Are You Pleased With Me, Daddy?

I lean forward on my knees, silently handing the tissue box to the woman sitting on the couch in our church’s volunteer break room. 

Quiet tears quickly turn into an uncontrollable sob. Her shoulders shake as her head hangs toward her chest, tears falling onto her shirt and lap. 

I don’t speak. It’s not uncomfortable for me to sit in the presence of grief and despair. I’ve been there. And it no longer frightens me as it once did. Rather, I have learned the necessity of this place where she sits, even if the pain feels unbearable.

My heart deeply hurts for this timid woman who was vulnerable and desperate enough to reach out to the church for someone to sit and listen to her. I don’t know much yet beyond the few sentences she wrote in an email. 

But I don’t need to know anything right now. I only need to allow her pain, fear, despair, and hopelessness to escape from within.

“It’s okay to let it out,” I gently speak up. I give her permission to cry for as long as it takes. I’m not in a hurry, and I’m not going anywhere. 

Eventually, she composes herself enough to begin sharing her story with me. It’s not my story to share, but as I listen, one lie becomes clear: 

“What if it’s my fault? What if it’s because of what I did or didn’t do?” 

In her situation, it was not her fault. She is not to blame. But guilt and shame have wrapped themselves so tightly around her that she is suffocating under the weight of fear, desperately grasping for something she can fix because she believes she caused the problem. 

Those same thoughts surface from my own story—

“What if it’s my fault my boys died?”

I hear my own sobs to Brett in a hospital bathroom, yelling over and over: “It’s me! It’s me! This cursed-disease! It has to be me!” The cries of shame. The belief that my body killed my boys. 

Since God has helped me overcome those lies and that shame, I desire to speak life into her darkness and bring freedom through the power of Truth—the truth of who God is, how He sees her, and that He does not hold her responsible for what was not hers to bear. 

Her situation is part of the brokenness of the sin-cursed world we live in, a world groaning for all things to be made new. Sometimes suffering is the result of our own choices. Sometimes others inflict suffering upon us. And sometimes suffering reminds us that this is not our home. 

But whatever the source of suffering, Jesus came to bear our guilt and shame.

She can release the burden she is carrying and lay it at the cross. She never has to pick it up again. It has already been dealt with. Jesus carried it all the way to His death.

After some time, we need to part ways. Before we leave, I notice her shoulders aren’t as slumped. Her demeanor isn’t as heavy. She is able to look me in the eye, and I see a glimpse of Hope that intervened to start easing the burden.

I leave the church to meet another woman at a coffee shop. But this time, the roles are reversed. She’s become the older, wiser woman teaching me, the younger. It’s my turn to pour my heart out and share what God is revealing, growing, and convicting me about. I’m seeking His guidance in an area of my life, and I’m struggling with patience in the waiting. 

I explain to her how I feel the urgency of the times. Everywhere I turn, I hear that Jesus is not only coming back—He’s on His way. What is happening in our day and age seems to be lining up with what the Bible prophesied would happen in the end times. 

So how much longer should I wait? My wiser friend looks at me and patiently asks, “What do you think you should be doing?” 

I look down into my cup of coffee and contemplate her question, allowing it to probe my heart. I am somewhat ashamed because I already know what is deep within me. 

The fear that has plagued me for most of my entire life: 

I’m not doing enough for God. 

I’m going to stand before Him someday—sooner than ever—and He won’t be pleased with me.

I look up and confess this to my friend. I tell her that my dominant fear is rejection. I haven’t had a problem throughout my life of being seen. That isn’t pride; it’s reality. 

My fear is—

People rejecting me for what they do see. 

People not accepting me for the real me. 

And ultimately, 

God—the One I care most about—not being pleased with me. 

My friend has a thoughtful gaze. Then she responds with her own deep-seated fear, “It’s a different perspective, but mine is…

I’m not wanted.” 

I wonder what has built up over the years for her to believe that lie.

For me, I won’t list all the ways I’ve experienced rejection, but each one has formed another layer—one on top of another—until the layers feel impenetrable. 

We so often transfer onto God how people respond to us. 

Surely God must think… 

Surely God meant…

The same twisted lies the enemy has used since the beginning. And when we believe these fears, we spend our lives desperately trying to counteract them. 

I’m not doing enough.

Therefore, I must do more to please God. 

That is my answer to her question: “What do you think you should be doing?”

Later, I’m making dinner and talking to Brett on the phone. He is hundreds of miles away in a different country, but he knows my heart as I share these things with him. I choke back my own sob as I ask him,

“Do you think the Lord is pleased with me?”

Understand why I share the story of this shame-stricken woman who believed the lie that she was to blame. It’s easy for me to reach across and touch someone else’s life, speaking against the lies the Spirit reveals to me. 

I see others, and I can confidently believe how God sees them. I can see their worth. I can see that He accepts them, wants them, and loves them faithfully. My passion is to set captives free from the bondage of the enemy’s lies and strongholds—to bring healing and hope through the Truth. 

But there is a doubt I’ve tried to suppress.

The Father accepts everyone. But you, Christina? You just might not be doing enough to have His full pleasure. 

By the end of the day, I fall on my bed exhausted from solo parenting and the inner turmoil I’m wrestling with. Before the heaviness of sleep overtakes me, I call out to my Father. My body begins to relax as I ease toward rest. And then an image is formed in my mind.

I’m a little girl again. I’m wearing a dress, similar to a fancy Easter dress, with my white-laced socks and black Mary Janes. My hands are behind my back as I sway anxiously from side to side. I look up and hear myself say, 

“Are you pleased with me, Daddy?” 

I am seeking my Father God to answer the deepest desire of my heart. I realize I have wrestled with this question since I was young. I know my Father has always seen me. But is He pleased with me? Is He pleased with me like with other people?

His answer comes before I drift off: 

“I am pleased with you, and I want you to live your life fully out of that. 

I want you to love people because I love them—not because you have to do more to gain My approval and pleasure.” 

My spirit sinks in conviction and repentance. “Oh, Father, forgive me! How ugly my heart has been—that my doing for You has been driven by fear and unbelief rather than love.” 

If I am already secure in His love, then I don’t have to spend my life trying to earn what He has already given me. I can live freely. I can live without abandon. 

I can do works—not to earn His pleasure, but because I already belong to Him, and His love compels me. The very works I once felt pressured to perform can become an overflow of love rather than an attempt to prove my worth. 

My heart is filled with remorse and sadness, yet also peace and comfort. Beside my bed, the power of His Word declares Truth over me as I finally fall asleep:

“The Lord your God is with you. 

He is mighty to save. 

He will take delight in you. 

He will quiet you with His love. 

He will rejoice over you with singing.” 

(Zephaniah 3:17)