Our Mediator and the Lies We Believe

Jesus isn’t convincing the Father to love us—He’s convincing us we’ve always been loved.

I heard something in Bible study today that rang through my soul like a bell struck clean:

“Jesus isn’t the mediator convincing the Father to love us. Jesus is the mediator convincing us of the Father’s goodness.”

I have sat with this all day.

Because as a parent, I know this truth intimately.

No one—absolutely no one—has ever had to convince me to love my children. Not once. Not when they were disobedient. Not when they made mistakes. Not when they pulled away. I may not have understood their choices, and I may not have been able to shield them from consequences, but the love? It never wavered. It never needed a reason.

It simply was.

And yet, in nearly 22 years of parenting, I’ve watched moments, circumstances, heartbreaks, and lies whisper untruths to my children about that very love. I’ve seen it in their eyes—the quiet question: “Could she still love me after this?”

And I’ve been powerless to uproot those lies. Because even when I show up, even when I speak truth with tears in my voice, if a lie has taken root in the soil of their heart, only the Holy Spirit can gently pull it free.

That’s what Jesus does.

He’s not up in heaven pleading, “Please love her, Father—she’s trying.”

He’s not twisting God’s arm or interceding with a desperate edge, as though we were unlovable until He stepped in.

No, friend.

Jesus is standing with nail-scarred hands, pointing to the Father’s open arms, whispering, “Look. He’s always loved you. Let Me show you.”

He is the image of the invisible God. The Word made flesh. The living, breathing proof of the Father’s affection.

He didn’t come to soften God’s heart toward us. He came to soften ours toward Him.

Because we are the ones who forget. We are the ones who run. We are the ones who hear the lie: “You are too far gone, too much, too broken, too disappointing.”

And Jesus steps between that lie and our weary hearts and says, “No. Let Me show you the truth.”

He reveals a Father who has always called us beloved. A Father who has never once looked away. A Father whose love isn’t based on our behavior, but on our being—our identity as children made in His image.

There have been lies in my own life. Lies I didn’t even realize I was carrying until Jesus, with all the tenderness of a Shepherd, began to show me. He didn’t yell them away. He didn’t shame them out of me.

He invited me to remember who my Father really is.

I’m still remembering. Still unlearning. Still being healed.

But I know this now:

Jesus is not mediating love between a distant Father and a desperate sinner. He is drawing close to my heart and saying, “You don’t have to earn this. You just have to see it.”

And I do.

Little by little, I do.