A God Pleaser in a people pleasing world

A God-Pleaser in a People-Pleasing World

Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t battling sin as much as I was battling the need to be approved. And if I’m honest, people-pleasing can disguise itself as “wisdom” while quietly strangling obedience.

It doesn’t always show up like rebellion. Sometimes it looks like politeness. Sometimes it looks like restraint. Sometimes it looks like “keeping the peace.” But underneath it, there’s a deeper loyalty that keeps demanding to be fed: I want to be understood. I want to be liked. I want to be accepted.

And the Holy Spirit has been exposing it—not because He’s harsh, but because He loves me too much to leave me half-formed. Because a people-pleasing spirit will keep you safe… but it will also keep you small. It will keep you liked… but it will also keep you limited. It will keep you comfortable… but it will also keep you compromised. 

But a God-pleaser?

A God-pleaser is dangerous—in the best way. Because when you live for the Father’s pleasure, you become unbribable, unshakable, and unmovable. You stop editing your obedience to protect your reputation. You stop delaying what God said because you’re afraid of how it will look. You stop negotiating with clarity.

And lately, I’ve felt the Spirit putting His finger on one question that refuses to leave me alone:

What fraction of my life do I truly hear from the Father?

What percentage do I still live from fear, pressure, and the need to be approved? 

Because there’s a difference between believing in God and belonging to God. There’s a difference between being saved and being surrendered. There’s a difference between being a Christian in name and being a disciple in nature. 

And the doorway into that life is not ambition.

It’s one word: surrender. 

The sentence that snapped me awake

There are words Jesus spoke that comfort me. There are words that correct me. There are words that steady me.

But there’s one sentence that has settled into my spirit like a holy landmark—something I keep returning to, because it doesn’t just sound powerful… it changes the way I live:

“It is finished.” 

When Jesus said that on the cross, it wasn’t poetry. It wasn’t religious drama. It wasn’t a metaphor.

It was the conclusion of His assignment.

It was the completion of the redemptive work.

Everything He needed to do—He did it. Fully. Completely. Forever. 

And that truth forces me to face an uncomfortable question:

If Jesus finished His part… why do I still live like I have to earn what He already purchased?

Because people-pleasing is just another version of earning.

It says, “If I can just be understood, I’ll feel secure.”

“If I can just be approved, I’ll feel safe.”

“If I can just be liked, I’ll feel stable.”

But Jesus didn’t die so I could become a professional manager of perception.

He died so I could become a son—led by the Father.

And when I start to grasp that, I realize something that changes everything:

The cross didn’t just forgive me.

It didn’t just cleanse me.

It didn’t just cancel my debt.

The cross opened access to the Father’s heart. 

Knowing the Father’s will is really knowing the Father’s heart

I’ve heard people talk about the will of God like it’s a secret code.

As if the Father is hiding His plan behind a wall, and only the “advanced” believers can crack it.

But that’s not what I see in Jesus.

Jesus didn’t come to hide the Father—He came to reveal Him.

He didn’t come to keep people at a distance—He came to bring them near.

And the Holy Spirit has been dealing with me about this: knowing the Father’s will is deeply connected to knowing the Father’s heart. 

Because when you know His heart, you stop trying to control the future.

You stop demanding certainty before obedience.

You stop treating God like a consultant instead of a King.

And this is one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned:

When I look back, it’s easy to see the hand of the Lord.

But when I look ahead, I often don’t see it. 

Looking back, I can trace the protection. I can see the preservation. I can identify the divine interruptions and the mercy that saved me from paths I thought I wanted.

But looking forward?

That’s where faith has to breathe.

That’s where people-pleasing tries to take over—because if I can get enough human approval, it feels like control. If I can get enough people to agree with me, it feels like safety. If I can predict outcomes, it feels like peace.

But the Father has been training me to live differently.

He has been teaching me to stop trying to figure out the future like it’s a puzzle—because the future is His deliverance—and instead to pursue His Kingdom and His presence. 

