My Heavenly Father knows exactly how imperfect and messy the real me can be—and He still accepts me. He still loves me.
His love for me doesn’t diminish when He sees the parts of me that aren’t beautiful or spiritual enough.
So maybe I don’t need to pretend to be more spiritual than I really am.
A friend came to talk to me today. She had been wrestling with something for several days before finally telling me what was on her heart.
She has been married for almost twenty years and has always wanted a child. She became pregnant once, but lost the baby. She also tried IVF, but that didn’t work either. After experiencing disappointment again and again, this has become an incredibly painful part of her life.
Recently, some friends began helping her look into adoption through a children’s welfare institution. They even contacted someone who works there and asked her to keep an eye out for a healthy child who might be available for adoption.
Then there was a two-year-old child.
Because of the institution’s rules, my friend couldn’t arrange a normal meeting with the child. Instead, with some help, she was able to see the child briefly while the child was out for vaccinations.
Before meeting the child, she prayed continually. She asked God to personally guide the meeting and show her whether this was the child He had prepared for her.
But after meeting the child, she realized something she was almost ashamed to admit:
She didn’t really feel drawn to the child’s appearance.
The relatives who went with her told her not to be so concerned about looks. So she pushed down her own feelings and asked them to continue finding out whether the child was still available for adoption.
During all of this, she kept praying:
Lord, is this the child You have prepared for me?
She had also asked God for certain signs. But the signs weren’t clear. Some things seemed to match; others didn’t.
She never really had peace about it.
She wanted to meet the child one more time before making such an enormous decision, but another meeting wasn’t possible. Instead, things seemed to keep moving forward, and she was being encouraged to start preparing the adoption paperwork.
She didn’t want to.
But she didn’t know how to say no.
She was afraid people would think she was being too picky or ungrateful. And somewhere underneath that fear was another one:
What if I say no to this child, and another opportunity never comes?
So she became deeply conflicted.
But raising a child is an enormous responsibility. It means being responsible for another human being for years and years.
If she already feels uncertain at the very beginning, how will she walk through all the difficult years that may come afterward?
Her relatives may love her and want the best for her, but ultimately, they are not the ones who will raise this child.
They will not be the ones waking up in the middle of the night.
They will not be the ones comforting the child when they cry.
They will not carry the financial responsibility.
They cannot give the years of time, energy, patience, and love that parenting requires.
So how can they make this decision for her?
And then I realized something about myself, too.
Sometimes we are so afraid of other people thinking that we are difficult.
Too picky.
Too demanding.
Not grateful enough.
Not spiritual enough.
But what if I simply come before God and admit the truth?
Yes, Father, I can be picky.
Yes, appearances sometimes matter to me.
Yes, there are things I want and standards I have.
No, I am not always as spiritual as I think I should be.
So what?
If I refuse to admit these things, does my Heavenly Father somehow not know them?
Of course He knows.
He already knows the real me.
And yet I can still come boldly before Him.
Maybe faith isn’t pretending that certain feelings don’t exist.
Maybe being honest before God is more spiritual than trying to give Him the version of ourselves we think He wants to see.
He knows the truth about us before we ever say it out loud.
And still—
He receives us.
He listens to us.
He leads us.
And He loves us.