Ever feel like no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you just don't measure up?

This is a common trait of those who grew up in highly dysfunctional environments--particularly those with alcoholic or ultra-rigid parents. Mothers and fathers who are chemically addicted and/or highly critical often produce children who try desperately to earn approval--from their parents, teachers, peers, coaches, or just about anyone who gives them attention.

It is not a characteristic they simply outgrow.

Many attention-starved kids grow up to become attention-starved adults. They buy into the lie that their self-worth is dependent on two things: what they do and what people say about what they do.

And they always seem to come up short.

They go through life with a pervading sense that no matter how well they perform they will never be good enough; that they will always be found lacking; that they will never meet the expectations of others.

I am one of those people. At least I was.

In my seemingly never-ending quest for acceptance I stumbled upon a phenomenon called "unconditional love." Having been a regular attender of Sunday School, I had learned at a very early age that God loves His children unconditionally. I knew about unconditional love. But, due to some pretty faulty thinking, I had never experienced it.

First of all, I grew up believing that all love had conditions. There were always strings attached. I couldn't be loved until the expectations of others were met. Love had to be earned.

Secondly, I had developed some defective beliefs about God. I viewed my Heavenly Father through the lens of my alcoholic dad. As a result, I believed that God was just another father I couldn't please; another father who looked at me and shook His head in disappointment, another father who withheld His love from me until I got it right.

Once I came to understand the truth about my Heavenly Father and His love for me everything changed. I experienced unrestricted, unqualified, unquestionable approval for the first time in my life. I finally and fully grasped the fact that my Heavenly Father’s love for me carries no expectations. That there are no strings attached. That His love cannot possibly be earned.

I remember vividly the thrill of cradling my first grandchild after he was born. And as I held him close and looked at that sweet face I found myself overflowing with love for him. I realized there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And what exactly had he done to earn that kind of love? Absolutely nothing. At just a few weeks old pretty much all he did was eat, sleep, and poop. I loved him not because of anything he had done. I loved and continue to love him because of who he is: he’s my grandson.

That is a picture of how our Heavenly Father loves us. He loves us freely and fully with no strings attached. He loves us even when we smell and need to be changed. He loves us so much there is nothing He wouldn’t do for us. He loves us not because of what we've done, He loves us because of who we are: we're His kids.

I no longer live seeking to measure up in the eyes of others. I have been deemed good enough by a Father who is fully pleased with me just as I am.

Since her passing a few days ago, many colorful words have been used to describe the life of Joan Rivers. Indeed, she was hilarious. She was quick-witted. She was a trail-blazer, a pioneer. She was brazen.  

But after watching a documentary of her life filmed a few years ago, the word that has kept coming to my mind when I think of her is insecure. She appeared to be driven by an insatiable desire to be loved and accepted by others. It seemed she didn't just want people to laugh at her routine, she needed them to laugh. Criticism sent her reeling. 

Although she denied the 2002 Huffington Post report that she had undergone over 700 "procedures," Rivers at least was honest that she had had plastic surgery. I found that quite refreshing, especially in a Hollywood culture where lying about nose jobs and botox injections is second nature--even when the physical evidence of such enhancements cannot be disputed. 

Yet, the fact remains, that even though Joan Rivers went to great lengths to build a face and body that defied her eighty-plus years, she was never secure enough in who she was to leave well enough alone.  

Have you ever found that it takes much more effort and energy to pretend to be someone you're not than to simply be who you really are?

Yet, so often--in an effort to win the approval of others-- we find ourselves wearing masks. We are insecure in who we are. More frequently than we would like to admit, we go to great lengths to prevent others from seeing the "real" us. 

The driving force behind our insecurity is often a deep-seated fear of being rejected. We tell ourselves, If they knew who I really was they would want nothing to do with me. So we spend our lives projecting a false image of who we are. And we lose ourselves in the process.

In ancient Greece, theater troupes often wore masks which exaggerated facial features and expressions. The masks, called hupos, prevented audience members from knowing the true identity of the person wearing it, enabling actors to play several different roles in the same play.       
The Greek actors behind the hupos were known as hupokrites. If that word looks familiar, it should. It's where we get the word hypocrite. 

In the Christian culture, hypocrite is a label we like to hang on people whose walk doesn't match their talk; who are quick to point out the blemishes in others without ever looking into a mirror themselves. The biblical Pharisees are a case in point. If anyone personified sheer hypocrisy, it was those self-righteous Pharisees.

But perhaps we would be wise to take a closer look at the definition of the word.  A hypocrite is someone who pretends to be something they’re not; someone who is false; someone who hides who they really are.