And here’s what happens when you begin to know the Father’s heart:

You move.

Not geographically first—internally.

You move from outer-court living into Holy-of-Holies living.

From distant Christianity into intimate Christianity.

From routine to presence.

From familiarity to reverence.

From performance to communion. 

From outer court to Holy of Holies

There is a kind of church culture—if we’re honest—that lives like the outer court is enough.

We’re thankful for forgiveness, yes.

We love worship, yes.

We enjoy teaching, yes.

But we remain at a safe distance.

We keep God close enough to bless us… and far enough not to disrupt us.

Yet the Spirit keeps calling us deeper.

Because the Holy of Holies is where His presence is.

Where His glory is.

Where His anointing is. 

And you don’t get there by becoming louder. You get there by becoming surrendered.

You don’t get there by collecting information. You get there by yielding your will.

Because the Father is not trying to create a generation of spiritual spectators.

He is converting believers into disciples. 

God is a builder, not a destroyer

One of the most healing revelations the Lord ever settled in my heart is this:

God is building something. 

He’s not randomly ripping things apart. He’s not tearing down your life because He enjoys breaking you. He’s not cutting things out because He’s fickle.

He is a builder.

And yes—sometimes the only time He tears down is to build again. 

Sometimes He removes what would poison what He’s about to release.

Sometimes He uproots what cannot sustain the weight of the call.

Sometimes He shuts a door not to frustrate you—but to preserve you.

And that is where people-pleasing gets exposed.

Because if my identity is tied to approval, then any “tear down” will feel like rejection.

But if my identity is rooted in the Father, then even painful transitions can be trusted—because I know the Builder is working.

Perseverance is the language of real disciples

I’ve watched this again and again:

The devil doesn’t always try to make you fall loudly.

Sometimes he just wants you to quit quietly.

To become weary.

To become cynical.

To stop believing that faithfulness matters.

And yet the Spirit keeps saying, “Never give up.” 

I think about the stories of perseverance—the kind that silences the enemy’s mouth.

I think of accounts where a leader stayed steady through years of smallness, years of obscurity, years of “nothing seems to be happening,” and then suddenly the Holy Spirit breathes and says, “Now is the time.” 

And what looked like “little” becomes thousands impacted.

What looked like “stuck” becomes overflow.

What looked like “hidden” becomes a movement.

Why?

Because someone refused to quit when the whispering came:

“God didn’t tell you.”

“You’re not called.”

“You can’t do this.” 

Listen—if you want to be a God-pleaser in a people-pleasing world, you must decide early:

I will not let the opinions of man become the thermostat of my obedience.

Because the enemy doesn’t want the Church to succeed, and he certainly doesn’t want you to become a disciple who carries fire. 

Disciples carry a different spirit

This is something I can feel in my bones:

The Lord is converting Christians into disciples—not just people who “believe,” but people who follow. 

And disciples carry a different attitude.

A different spirit.

A different weight.

They don’t just want blessings—they want alignment.

They don’t just want increase—they want intimacy.

They don’t just want comfort—they want Christlikeness.

And here’s the key:

This can only be done by the Spirit of the Lord. 

You cannot self-improve your way into true surrender.

You cannot perform your way into discipleship.

You cannot hustle your way into Holy-of-Holies living.

The Spirit must form it in you.

Which is why He keeps touching the places where we still need people’s approval to feel okay.

“He owns it all” — the end of shallow arguments

Let me talk straight.

I’ve listened to people argue for hours about tithing—percentages, technicalities, loopholes—and honestly, it’s one of the most revealing conversations in the world. 

Because discipleship is not primarily about ten percent.

It’s about a revelation:

He owns it all. 

When that lands in you, you’re one step closer to being a disciple.

Because if He owns it all, then my money isn’t the issue—my lordship is.

If He owns it all, then my time isn’t the issue—my priorities are.

If He owns it all, then my comfort isn’t the issue—my surrender is.

