Our Daddy Isn't Keeping Score

I have a confession to make.

For the longest time, I thought God was mildly disappointed in me.

Not angry.

Not done with me.

Just...

disappointed.

Like a teacher who knows you could've done better if only you'd applied yourself.

I know. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. But if I'm being honest, that's exactly how I lived.

Every time I had a really good week spiritually, I was convinced God was pleased with me. I'd wake up early. Read my Bible. Pray without checking how many minutes had passed. Worship without glancing at my phone every thirty seconds. I'd even be nice to people in Lagos traffic. To be fair, I am always nice regardless.

"This is it," I'd think. "God must be so happy with me."

Then the following week would happen.

Snoozed alarm.

Skipped quiet time because I was "too busy."

Lost patience.

Forgot to pray until I was already falling asleep.

And then, suddenly, I didn't feel like praying anymore.

Not because I didn't love God.

Because I felt awkward.

You know that feeling when you've ignored someone's message for three days, and now replying feels even more embarrassing because it's been three days? So you leave it for another day. Then another. Until somehow it's been two weeks and now you have to open with, "Haha, sorry I disappeared."

I used to do that with God.

Which, when you think about it, is a little funny.

Because imagine trying to ghost the God who literally knows where you are.

"Sorry Lord, I've just been... avoiding the Creator of the universe."

Not my brightest moment.

Maybe you've done something similar, just not with prayer.

Maybe with church.

Maybe with worship.

Maybe you've thought, I'll come back once I've sorted myself out.

As though God looked at your life and said, "Take your time. I'll wait until you're presentable."

Here's what I've noticed.

Perfectionism has an incredible talent for sneaking into places it was never invited.

School.

Work.

Friendships.

Relationships.

Crochet projects that somehow have to be perfect even though nobody is inspecting the stitches but me.

And yes...

Our relationship with God.

Perfectionism whispers the same sentence everywhere it goes.

"You could've done better."

It doesn't matter whether you've just submitted an assignment or finished praying.

It always wants one more thing.

One more chapter.

One more reason to finally deserve rest.

Somewhere along the way, I let that voice narrate my faith.

It became the loudest voice in the room.

Louder than grace.

Louder than truth.

Louder than the Father Himself.

I wasn't trying to earn salvation. I knew Jesus had already done that.

I was trying to earn God's smile.

His delight.

Which sounds strange because if you've been a Christian for any length of time, you've heard "God loves you" a hundred times.

We sing it.

We quote it.

We post it under aesthetic sunset pictures.

God loves you.

Amen.

But if we're being painfully honest, some of us secretly translate that sentence into something else.

"God loves you... but He's happier with you when you're doing well."

So every quiet time becomes another gold star.

Every failure becomes another cross against your name.

Before you know it, you've built a scoreboard God never asked for, and every morning you're checking it.

Did I pray enough?

Did I sin less today?

Did I disappoint Him again?

Here's what I've been learning.

I don't think that's the fear of God.

I think that's the fear of disappointing God.

Those are two completely different things.

The fear of God makes me want to know Him.

The fear of disappointing Him makes me want to hide until I feel worthy enough to come back.

One draws me closer.

The other convinces me to stay away.

Jesus never once said, "Come to me, all who have finally got their lives together."

He said, "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened."

Perfectionism is exhausting.

It's an invisible backpack of expectations God never packed for you.

It's opening your Bible because you're afraid of feeling guilty if you don't, instead of because you genuinely want to hear your Father's voice.

And maybe that's the saddest part.

It has a way of turning relationship into routine.

Love into labour.

Grace into homework.

Somewhere in my heart, I'd quietly replaced "Father" with "Evaluator."

I wasn't showing up to spend time with Him anymore.

I was showing up to see whether I'd passed.

I don't think I feared God.

I feared letting Him down.

And I think there are more of us living there than we'd like to admit.

But before you close this tab thinking I'm giving us all permission to live however we want because "grace covers it," let me stop you there.

That isn't what I'm saying.

And it isn't what Jesus said either.

One of my favourite invitations in Scripture is, "Come as you are."

I think we've misunderstood it.

It's an invitation.

Not a destination.

God wants you to come with your doubts.

Your shame.

Your hidden sins.

Your messy life.

He has never asked you to clean yourself up first.

But He also loves you far too much to leave you exactly as you are.

Jesus meets us exactly where we are.

He just loves us too much to leave us there.

If my future child insisted on playing in the middle of a busy road, I wouldn't stand on the pavement shouting, "Well, I love you, so carry on."

I'd run after them.

Not because my love had conditions.

Because my love had concern.

That's how I see God now.

His correction isn't rejection.

It's protection.

Which means conviction is actually evidence of His love, not the absence of it.

Then John says something I somehow spent years reading without really reading.

"See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!"

1 John 3:1 (NIV)

That is what we are.

Not what we could become.

Not what we're working towards.

Not what we earn on our good weeks.

Children.

Not employees.

Not interns trying to impress the Boss.

Children.

Maybe that's what I'm still learning.

Obedience isn't my way of earning God's love.

It's my response to already having it.

So yes, come as you are.

Bring the guilt.

Bring the habits you're ashamed of.

Bring the prayers you've forgotten to pray.

Bring the version of yourself you think God must be tired of.

Just don't settle there.

Because the same grace that welcomes you is the grace that transforms you.

If your brain wandered off somewhere around the crochet analogy, that's okay.

Just remember this.

Our Daddy isn't keeping score.

He's keeping the door open.

And every time we walk through it, He loves us far too much to let us leave unchanged.

If this post had a soundtrack...

"Yet" - The King Will Come

It's one of those songs that reminds me God's love has never depended on my perfection.

If this post met you where you are, press play.

Then read 1 John 3:1 one more time.

Sometimes our hearts need to hear the truth sung before they finally believe it.

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