#20: Surely He Doesn't Mean Me

For the heart that finds it easier to believe God loves someone else

Dear Friend,

A reader asked me to write this letter out of concern for a friend. He has trouble believing that God’s deepest love is meant for him. The love he can believe is meant for others somehow seems beyond his own reach.

I wish I could sit with him. There are things I would want to hear before I did much talking, and I wouldn’t expect one conversation to settle everything that hurts. But I would want him to leave knowing that we could talk about it again.

Perhaps you need that conversation, too. You may have spent years hearing that God loves you, agreeing with it, even helping someone else believe it, while wondering why the words seem to stop short of you. If so, I am writing to you as well.

You don’t have to convince me that this is hard. And you don’t have to hide the struggle out of embarrassment that a Christian ought to know better.

Perhaps you can almost believe God has forgiven you. He promised to, after all. But enjoying you? Being glad to have you near? That may feel like asking for something you have no right to want.

I wonder whether you imagine Him welcoming someone else with a warmth He would never quite have for you. He might allow you to stay, but you would know better than to expect much affection. You would try to be useful, keep your needs small, and be grateful you hadn’t been sent away.

My friend, if that comes close, I want to put a different picture before you. I would rather let Jesus show you His Father than ask you to take my word for what His face looks like.

You probably know the story of the son who took his inheritance and went away. By the time he came home, he had squandered it, and he knew he had sinned against his father. He was coming back with a confession and very little reason to expect a celebration (Luke 15:11–24).

But his father saw him while he was still far off, and he ran to him. He put his arms around him and kissed him; the word used for those kisses speaks of fervent affection, of kissing him again and again (Luke 15:20; Greek word study). Try to stay there for a moment, before we hurry on to the robe and the ring and the meal.

The boy who had so much to be ashamed of was in his father’s arms. His father knew which son this was, knew he had gone away, and was holding him anyway.

You may be thinking that God would feel differently if He knew the whole truth about you. But there is no discovery still ahead of Him, no moment when He will finally learn what you have been afraid to tell Him. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). His love has already faced the truth.

The son confessed, and the father called for the robe, the ring, the shoes, and the feast. He wanted the household to celebrate because his lost son had been found (Luke 15:21–24). I keep coming back to the father’s happiness in that story. The homecoming mattered to him.

When you picture yourself coming to God, is there any room in the picture for His happiness? I ask that gently. I know I cannot hand you a different feeling just by asking a question. But perhaps we can begin by letting Jesus’ story remain in front of us when the old expectation of rejection starts telling its own.

There is a little phrase in Zephaniah that helps me here: “he will rest in his love” (Zephaniah 3:17, KJV). The word behind “rest” speaks of being silent, rather than being worn out (Hebrew word study). I read it and find myself picturing one of my adult children in my arms.

I imagine that embrace lasting a little longer. There is nothing I need to explain at that moment, no advice I need to get in before we let go. This is my child. I am glad to be holding my child, and for a while I would simply like to stay there.

That is the picture those words bring to me. He rests in His love, not from loving you.

Would it be very hard to imagine yourself being held without having to make the moment worth His while? No report on how much better you have been doing. No promise that you will need less help tomorrow. Just being near the Father who loves you.

I realize the word “Father” may make this harder for you, rather than easier. If that word brings a memory of being dismissed, frightened, or left, I would never ask you to pretend otherwise. You can bring that hurt with you as we listen to Jesus. You don’t have to make your own history beautiful before you can begin to know His Father.

Zephaniah’s words first came to Jerusalem, to people God had confronted for their rebellion. He promised to remove judgment, gather His people, including the outcast, and be among them; then comes this extraordinary picture of His rejoicing over them (Zephaniah 3). Through Christ, we too are welcomed into God’s household (Ephesians 2:19).

And there is singing in that welcome. The Tree of Life Version says, “He will dance for joy over you with singing,” expressing the glad rejoicing of the Hebrew word (Zephaniah 3:17, TLV; Hebrew word study). The love that holds His people close also has a song.

I would love for you to consider that His delight might be as real as your need for Him. You know how much you need forgiveness, how much you need help. Could there also be something here for you to learn about how gladly He receives you?

