I don’t even like myself?

Are you there, God?

How could God let this happen?

We close our eyes to pray, and all we hear is the voice of a father we could never please.
We are crumbling beneath the weight of rejection and shame. We are living bored, stuck, and numb. The enemy has convinced us that prayer doesn’t change anything—that it doesn’t change us, and that it doesn’t change the world. He wants to destroy and kill our relationship with God. So the one thing he doesn’t want us to believe?

That God likes us.

God likes you. 

It changes every conversation.

It changes every room.

It changes.

A few years ago, Zac and I got a dog. A goldendoodle dog who is just the cutest thing in the world. Listen, I don’t even let my own children flop onto my bed, but guess where that dog is whenever she dang-well pleases? On my bed, sprawled out like she owns the place. Do you know why I have this double standard? Because this dog makes me feel something that even my children don’t make me feel—at least not 100 percent of the time: delight.

Every day, when I’m driving home from work, I know what I’m going to see as soon as I arrive. It’s going to be this little white face waiting for me. I can’t see her whole face, just her eyeballs peeking above the window, and she’s just looking at me, waiting for me, excited to see me. And when I get there—even though she’s not supposed to jump on me—she jumps on me. And I don’t even care. I know I’m supposed to train her because some people don’t like dogs jumping on them, but I don’t care because she’s so happy to see me. I feel something inside for that dog.

Here’s what I know: I like that dog. For whatever reason, I feel delight over that dog. I’ll even go outside and pick up its poop. I’m all-in with this dog. And that is how God is with us. And it’s one of the most important things for us to understand.

I hope you’re catching this, because it’s the fundamental truth of your identity and mine. If you don’t first believe that you are a total delight to your heavenly Father, then every thought you think, word you speak, action you take, and assumption you make will be negatively influenced not just occasionally, but all the time.

If, on the other hand, you know that he does so much of the work, and you simply get to enjoy him, and because you enjoy him, you want to stick with him. It changes everything. It’s a whole different way to live.

I want you to imagine Jesus walking into the room. He sits down beside you. How is he sitting? What’s his posture? What is he saying to you? How is he looking at you? Tell him what you want. Tell him the things you’re scared to say. He already knows what’s on your mind, but he delights in hearing from you.