Good On The Outside

I think we all have that one thing we secretly believe we’re doing pretty well.

For me? I would’ve said kindness.

Sure, I’ve told you all about my temper. My sharp tongue has had its own series at this point. I know I can be impatient. I know I can be reactive. None of that is exactly breaking news.

But goodness? I genuinely thought I had that one covered.

Apparently… not.

This morning, coffee in hand, I opened my Bible expecting to be encouraged. Maybe comforted. Instead, God lovingly slid a mirror across the table.

He asked me a question I wasn’t prepared to answer.

What is attached to my goodness?

That one landed.

Romans 12:9-13 says,

“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.”

Paul goes on to describe a life marked by hope, patience, generosity, prayer, and genuine love. It’s active. Intentional. Holy. It isn’t performative. It isn’t dependent on how people treat us. It isn’t something we put on for other people to admire. It’s something God produces within us.

The more I sat with Romans 12, the more uncomfortable I became.

It’s funny how Scripture does that.

You open your Bible expecting a hug, and somehow God lovingly hands you an X-ray instead.

That’s exactly what happened to me.

The more I read, the more I realized I’ve confused goodness with a lot of other things.

Culture tells us goodness is whatever feels affirming. Whatever gets applause. Whatever doesn’t disrupt comfort. Whatever aligns with our own desires.

Sometimes, if we’re honest, the church isn’t much different.

We can accidentally reduce goodness to looking the part. Rule keeping. Serving on teams. Knowing Scripture. Saying the right things. We become really good at looking healthy while quietly ignoring the condition of our hearts.

Jesus was never impressed by appearances.

He was always after motives.

Not just what we do.

Why we do it.

And if I’m being honest… that’s where this morning got uncomfortable.

I’ve realized there are different versions of goodness, and somehow I’ve managed to fall into every single one of them.

Conditional goodness was probably the hardest one to admit.

Oof.

This was the part that made me put my coffee down.

I don’t think I would’ve ever admitted this out loud before today, but somewhere along the way I started believing healthy relationships meant mutual benefit.

If I’m always checking on you…

Surely you’ll check on me.

If I’m loyal…

Surely you’ll be loyal.

If I keep showing up…

Surely you will too.

It sounds fair.

It sounds mature.

It even sounds healthy.

Except… Jesus never said, “Love people as long as they love you back.”

Somewhere along the way, I confused love with reciprocity.

I honestly thought relationships were supposed to be mutually beneficial.

Hello…

Apparently not.

The more I sat with that, the more I realized I wasn’t manipulating people.

I was managing expectations.

There’s a difference.

But both reveal there were strings attached.

When those expectations weren’t met, disappointment quietly started keeping score.

Disappointment became resentment.

Resentment became distance.

Distance became hardness.

The problem wasn’t that people failed me.

The problem was that my goodness had conditions.

Jesus didn’t tell us to love people who earned it.

He simply told us to love.

That one has been sitting with me all morning.

Then there’s comfortable goodness.

The kind that only costs me what’s convenient.

I’ll serve when it fits my schedule.

I’ll forgive after enough time has passed.

I’ll help… as long as it doesn’t interrupt my peace.

Funny how “protecting my peace” almost always seems to line up perfectly with “I don’t really feel like doing that.”

Comfort has an incredible way of disguising itself as wisdom.

Sometimes God isn’t asking me to protect my comfort.

He’s inviting me into sacrifice.

Then there’s cautious goodness.

This one stung too.

Being hurt has a way of making you require everyone to prove they deserve your kindness.

I don’t think I became cold.

I became careful.

I started making people earn access.

Earn trust.

Earn grace.

Earn patience.

I convinced myself that was discernment.

Maybe some of it was.

Maybe some of it was fear wearing a spiritual disguise.

Because the truth is…

Goodness is vulnerable.

Love always is.

That doesn’t mean we abandon wisdom or healthy boundaries.

It simply means we stop assuming everyone is guilty until proven innocent.

It also reminded me of Galatians 6:2-5.

Paul tells us to carry one another’s burdens, but just a few verses later he tells each person to carry their own load.

At first, that almost feels contradictory.

It’s not.

A burden is the boulder someone simply can’t carry alone.

A load is the backpack every believer is responsible for carrying.

And if I’m honest, I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to carry other people’s backpacks.

Then I wondered why I was exhausted.

Helping isn’t the same as rescuing.

Sometimes rescuing isn’t love at all.

Sometimes it’s people pleasing wearing a halo.

And people pleasing feels generous…

Until you realize it’s often rooted in needing approval.

Approval makes a terrible god.

Romans 12 goes on to tell us,

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

Can I be honest?

If you had asked me yesterday to explain the difference between faith and hope, I probably would’ve shrugged and said, “Aren’t they basically the same thing?”

Apparently… also no.

Faith believes God.

Hope eagerly expects what faith believes.

Faith is confidence in God’s promises.

Hope is the joyful expectation that those promises will become reality.

I heard it explained this way, and I absolutely loved it.

If God’s promise is the house…

Faith is the title deed.

Hope is standing on the front porch with your suitcase packed because you know you’re about to walk through the front door.

You don’t hope for something you don’t believe.

Faith naturally produces hope.

The two walk hand in hand.

And if I’m honest, this season has stretched both.

Some mornings my faith has looked like simply choosing to believe that God is still good.

My hope has looked like expecting His goodness before I can actually see it.

Romans also tells us to be patient in affliction.

Not inconvenience.

Affliction.

There’s a difference.

Patience isn’t pretending everything is okay.

It’s learning to manage my emotions in a way that honors God while I wait.

If you’ve been here for any length of time, you already know that’s been one of the greatest struggles of my life.

My emotions are loud.

My frustration can be loud.

My expectations can be loud.

My mouth can definitely be loud.

Prayer has become the place where God slowly quiets all of them.

Not overnight.

Not perfectly.

Just faithfully.

The older I get, the more I’m realizing that how I’m doing spiritually always bleeds into how I’m doing emotionally.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Either way, they’re connected.

Far more than I’d like to admit.

So my prayer has changed.

I’m not asking God to simply make me nicer.

I’m asking Him to purify why I’m good in the first place.

Remove the scorekeeping.

Remove the expectations.

Remove the fear.

Remove the comfort.

Remove the need for applause.

Remove the part of me that quietly wonders, “Okay… but what do I get back?”

Because if my goodness only survives when people treat me well…

It isn’t God’s goodness.

It’s mine.

And mine has limits.

His doesn’t.

So I’m learning that I don’t have to match someone’s energy.

I can set the standard.

Not because I’m naturally good.

Quite the opposite.

The closer I get to Jesus, the less convinced I become of my own goodness and the more amazed I become by His.

Because even after exposing all of this in me over a single cup of coffee this morning…

He has never once made His goodness toward me conditional.

Thank God for that.