And the Spirit keeps asking the same question your sermon was pressing:

Where are our priorities?

Is it the Kingdom… or is it self-preservation? 

Because you can’t live to please people and live to please God at the same time. One will always demand the throne.

The love that rewires you

There are truths you can “agree with,” and then there are truths that change you.

The love of God is not meant to be acknowledged—it’s meant to be received until it reshapes you.

“No one has greater love than this: to lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13) 

I’ve stood in real-world environments where “protection” is a job description. I’ve seen the mindset that says, “I’ll take the bullet for the one I’m assigned to protect.”

And I remember thinking about that… and then feeling the weight of this:

Jesus didn’t ask someone else to take the bullet.

He took the nails.

He took the cross.

He took the full cost of redemption. 

And when I really sit with that, something inside me refuses to stay casual.

How could I keep building my life around being liked… when I’ve been loved like this?

How could I keep centering my decisions around human approval… when Heaven proved its approval with blood?

When you catch the revelation of His love—the depth, the width, the magnitude, the height—it doesn’t make you think highly of yourself in pride. It anchors you in identity. It tells you that you belong to Him, and you were worth the price. 

And out of that surrendered revelation, your life begins to transform:

Not being a people-pleaser… but being a God-pleaser. 

The favor of God often looks like “no”

I’ve lived long enough with the Lord to recognize a pattern:

Some of the greatest favors of God are the things He didn’t allow me to have.

There was a season years ago where I was being considered for something that sounded impressive—special assignment, international opportunity, privileges people would call “success.” And I remember bringing it to the Lord. When I finally heard Him clearly, His answer wasn’t a detailed explanation—it was a warning that sobered me:

If I had gotten it, I would have had to compromise, and it would have affected my destiny. 

That was favor.

That was protection.

That was the hand of the Father.

And it taught me this:

I don’t judge God’s will by what looks good on paper.

I judge it by what keeps my heart clean and my destiny intact.

The Father has protected me throughout my life—preserved me for His timing. And I’ve learned the key thread running through it all:

It involves one word: surrender. 

Surrender is not a one-time altar moment. It’s the daily alignment of your will under His will.

Surrender is not theory—it’s a cross-shaped life

I’ve had things happen I never expected—moments of danger, moments of threat, moments where fear tried to sit in the driver’s seat. 

And I’ve lived through physical suffering too—injury that humbled me, pain that tested me, weakness that forced me to choose trust when my body wanted panic. I remember a serious accident that left me broken up physically… and yet even there, the Lord used it. He opened a door for witness, even in the aftermath, because He knows how to redeem what the enemy tries to weaponize. 

That’s the Builder again.

He doesn’t author evil—but He is unmatched at turning ashes into testimony.

And this is what I’ve learned about surrender:

Surrender isn’t just letting go of sin.

Surrender is letting go of control.

Letting go of reputation.

Letting go of the need to be understood.

Letting go of the demand that everything makes sense before you obey.

Because discipleship isn’t about living safe.

It’s about living led.

Gethsemane: where God-pleasers are made

Every time I go back to the Garden, my heart tightens.

Because Gethsemane is where we see the purest form of surrender.

Jesus—Son of God, and also Son of Man—experienced what we experience. Temptation. Pressure. The weight of what was coming. 

And yet He did not sin.

How?

He did it as a man—through total communion with the Father. 

And then the prayer:

“Father, if this cup can be taken from Me… nevertheless, not My will… Your will be done.” 

That cup was the cross.

Not symbolic suffering. Not mild discomfort.

A crown of thorns.

Merciless beating.

Carrying the cross.

Nails in hands and feet. 

And He chose it.

Why?

Because He saw you and me as a reward for His sacrifice. 

That line has never left me.

You are not an afterthought to God.

You are not an accident in His story.

You are not a burden He tolerates.

You are the reward.

And when you see yourself that way—not in pride, but in identity—you stop needing the approval of people to feel alive.

