I Never Asked You to Perform

When the pursuit of righteousness becomes the performance of perfection.

Tuesday Pause™

I’ve shared this openly, but I’ll repeat it again, just in case there is anything left in me that feels the need to apologize for evolving.

I am in the process of getting divorced.

Yes, after 16 years of marriage, I am making the choice to choose me rather than choke back and swallow my pain to spare myself the unauthorized and unsolicited advice or pity of “well-intentioned” people who have only analyzed my marriage from the outside, without realizing the consequences of what I have been protecting: an image, at the expense of my own self-respect.

And in the midst of this, I was challenged to seek God about what I am supposed to learn from this experience. After all, why leave empty-handed and run the risk of becoming empty-hearted because I failed to recognize what this has all been about?

And in the stillness of my psyche, I heard a voice say: “I never asked you to perform.”

What baffled me was the fact that I thought I’d been delivered, once and for all, from an identity ruled by performing perfection. But obviously, there is still more in me than just residue.

Earlier, I was listening to an interview with Meagan Good-Majors, and something she said spoke loud and clear to me. It was profound and extremely relatable.

“Am I getting it right?” That was the question she asked God.

And I realized that has been me. So dead set on “getting it right” according to other people’s religious expectations rather than allowing my own convictions to do the directing.

A few days ago, I was talking to a close friend about premarital sex. She admitted that she often felt ashamed after engaging in it, so she decided to practice celibacy.

My response was, “I don’t disagree with your decision. Just make sure it isn’t shame-induced, because shame does not come from God.”

Our conversation continued, and we discussed how we believe the biblical teachings surrounding sex have much more depth than what has often been presented in church, particularly concerning the spiritual and emotional implications of becoming one flesh.

And I said something that might make some people uncomfortable.

“I don’t know if I’ll wait until I’m married again before I have sex.”

I’m not saying I won’t wait. However, I am saying that whether I do or not, it will be a decision I make according to my own prayerful convictions, not because I'm afraid of what other people might think.

And that does not mean disregarding Scripture. It means learning to distinguish between what God requires of me and what people have conditioned me to believe I must do to earn His approval.

With my marriage ending, I have been reflecting. There has almost always been this quiet ache within me, a feeling that perhaps our marriage was more a reflection of God’s permissive will than His perfect will. And I wonder how much my fear of what people might say or think back then, drove me to essentially demand that he marry me or I would leave the state.

Yes, I’ve worn marrying quickly and still being married all these years like a badge of honor. But, I wonder what would have happened if we had really taken our time and learned each other. Maybe the marriage would have happened, or maybe it would not have. Even still, I have absolutely no regrets about how it began, and I am leaving it with no regrets about how it’s ending. In the same way, I refuse to leave without learning what this experience has been meant to teach me.

Perhaps what God is revealing in this season is, I have spent so much of my life trying to get it right that I have sometimes missed the freedom of simply walking with Him. I have confused being above reproach with being beyond human error. I have confused holiness with perfection. I have confused surrender with self-abandonment.

And somewhere along the way, I began believing that if I could just do everything correctly, make the right decisions, say the right things, stay long enough, endure enough, forgive enough, and sacrifice enough, I would finally be able to rest in the assurance that God was pleased with me.

But what if His love was never something I had to earn?

What if my obedience was always meant to flow from relationship rather than fear?

What if the very thing He is confronting in this season is not my lack of righteousness, but my insatiable need to perform it?

I am not suggesting that holiness does not matter. I believe it does. I am not suggesting that grace eliminates accountability, that conviction is irrelevant, or that following Christ does not require sacrifice, but I am beginning to understand that there is a difference between being transformed by God and exhausting myself trying to prove that I have been.

One produces fruit.

The other produces an image.

And I have spent enough of my life protecting images.

I believe that in this season, God is coming for the parts of me that have not fully surrendered; not because I haven’t tried hard enough, but because I have spent so much time trying that I have struggled to simply receive.

His love.

His grace.

His correction.

His acceptance.

Without feeling as though I must first prove myself worthy of them.

Perhaps the greatest act of surrender for someone like me is not learning how to do more for God. Perhaps it is learning how to stop performing long enough to experience what it means to be loved by Him without having to earn it.

I don’t have to perform righteousness to be loved by a righteous God. I am called to pursue holiness, yes. However, I am also invited to rest in the grace that makes transformation possible. And as I walk through one of the most significant transitions of my life, I am learning that I can make difficult decisions, acknowledge my mistakes, challenge what I have been taught, and still be deeply loved by God.

I do not have to have every answer. I do not have to convince everyone that I am making the right decision, and I certainly do not have to sacrifice myself on the altar of other people’s approval to prove my devotion to Him. Because God never asked me to perform. He asked me to follow, and there is a difference.

Call to Action

This week, I challenge you to examine the areas of your life where you’ve been performing rather than simply becoming.

Where have you allowed the expectations of others to dictate your decisions? Where have you mistaken shame for conviction, perfection for holiness, or self-abandonment for surrender?

And perhaps most importantly, what have you been holding on to simply because you’re afraid of what people might think if you let it go?

Give yourself permission to be honest with God about those places. Not to justify everything you’ve done or avoid accountability, but to allow Him to reveal what is rooted in genuine obedience and what has been driven by fear, because healing requires honesty, and transformation requires surrender.

This week, stop asking yourself how you can appear more righteous and start asking God how you can become more like Him.

Not through performance.

But through relationship.