The moment we insist that the word does not describe us we prove that it does. As the Apostle Paul so eloquently writes, All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Rom. 3:23). Despite our best efforts to hide our shortcomings, we all come up short. But because being brutally honest with ourselves and others might reveal flaws we don't want to admit we have, we often come to the false conclusion that it is less painful to simply pretend we have our spiritual act together. That is commonly called living a lie. And that makes us hypocrites.

The opposite of hypocrisy is sincerity. The word sincere comes from Latin word sincerus which means without wax.

Early Romans who sold pottery would often come across jars that had cracks. It was a common practice for merchants to use colored wax to fill in cracks so the imperfections would be hidden from prospective buyers. But it didn't take long for buyers who had been deceived to begin holding the jars out in the sun before making a purchase. If the jars had filled-in cracks, the sun's rays would melt away the wax and the flaws would be revealed.

To prove their honesty, merchants began labeling their pottery sincerus, or, without wax.

We all need relationships in which we can be free to be who we truly are--relationships that are genuine, authentic, and real. We need to be "without wax" in the presence of other people who are "without wax." And if we find that we cannot be ourselves in front of some folks, the answer is not to put on a mask and pretend to be something we're not. The answer is to find other folks--people who will love and accept us despite our flaws. 
 
That's why I love Jesus so much. I don't have to pretend with Him. In fact, I can't pretend with Him. He knows everything about me. He sees what's behind the mask I often wear in front of others. He knows the real me and loves me anyway. That security enables me to be real in an un-real world.

Most other nine-year-old boys wanted LEGOs, basketballs, or any electronic device that came with a remote control. Paulie was not like most other nine-year-old boys. What he wanted most in the world was his father's blessing.

Paulie was never sure his dad wanted him, let alone loved him. Most of the comments Paulie's father directed toward his son were critical. Paulie could just as well have been named Screw-up. That was his father "jokingly" called him.

Paulie tried and tried to earn his father’s blessing. He was always obedient. He went out of his way to be helpful. He was determined to get good grades at school. One day, Paulie was so excited about his report card that he ran all the way home, clutching it like a prisoner holding parole papers. He had earned all A’s and one A-minus. He couldn't wait to show his dad.

His father's response? "How can you get an A-minus in English? What’s wrong with you?" Despite his honor roll status at school, at home Paulie was failing at what mattered most—winning his dad's approval.

As was his habit, Paulie tried another approach. One Saturday, while his friends were out playing, Paulie spent the entire day doing yard work. He wasn't asked to do it. That's why he thought it would make even more of an impression on his dad.

Paulie spent the entire day mowing, trimming, and edging. He didn't merely rake the grass, he combed it. He excitedly awaited his dad's return from fishing with his buddies. Paulie was in desperate need of an "attaboy." Surely this will do it, Paulie reasoned. This will get Dad's attention. 

But once again, Paulie was disappointed. His dad came home, walked into the house, and the first words out of his mouth were, "Who left the rake out? How many times do I have to tell you?"

Little boys like Paulie often grow up to be adults who struggle with one of two things: perfectionism or apathy. People who grew up in ultra-critical environments with either keep trying and trying to finally "get it right," thus earning the approval of others, or, they will say, Why bother? What's the use?, and withdraw. 

Whether they become people-pleasers or people-avoiders the inner need is the same: those who carry this father wound desperately want to feel loved and valued by others. 

The spiritual struggle for the love-deprived plays out much the same way. Some set out to do all they can to prove themselves worthy to God in an effort to gain His approval. Others simply say, I can't possibly be good enough so why even try?

Psychological studies have shown that children who receive physical affection, warmth, and affirmation from their parents—particularly their fathers—are much more likely to have closer marriages, deeper friendships, better mental health, even greater work success than those who don't. Fathers who bless their kids with love, encouragement, acceptance, and a sense that they are valued, are equipping those children to become well-adjusted adults with strong sense of internal security.

There is little doubt that missing out on a dad's blessing can have a tremendous effect on a child, well into their adult years. But just because a child misses out their father's blessing doesn't mean they have to miss out on the Father's blessing.   

The wonderful truth is, no matter who we are and what our family history, every one of us has a Father who loves us, who encourages us, who values us more than we can begin to comprehend. He is a Father who loves His kids with a love that cannot be earned. He loves us when we get all A's. He loves us when we get D-pluses.

There is no need to spend our lives pleasing or avoiding people as a result of a dad's critical words. When our earthly fathers fail us, our Heavenly Father stands in the gap, arms open wide to give us the blessing we seek.