God loves everyone but me

Father God,

Your Word is stocked full of proof that You love Your people.

When sin came into this world, You stepped in and stopped us from eating of the tree of life, refusing to let us live forever as slaves to our wickedness (Genesis 3:22-24). Then, even as the Israelites turned their backs on You time and time again, You never abandoned them; You never forgot Your promise (see the entire Old Testament).

And ultimately, in the greatest act of love ever committed, You sent for us Your one and only begotten Son, who paid the price for our sin so that we could be reconciled to You (see John 3:16, Romans 5:8).

I know that these things are true, Father God. I know in my logical brain that You love Your children desperately.

Your Word says this quite plainly (for example, Hosea 11:1, Lamentations 3:22, 1 John 3:1). But also, deductively, this must hold true, for otherwise, what’s the reason for any of it? Why not just abandon us to our own devices? Why bother with reconciliation or forgiveness that we didn’t earn? Why even create us at all?

The only possible answer is love; a love so vast that it stretches across all time, unaffected by betrayal and disobedience and sin; a love so far beyond my own comprehension that I can’t possibly attempt to describe it. It’s woven through the entire story of redemption.

So I know that You love Your children, God. I can look at any other person on this earth and believe with my entire being that You love them without condition.

And yet.

And yet, somehow, I am convinced that I am the singular exception, the outlier, the one person who Your love does not reach.

What a ridiculous thought, Lord. I know it can’t logically be true. But something in me just can’t grasp that You love me. That Jesus died for me. That no matter how many times I screw up and fall short, You won’t abandon me; that You are never far from me, and that nothing I could ever do could change that.

I’ve spent hours pondering why I feel this way. I’ve explored the possibility of spiritual warfare and deeply rooted childhood wounds. At the end of the day, though, I’m not sure where it comes from or how to fix it.

Perhaps that’s not my job, Lord. Perhaps that’s entirely the point: it’s not about anything I do or don’t do.

I really just don’t know.

So I find myself here, Lord, bringing it to Your feet, asking humbly for Your help. Please, Father God, if You would, remind me that I am Your child. Remind me You made me for a reason. Remind me that my value comes from being Your daughter and not from any accomplishment or trait.

Please, God, I beg of You. Help me see myself the way You do. Help me to know Your love not just in my head, but at the core of my very soul. And in doing so, help me to love You all the more.

Humbly,

Your servant