The words of this song reflect the cry of my heart for most of my Christian life. From childhood on, I cannot think of a time when I didn't long to give God my all. As a worship leader, writer, teacher, mother, and pastor's wife, I have served the Lord with diligence, feeling honored to be "about my Father's business."

But underneath all this has lurked a deadly assumption that has slowly depleted my spiritual zeal. Simply put, it was the notion that God accepts me because I am strong, responsible, hardworking, and reliable. Though this assumption motivated and energized me for years, I now recognize it as a thief that came to steal and destroy my experience of God—the very thing I've tried so hard to be worthy of.

This change in my perspective has been a journey of joyful upheaval. Along the way I've met others like me. We are the "good enough" Christians, the older brothers in the prodigal son story, faithfully serving to earn our inheritance while it seems others squander theirs. What does a "good enough" Christian look like?

We experience

•a nagging feeling that we aren't doing quite enough to please God

•a sense of spiritual responsibility that drives us and makes us want to drive others

•a tendency to live on the edge of burnout, confused by those less diligent than we are

•a need to compare our spiritual life with others', vacillating between guilt at our failure to measure up and disdain that other people struggle in ways we don't

•a persistent feeling that we ought to do more, work harder, and sacrifice more, a feeling that doesn't abate even in our most zealous moments

To anyone who might relate, I want to share a simple but easily missed truth: God does not need us to be strong, reliable, or even zealous. In fact, He doesn't need us at all. Paul put it this way:

The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands. And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else.

—Acts 17:24–25

When this idea first began to sink in, I was disturbed and depressed. I found myself constantly asking things like, "God, what do You want from me? If You don't need me, how am I supposed to serve You?" Slowly God opened my eyes to this truth: It is not His need of me, but my desperate need of Him that is the key to abundant life, overflowing joy, and the power to obey.

Illustration by Leslie Wu

Childhood's End

Why do we strive so yet never feel as if we have "arrived"? For many of us, the roots lay buried deep in our childhood. From an early age I saw myself as the one my parents could count on, the responsible child who would never let them down. While my siblings could be needy, I relished the approval I found in being strong. I thought that was what my parents needed most from me.

I believe the same problem kept Martha from simply enjoying Jesus when He came to visit. She was the responsible one, the homeowner and caretaker of Lazarus and Mary—a role perhaps established very early. While Mary could sit at Jesus' feet and do nothing, Martha felt compelled to provide for Him. She worked hard to meet His needs.

Many people have seen Jesus' response to Martha as a rebuke. But I sense great tenderness: "Martha, Martha . . .you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed" (Luke 10:41–42). Perhaps an apt paraphrase might be: "Martha, Martha, I know you feel responsible, but I don't need all these things you are doing for Me today. I simply want you to know the joy of sitting at My feet." Jesus dearly loved Martha. But He knew she could not let herself be needy. He clearly saw how her determination to serve prevented her from experiencing His tender mercy.

We all have roles that once enabled us to cope as children in a fallen world. But when we are born into God's family, we become new creatures. We need to leave old patterns behind. As I lay down the things I once thought God needed from me, I experience the elusive intimacy I sought through years of striving.

Laying Down Works

The danger of "working" for Jesus is the tendency to rely on our own effort instead of His Spirit. Paul rebuked the Galatian church for this very mindset: "You foolish Galatians . . .Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?" (Galatians 3:1, 3, NASB). This subtle shift can happen easily, especially when our hearts long to please God.

Last year I set a goal to relate to Jesus as the Vine, consulting Him continually (John 15:1–8). Each day I tried to increase the frequency with which I "checked in." Yet the harder I tried, the less I experienced intimacy with Him. One day as I shared my frustration with a friend, she asked an interesting question: "Whose responsibility is it to connect: yours or God's?"

Her question helped me see that my efforts had kept me from crying out in need to my Lord. I realized I had been relying upon fleshly determination in my attempts to be more spiritual.

What freedom I have discovered since then! Throughout each day, I throw myself on God's mercy, asking Him to draw my heart to His. And though I still fail, His presence is stronger now than it has ever been. I'm experiencing the very thing I worked so hard to achieve because I've finally exchanged my working for dependence on the Spirit.

Laying Down Worthiness

In the same way we try to do enough, we may also strive zealously to be good enough, to make ourselves worthy of all He has given us. I call it the "older brother syndrome." In the story of the prodigal son, we may not realize that the father gave an inheritance to both boys on the same day. One left with it, and the other stayed home to help his father run the estate. The older brother thought his responsible stance earned him favored status. That was why the return of his younger brother created such consternation for him. When he complained, the father responded with surprise, saying, "Son, you have always been with me, and all that is mine is yours" (Luke 15:31, NASB).

God revealed this to me one day saying, "Tricia, all that is Mine is yours." Weeping, I began to understand the tragedy of coming to Him on the basis of my own worthiness. It was not that He rejected or disdained my diligence, but that I could not enjoy the inheritance He gave me the day He made me His own.

