In 2015, I planted a church in the heart of Seattle. I had vision, passion, and grit. Unfortunately, I also had an insatiable need for approval. After every sermon, every teaching, every leadership decision, I found myself watching people’s reactions. Did they nod in agreement? Did they smile at me on the way out? Did they come back the next week? If I sensed affirmation, I felt like I could breathe again. If I didn’t, I replayed every word and second-guessed every choice. It was exhausting.

That’s when it hit me: I wasn’t just shepherding people; I was performing for them. And if I’m brutally honest, on occasion, I still do. This isn’t a one-and-done issue—it’s a lifelong tension. The truth is, everyone is chasing a voice. For some, it’s the crowd online. For others, it’s the boss, the parent, the spouse, or the congregation. We hit refresh, we check the numbers, we rehearse conversations in our heads. We want to hear it: “You’re enough. You matter. You did well.” But when you live for everyone else’s approval, you end up exhausted, fragmented, and hollow. Even if you get the applause, you never get to rest. The irony is that the ache itself isn’t wrong. It’s holy. You were made for approval—just not theirs.

Hijacked Approval

In the opening pages of Scripture, God speaks delight over his creation: “God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good” (Gen. 1:31). Humanity was created not only to bear God’s image but to live under his smile. To be seen, known, and delighted in was part of the design. This is why approval runs so deep. It’s not shallow insecurity—it’s a spiritual homing device. In the opening to his Confessions, Augustine famously wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you” (1:1). Our restless hearts crave approval because they were meant to hear it from God himself.

But in the garden, that holy longing was hijacked. The serpent’s lie wasn’t just about fruit; it was about perception. “You will be like God” (Gen. 3:5) whispered a different story of worth. Adam and Eve reached for approval apart from God and ended up hiding in shame. Ever since, humanity has outsourced its approval—measuring value by human applause, likes, promotions, or belonging to the right tribe. We see this pattern all through Scripture. King Saul confessed that he had sinned because he was afraid of the people and listened to their voice rather than God’s (1 Sam. 15:24). The Pharisees couldn’t stomach the idea of confessing Jesus publicly, “for they loved the glory that comes from man more than the glory that comes from God” (John 12:43).

The Proverbs warn, “The fear of man lays a snare” (29:25). That’s the trap: Discipleship warps when we crave the wrong “well done.” We trade communion with God for comparison with people. We exchange the freedom of being God’s children for the slavery of being people performers. And the result is always the same—anxious hearts and curated spiritual lives that look impressive on the outside but run empty on the inside.

This is and will be a constant tension in our lives. This isn’t meant to be defeating; it’s not a call to throw in the towel and surrender. Much the opposite, operating from reality provides fertile ground for the Spirit to work, to start pulling up weeds and making room for growth in the right direction.

The Gospel’s Better Word

Into that exhaustion, the gospel interrupts with a better word. At Jesus’s baptism, before he preached a sermon, healed a sick person, or performed a miracle, the Father’s voice thundered: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17). Approval producing obedience. Identity before activity.

Here’s the scandal of grace: In Christ, that same approval becomes ours. Paul writes, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1). Not only “no condemnation,” but also the Father’s delight: “He has blessed us in the Beloved” (Eph. 1:6). Colossians tells us that though we were once alienated, Christ has reconciled us in his body of flesh by his death “in order to present [us] holy and blameless and above reproach before him” (Col. 1:21–22). Consider Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 5:21: “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

This means that before you get it perfectly right (spoiler: you won’t), before you prove yourself (you can’t), before you manage to silence the critic in your head—God’s voice is already settled over you in Christ: Beloved. Approved. Mine.

But here’s the raw truth—most of us live like approval is still on the line. We hustle for it. We collapse without it. We secretly fear that God’s delight is as fragile as everyone else’s. Yet the gospel insists otherwise. The verdict has already been rendered. The gavel has already dropped. God’s “well pleased” isn’t a carrot dangled in front of you—it’s the ground beneath your feet.

So let me ask: What would change if you actually believed that? Not in theory. Not just on Sunday when you sing your favorite worship song. But on Monday morning—when you scroll through social media, when you compare yourself to others, when you walk into the office wondering if you measure up—what would shift if you truly believed you are already approved in Christ? This is discipleship’s starting line: God’s “yes” over us in Jesus. We don’t live for approval—we live from it.

A Call To Remember

Shifting from people’s approval to God’s isn’t about adding new tasks to your week; it’s about a new way of thinking that sinks deeply into the heart. It’s about waking up tomorrow and remembering whose voice gets the final word.

When you sit in a meeting and feel the pressure to impress, remember you can rest in being already chosen, already beloved. When you parent and feel like you’re failing, remember God’s delight in you is not tied to your performance. When you stand to serve, teach, or lead, and that familiar anxiety creeps in, remember your identity isn’t built on their nods but on his unshakable “well pleased.” When you live through quiet, ordinary moments and no one notices, remember the Father who sees in secret (Matt. 6:6) is the one who holds you fast.

You were made for approval. That longing in you isn’t a flaw—it’s a feature. But you weren’t made for theirs. Not for the crowd, not for the critic, not even for your own impossible standards. You were made for his. So take a breath, because in Christ, you already have it.