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Biff had to work to earn his father’s attention. He’s forty-four, and still remembers the only positive interaction he ever had with his dad: passing tools under the hood of a car. His dad wasn’t there to talk—he was just there to fix something. But even a request for a wrench was a morsel of affection. Those moments became crumbs of validation, and Biff gobbled them up. In his teen years, though, Biff realized the hunger was still there, and the crumbs weren’t enough. So he quit trying to earn his dad’s love. He didn’t care about cars anyway. Then he met Mable—young, bright, emotionally available. She was everything his father wasn’t. And without knowing it, Biff transferred all his craving for affection onto her. She became the one who could finally fill what his father had left empty. She became his idol.
Marge, by contrast, always felt her dad’s affection, at least on the surface. She was naturally bright and gifted. Her high IQ translated into good grades, which pleased her dad. He was critical, distant, and hard to impress, but her good grades got her in the door. She learned early: if she performed, she was praised. If she succeeded, she was safe.
Her brother Bart, however, had no such privilege. He didn’t care about school. He didn’t make A’s. So, he became the target of their father’s verbal arrows. Marge escaped criticism because she performed. Bart couldn’t, and so he absorbed the brunt of his father’s harshness. Resentment took root.
Eventually, like Biff, Bart quit trying. But quitting didn’t mean his quest for love vanished. It just changed direction. The teenage years promised something better—acceptance, affection, romance. What his father wouldn’t give, a girl might. Someone—anyone—was better than the cold, distant man who never saw him.
Fast-forward. Biff and Mable got married—and eventually, divorced. They thought they were in love, but what they really were was empty love tanks. They both entered the marriage with their cups in hand, and in the early dating season, they filled each other’s cravings with time and attention. But it wasn’t love—it was mutual emotional consumption. Once real life hit—jobs, children, bills—the time and attention dried up. Their neediness turned to frustration. Frustration turned to blame. Mable checked out. Biff found affirmation at work with someone else.
Marge—the high-achieving girl with the empty heart—got married too. Her husband, Brice, wasn’t like her dad. But not in the way she had hoped. Brice wasn’t critical, but neither was he encouraging. He said, “That’s just not my style.” For Marge, that translated to silence. She had spent a lifetime earning approval through performance, and now the rules had changed. She did the same dance, but there was no partner. What had worked with her father no longer worked with her husband.
Marge lives with a low-grade agitation. Her marriage is quiet. Unfulfilling. She has accepted that it will never be what she had hoped. So she found purpose elsewhere—at church. She leads women’s Bible studies and has cultivated friendships there. When asked about it, she was candid: “If I can’t have a spiritual leader at home, I’ll get my surrogate husband from our Bible study.” She’s found a workaround. Bart’s story spiraled further. He’s been married twice. He’s addicted to pornography. He’s angry at God. He can’t hold a job. His father’s rejection created an ache that turned into addiction and instability. His life, like the others, reveals the same tragic pattern. What do Biff, Mable, Marge, and Bart all have in common?
For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast (Ephesians 2:8–9).
God is very clear. We do not earn His love. There’s no hoop to jump through, no bar to reach. The gift is free, not based on what we do, but on what Christ has done. That kind of love is revolutionary for those trained in conditional affection. It’s a paradigm shift from performing for worth to resting in grace. In the garden, Adam and Eve tried to work their way back to God through self-effort (Genesis 3:7). They donned fig leaves. They hid, and ever since, humans have tried to hide behind performative living. But God has never been pleased with human efforts. He’s only satisfied with the work of His Son.
If we want our children to live in gospel freedom, we must set the stage by modeling gospel love. Children are born idolaters. Add total depravity to their vulnerability, and you have a person who is hardwired to crave affection and is shaped by what they receive. If you only love your children when they meet your standards, you are shaping them to perform for affection. You are teaching them to become ingrained legalists. Two typical parental errors feed this dysfunction:
When children are young, their ability to learn is limited. For example, when they learn a new word, they apply that label to anything that resembles it within the category. This early child development concept is understood as mutual exclusivity—if one liquid is called beer, then all liquids are beer until they learn there is a variety of drinks within the category. Imagine this: a father is the first image of God a child ever sees.
Thus, all fathers are like the first one they learn. If that father is distant, critical, or unpredictable, the child will transfer that understanding to God the Father. If the father makes love conditional, the child will assume God does, too. Some children will have to unlearn God, disentangle His grace from their dad’s performative model, which challenges their understanding of God the Father. It is our responsibility as parents to prevent this confusion from happening.
One of the greatest gifts you can give your children is affection without a cause. Love them just because they’re yours. God loves us that way. He doesn’t say, “Get straight A’s, then I’ll be proud of you.” He says, “You’re mine, and I’m crazy about you because of My Son.”
Thank God He doesn’t parent us that way. His love isn’t layered, merit-based, or conditional. It’s anchored in the finished work of Christ. Our job is to rest in that love and reflect it to those entrusted to our care.
Walk by your son and ruffle his hair. Tell him, “I love you.” If he asks why, say, “Just ’cause you’re my son.” If your daughter is older, find an appropriate way to affirm her value, not for what she does, but for who she is as a person made in God’s image. Squeeze her hand. Look her in the eye. Say, “God gave me a gift when He gave me you.” Don’t attach your love to their obedience. Don’t make your affection a reward. Let grace be the undercurrent of your parenting. Yes, talk about their sins. Yes, lead them toward holiness. But always remind them that you love them, even when they fail. That’s when grace speaks the loudest. That’s how our Father parents us.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