"All that is Mine is yours." Can you feel the wonder of this gift? We don't have to earn what God has already given us or prove ourselves worthy. We only have to live in the reality of it.

Laying Down Talent

Strong, responsible people often have many talents. Naturally we want to use them for God, thinking He needs them to accomplish His purposes. But if God doesn't need us, then He surely doesn't need our abilities. He taught me this lesson in a painful way last year.

I was speaking at a retreat, and one of my talks was replaced by a communion service. In the back of my mind, I felt somewhat slighted. On the final morning as women shared what God had done in their lives, I waited for someone to mention things I'd taught. Instead, many described how the communion service had changed their hearts.

Piercing my soul, God spoke: "You thought it was about you—about your wisdom, your ability to communicate, and your passion for your subject. But I can do more to change lives in one eucharist than you can in all the talks you've ever done." I trembled in brokenness before the Father, pleading with Him to show me how and why I had gotten to such a point. He gently called me to wait on Him, listen to Him, and depend on Him, laying down all reliance upon my own strength and ability.

Several weeks later when I got up to speak at another retreat, I was truly fearful of self-reliance. Two or three times during the talk I felt compelled to stop and pray. Shortly after the last of those prayers, I sensed God telling me I was finished, even though I'd only given a portion of my talk. As I closed in prayer and waited on Him, women began to weep, rising from their seats and pouring forward to lay their lives on the altar before God.

I remember watching in awe, finally understanding Paul's words: "I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power" (1 Cor. 2:3–4).

God may graciously choose to use our talents. But when we rely upon our ability instead of crying out for His strength, we will miss the wonder of His power working through us to further His purposes. This thought now constrains me as I seek to offer all I do with fear and trembling before God. I desperately long for the joy that comes as He works through me, glorifying Himself as He so deserves.

So what do we do?

Laying down my works, my attempts at worthiness, and every iota of talent has released me to cling to my Father and increased my longing to please Him. But my original question has never abated: "Lord, how can I serve You?" What does it look like to serve Him without reverting to self-reliance? How do we strive to please the Lord yet remember that He works within us for His good pleasure (Phil. 2:13)?

I'm still reckoning with these questions, and perhaps I always will. But I have learned a few things. I've discovered grace is far more than unmerited favor. It is divine enabling, the power to do what I long to do. Paul labored but claimed it was God's grace working through him (1 Cor. 15:10). Likewise, I must learn to depend more and more upon His grace.

As we breathe, eat, walk, pray, minister, and serve, we must live with a keen awareness that it is all by His enabling power and His sustaining strength. Since we can do nothing to earn that, there is only one solution: We continually cry out for more, grateful for the grace He's given.

Over and over again, Jesus demonstrated this kind of dependence upon the Father. "The Son can do nothing by himself . . .I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me . . .The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work" (John 5:19; John 8:28; John 14:10).

In the same way, Jesus calls His followers to complete surrender to Him: "Apart from me you can do nothing" (John 15:5). When we empty ourselves as Jesus did, God pours Himself into our lives. We walk in joyous, trusting freedom as God lavishes His grace upon us. He is well aware we are nothing without it.

Joining the Dance

Some time ago God began to speak deeply to my heart, tenderly drawing me as a little girl into her Father's loving arms. For the first time I began to feel His delight in me, not because I had done something to deserve it but simply because He cherishes me as His daughter.

One image has settled in my soul, sealing my heart with this extraordinary reality. In it, my heavenly Father holds out His hand, inviting me to dance with Him. I take it, but find myself stumbling, going one way while He goes another. As I look up at Him in frustration, He whispers, "It's OK. You're just a little girl. Why don't you put your feet on My feet, and we'll dance."

And so I do, feeling the overwhelming wonder of being moved by His strength. But still I turn my head this way and that, trying to see where we're going, wanting to make no mistakes. Then He gently picks me up. Carrying me in His arms, He presses my face against His chest saying, "It's OK, just close your eyes now. Rest your head here, and listen to My heartbeat."

As we move together, I experience the deep and abiding rest that can only be found in my Father's embrace. I delight in each step of the dance He lovingly choreographed for me before the world began.

Tricia Mccary Rhodes is an author, teacher, pastor's wife, and mother of two. Her most recent book, Taking Up Your Cross (Bethany House), goes into further detail about the freedom from "shoulds" that we can enjoy because of God's grace.

Father Love

1. Tricia paints a delightful picture of God the Father dancing with His daughter. In two of his letters, Paul also evokes father and child imagery. Read Romans 8:15–17; and Galatians 4:6–7. In both of these passages, Paul contrasts two kinds of people. What are they?

2. How might focusing too much on our spiritual performance lead to unhealthy fear and slavery in our walk with God?

3. How do you think a better grasp of our identity as God's children frees us from straining to prove our worth to Him?

4. Think about one aspect of your walk with God in which you sometimes feel pressure to perform better. Ask God to help you understand how being His son or daughter releases you from legalistic standards of performance. Ask Him to help you learn to rest in your identity as His beloved child.