Learning To Let Him Love Me

During my childhood, my definition of love was poisoned. Spoiled a little at a time, in ways I didn't recognize and was too young to understand. It started with the need to please my parents so they would value me. My brother and sister were much older than me—teenagers—and they were constantly in trouble. I remember hearing my father tell them they were useless, and I was determined never to be seen that way. I thought if I could just be good enough, I could avoid becoming a disappointment, too.

Then my parents divorced, and my dad left town. Just up and left. He decided to move back to his home state without even saying goodbye. No promises of phone calls. No promises of visits. He was just gone. I was a daddy's girl, so that hurt more than I knew how to express. Years later, I found old letters I'd written to him in his basement. Letters asking what I'd done so wrong that he would just stop loving me. He never responded to those letters. He did what he always did: avoided the issue. Over the years, our interactions were brief, and emotion was largely absent. We spent the last few years of his life pretending he was a wonderful father and I was the daughter who just couldn't do enough to make him happy. Looking back, I can see how early I began to believe that love was something I had to earn. And that belief followed me into adulthood.

My teenage years were tumultuous. We moved from North Carolina to Oklahoma at the beginning of my freshman year of high school. I tried to make friends, but it was hard. I was the poor girl at a school known for its wealth, and most of the kids didn't seem interested in talking to me. Before the end of my first semester, I was struggling with depression. My mom was in college and didn't have much time for me. So my sister, who was divorced and had two children, moved to the same town. I spent most of my free time with her and her home. She met a man she thought she loved, and that man had a brother.

My first boyfriend? A 23-year-old man. And I was 14. Please don't think badly of my sister for this. You see, her understanding of love had been poisoned, too. But that's her story to tell. The point is that a grown man took advantage of a little girl who desperately wanted attention, affection, and love. That same man went on to abuse me verbally and sexually. And yet, I still tried to make him love me. He said he loved me, but then I'd see him with another woman. I convinced myself I just needed to try harder. If I could be better, do more, or somehow become enough, maybe he'd finally choose me. Maybe then I'd be worthy of the love he claimed to have for me.

I went on to have about five more relationships that followed similar patterns. I gave everything I had, and somehow, it never seemed to be enough. I even married a man who didn't want to be married or have a family. Deep down, I knew that. But I believed I could change him. I could love him so much that he'd have no choice but to change his mind. Newsflash: he didn't. He cheated on me regularly until I finally left. By then, I had spent years chasing a kind of love I thought I could earn if I just worked hard enough for it.

My mother moved to South Carolina, so I moved there, too. Eventually, I met my current husband and began falling into those same patterns. Make him love me. Only this time, there was a difference. This man actually loved me. We got married and moved to Italy, but the first few years were hard. Whenever we fought, I assumed that was it. He didn't love me anymore, and I needed to leave before he could hurt me. He spent a good bit of time convincing me that he wanted me to stay. Bless his heart, he went through it! Because I was not easy to handle. You see, I had been conditioned to believe that love had to be earned. And even when I did everything I could to earn it, men would eventually let me down. I would never be able to do enough to please them. So I learned to protect myself. I kept my guard up, anticipating the moment someone would disappoint me or decide I wasn't worth the trouble. And somewhere along the way, I began applying that same belief to God.

When my prayers weren't answered the way I wanted, I felt let down. When something bad happened, I wondered if He was angry with me. I lived with this constant fear that I would never be good enough for Jesus. And if I'm being honest, I still struggle with that sometimes. It's hard to rewire your brain when you've spent a lifetime believing a lie.

I am so thankful for my church and my pastor because, goodness, Richard Jennings is always reminding us how much Jesus loves us simply because we are His. We cannot earn His love. He gives it freely. I had to hear that message repeatedly for almost two years before the lightbulb finally came on. I was constantly worried that God was disappointed in me because I hadn't prayed that day. Or that week. Or because I hadn't read my Bible. I wasn't spending enough time with Him, and I was afraid He would leave me. Or worse, that I would somehow fail to measure up and end up in hell.