We sometimes speak of a God-shaped hole in the human heart. I think of a “you-shaped” place in His heart, too, though God is perfectly whole and needs nothing from us to make Him complete (Acts 17:24–25). I mean a love personal enough to welcome you as you, with no need for you to become someone else first.

That brings me to something about the cross I don’t want you to miss. Hebrews says Jesus endured it “for the joy that was set before him” (Hebrews 12:2). We have good reason to think long and deeply about His suffering. But have you thought about what He was looking forward to?

There was His Father’s work accomplished, His place at the Father’s right hand, and the bringing of many sons and daughters to glory (Hebrews 12:2; 2:10–13). And on the night before the cross, He prayed, “Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am” (John 17:24).

I wish I could read those words aloud with you. “May be with me.” There is such tenderness in what He asks.

And He made a point of including the people who would later believe through His disciples’ message (John 17:20). If you have come to trust Him through that message, then you are included. You are reading a prayer He prayed for you.

He asked for us to be one, to be with Him and see His glory, and to have the Father’s love in us (John 17:21–26). So when you look at another believer and think how much God must love that person, you needn’t subtract yourself from the family. Someone else’s welcome does not require your exclusion.

There is no shortage you have to manage. You can love that person, receive love from that person, and discover more of the Father’s goodness in the giving and receiving. You don’t have to stand back while everyone else belongs.

Of course, there is still the matter of our sin. I would be offering you very little comfort if I merely assured you it didn’t matter. Jesus came in the flesh, lived without sin, and bore our sins in His body on the cross (John 1:14; Hebrews 4:15; 1 Peter 2:24). He knew what bringing us home would cost.

His sacrifice fully satisfied God’s righteous judgment (Romans 3:24–26; Hebrews 10:10–18). He died, was buried, rose again, and lives to intercede for those who come to God through Him; in Him we receive forgiveness, peace with God, and adoption into His family (1 Corinthians 15:3–8; Hebrews 7:25; Colossians 2:13–14; Romans 5:1; Galatians 4:4–7).

You cannot add to that sacrifice by finding one more reason to despise yourself. He suffered “that he might bring us to God” (1 Peter 3:18). That is where His saving work is taking you: to the Father.

He will correct you, and there will be things He asks you to leave behind. Scripture tells us that He disciplines those He loves (Hebrews 12:6). But you needn’t turn every correction into evidence that He wishes He had never taken you in.

If you have never entrusted yourself to Christ, come honestly. Turn from your sin, trust Him, and stop offering to purchase what He gives by grace. Consent to be saved. Consent to be forgiven. Consent to be loved.

If you already belong to Him, I am not asking you to be saved again because you have trouble feeling loved. You need not manufacture a feeling to make His welcome real. Perhaps your prayer today can be as simple as, “Father, I believe this for other people. Please help me believe it for me.”

And if that is all you can say, say that. You don’t have to finish the prayer sounding stronger than you were when you began.

Before I leave you, I want to return to the friend who prompted this letter. If you are reading it, I am glad someone cared enough about you to ask. I hope you will let that person stay close while you learn to receive what is so difficult to believe. You needn’t work through all of this alone.

And to you who recognized yourself in his struggle, the same invitation remains. Bring the fear of being unwanted to Jesus Himself. He said, “whoever comes to me I will never cast out” (John 6:37).

If the fear is there again tomorrow, you can bring it again tomorrow. I would rather you keep coming with an honest, aching heart than wait at a distance until you think you have learned how to arrive properly.

Remember the father running toward his child. Let Jesus keep showing you that face.

Grace & Peace,
Pastor Neal Letteney <><
The Pastor’s Hearth

For Your Reflection

1. If you could tell God one thing about why His love feels meant for someone else, what would you tell Him?

2. Which part of this letter would you like to return to with Him: the father’s embrace, His resting and rejoicing love, or Jesus praying to have you with Him?

3. Who might you let sit beside you in this struggle, without feeling you have to make it sound smaller or easier than it is?

Looking for more? Browse the full collection of letters from The Pastor’s Hearth.

The Pastor’s Hearth is free to read, and it always will be. If these letters have been meaningful to you and you’d like to support the work, you can leave a Free-Will Offering below—it is entirely voluntary and deeply appreciated.

If this letter spoke to you, a like, comment, or share helps it reach others who may need it too.