You start living for the pleasure of the Father.

Preferring others: the collision with modern Christianity

This is where the message gets real.

Because Jesus didn’t just save us—He showed us what a life looks like when it’s fully aimed at the Father.

He thought about others and where they would end up more than He thought about Himself. 

And when you try to live like that, the world will label you weak.

They’ll call humility “soft.”

They’ll call gentleness “lack of backbone.”

They’ll call selflessness “stupidity.”

But Heaven calls it Christ.

The Scripture says we are to prefer others, and when you try to walk that out, you’ll feel resistance—internally and externally—because it cuts across the grain of selfish human nature. 

But the Father is after that formation in us.

Not because He wants doormats—because He wants disciples whose love is real.

Walking in His will will cost you popularity

Here is a sober truth I can’t avoid:

If you walk in the will of God, you will challenge the world—sometimes without even trying.

And if you challenge the world, you’ll be hated. 

Why was Jesus crucified?

Because the world hated Him.

Because He carried the presence of Heaven. 

And if you carry Christ in you—if you live from the New Covenant reality—people who don’t understand will be disturbed by what they can’t explain. 

But this is the glory:

“It is no longer I who live…”

That’s not a far-off concept. It’s present tense. 

And when Christ is living through you, the goal is not that everybody likes you.

The goal is that the Father is pleased.

The fruit that proves you’re free

Here’s where this becomes practical.

I’m after the character of Christ.

Not the image.

Not the platform.

Not the applause.

The character. 

And the Word tells me what that looks like:

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22–23) 

And then this:

“Let the same attitude… be in you which was in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 2:5) 

That’s what the Father is building.

Not flashy Christianity.

Not loud Christianity.

Not performative Christianity.

Fruitful Christianity.

Because fruit is what remains when nobody’s clapping.

Fruit is what shows up when you’re misunderstood.

Fruit is what stays intact when you’re criticized.

Fruit is what doesn’t collapse when you don’t get the approval you wanted.

And let me tell you what I feel the Spirit saying:

He is raising up a generation that will not play church.

A generation that will be the Church.

A generation on fire, hearing the Father’s voice. 

A simple prayer from my heart

Father, I don’t want to be managed by the fear of man.

I don’t want to be the kind of believer who obeys only when it’s applauded.

I don’t want to be the kind of disciple who follows only when it’s safe.

I don’t want to be the kind of Christian who seeks peace through compromise.

I want Your pleasure more than my comfort.

Teach me surrender—not as a concept, but as a cross-shaped life.

And make me so established in Your love that I stop needing people’s approval to feel secure.

Let Your will become my delight.

Let Your Kingdom become my orbit.

Let Your presence become my home.

Declarations

1. I declare that I am being delivered from the fear of man and rooted in the pleasure of the Father.

   
   
   
   

2. I declare that I will not edit my obedience to protect my reputation.

   
   
   
   

3. I declare that Jesus’ words—“It is finished”—have settled my identity, my forgiveness, and my access to the Father.

   
   
   
   

4. I declare that I am moving from outer-court living into Holy-of-Holies intimacy—into presence, glory, and anointing.

   
   
   
   

5. I declare that God is building in me what He is calling from me, and I will not despise the process.

   
   
   
   

6. I declare that I will persevere until Heaven says, “Now is the time.”

   
   
   
   

7. I declare that I am being converted from casual belief into true discipleship by the Spirit of the Lord.

   
   
   
   

8. I declare that my whole life will revolve around the Kingdom of God, and others will see the fruit of it.

   
   
   
   

9. I declare that my finances, time, and priorities are surrendered—because He owns it all.

   
   
   
   

10. I declare that I will stop trying to figure out the future and instead pursue the Kingdom, trusting the Father’s heart.

    
    
    
    

11. I declare that I will carry the character of Christ—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

    
    
    
    

12. I declare that I will live to please God, not people—and my life will bear lasting fruit.

    
    
    
    

Amen. Much love.