Think about that for a minute. The very things that were supposed to draw me closer to God—prayer, reading His Word, spending time in His presence—had become burdens I carried out of fear. I thought I had to do those things to make God love me. But He never said any of that! Listen closely to what I'm about to say. The devil is a liar!

You see, he'd been lying to me for most of my life. If he could keep me convinced that love was something I always had to work for, and that even my best efforts would eventually leave me disappointed, then I would never fully trust God. I would keep trying to earn what He was already offering me freely. I would keep building walls around my heart. And I would struggle to walk in the purpose God had for me because I would never feel worthy enough to take that step. But here's the beautiful part. God wasn't asking me to become worthy of His love. He was asking me to believe that I was already loved.

One Sunday at church, I felt the Lord speak something to my heart that changed my perspective. It was this:

“People are going to let you down. Even the ones standing next to you right now. They love you, but they are human. And you will let them down. It happens. But I will never let you down. I am not like you, or them.”

That did something to me. It reminded me that God is not human, and I cannot treat Him as though He is. He is not the people who abandoned me, disappointed me, or hurt me. He is not the men who made me question my worth. And He is not waiting for me to mess up so He can walk away. People are imperfect. We make mistakes. We hurt each other, sometimes intentionally and sometimes without even realizing it. But God is not like us. Now, when those old fears creep in, He reminds me that He loves me. No matter what, He loves me. Do I cry every time I am reminded of that? Yes. Yes, I do. Am I starting to believe it? Yes. Yes, I am. And I've started telling myself the truth. He loves me. Broken. Flawed. Emotional. He loves me when I get it right, and He loves me when I get it wrong. He loved me before I ever knew how much I needed Him. And He loved me enough to send His Son to die for me. He still fights for me. He has never failed me. And I am learning that His love isn't something I have to chase. It's something I can rest in.

I've started looking at things differently. Maybe it isn't about how much He loves me. Maybe it's about how much I allow Him to love me. Letting go is hard, y'all. I've spent a lifetime putting barriers in place to protect my heart. Trust wasn't something I did easily. Not with my husband. Not with my family. And not even with Jesus. But I'm learning to let those walls come down. Do I want to spend more time praying? Absolutely. Do I want to read the Word more consistently? Yes. Do I always make that happen the way I think I should? No. But that doesn't mean He loves me any less. And that's the difference I'm finally beginning to understand. I want to spend more time worshipping, praying, and reading God's Word because I love Him. Because I want to know Him more. Because I want to grow in my relationship with Him. Not because I'm afraid He'll stop loving me if I don't. There is a difference between pursuing God out of love and pursuing Him out of fear. One draws us closer to His heart. The other leaves us exhausted, constantly wondering whether we've done enough. God never asked me to earn what He freely gave. He simply invited me to receive it. And I'm learning to say yes.

If you're anything like me, maybe trust doesn't come easily. Maybe your self-worth has been shaped by people who made you feel as though you weren't enough. Maybe you've spent years trying to prove your value to the people around you. Maybe you've even carried those same fears into your relationship with God. You try to be a good Christian. You try to pray enough, read enough, serve enough, and do enough. And when you fall short, you wonder if God is disappointed in you. Friend, I want you to hear this.

God's love is not a prize you win for good behavior.

You don't have to earn your way into His heart. You don't have to be perfect. And you don't have to spend your life waiting for Him to abandon you the way other people have. He already knows your flaws, your fears, your failures, and every part of your story. None of it surprises Him. And none of it makes Him stop loving you. I'm still learning this myself. Some days, the old lies are louder than others. Some days, I still struggle to trust. But I'm learning to recognize those lies for what they are, and I'm learning to replace them with the truth of God's Word. So if you're struggling with trust or self-worth, remember this: He isn't the problem. He is the One who can heal what the world has broken. You don't have to earn His love. You just have to let Him love you. And sometimes, that is the hardest and most beautiful lesson of all.