Topic: Christian Life

“So, Anselm,” he said, turning towards me from across the dining table, “how do you say no to certain things?”

The question landed softly, but it carried weight. I knew at once what he meant. He wasn’t asking about schedules or boundaries. He was asking about the quiet, almost invisible habit that has shaped much of my life: people-pleasing.

I mumbled some vague response, but his words followed me home. Later that night, staring at the ceiling, the Spirit did His work. Replaying scenes, exposing motives, pulling back the curtain on decades of smiling compliance: moments when my desire to help, to appear competent, to keep peace, to rescue, had not really been about love.

People-pleasing has been a companion. I can scarcely remember a version of myself untouched by its grip. It became a strategy for survival. A defence mechanism. A way to keep peace, earn approval, secure belonging, and avoid being misunderstood or rejected. Perhaps I could be enough. 

But lately I’ve been asking myself whether my “introversion” is really how God made me or just a mask I learned to wear. And yet something in me has begun to shift. The more the Lord grows my faith, the clearer it becomes: this desire to please is not as innocent as it seems. Beneath the smile and ‘sacrifices’ often hides something darker: fear wearing the mask of kindness, pride cloaked in humility.

After interacting with a couple of resources on this subject, the unmasking began.

Treason of the Heart

People-pleasing is not primarily about kindness or compassion. It is not simply the desire to serve. It is a misplaced allegiance.

“For am I now seeking the favour of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bond-servant of Christ” (Galatians 1:10, NASB95)

Paul’s words unmask me every time. He doesn’t soften them. He calls this impulse treason. If our fundamental aim is to secure human approval, we cannot at the same time live as servants of Christ. We cannot obey with courage.

"...but just as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel, so we speak, not as pleasing men, but God who examines our hearts. For we never came with flattering speech..." (1 Thessalonians 2:4-5, NASB95)

People-pleasing is not just exhausting. It is enslaving. It shapes our decisions, rewrites our boundaries, distorts our motives, and makes our sense of worth fragile, dependent on the shifting opinions of others.

For years, people-pleasing didn’t feel sinful to me. It felt responsible. Peaceful. ‘Supportive.’ But the truth is that it often flowed from fear, not faith; from pride, not humility; from a desire to look godly rather than to be godly.

‘Woe to you when all men speak well of you, for their fathers used to treat the false prophets in the same way.’ (Luke 6:26, NASB95)

Jesus warns that universal approval is often a sign of compromise, not faithfulness. When the frown of people terrifies us more than the displeasure of God, we have discovered our true master. And for me, this mastery has often dressed itself in flattery.

The Flattery Beneath the Fear

“In a world where only success and triumph are shared, we are afraid of others seeing us for who we really are. So we pretend. We perform.” - Musungu Yosia

One of the subtlest expressions of people-pleasing is flattery. It doesn’t always look like insincere compliments. It often shows up as softened truths, hidden feelings, or saying what we think others want to hear. And when acceptance becomes the compass of our speech, truth and courage lose their way. At its root is fear, fear of being disliked, fear of losing reputation, fear of appearing weak or foolish, fear of being in conflict.

I’ve caught myself doing this countless times: I’ve nodded too eagerly at opinions I didn’t share, softened truths I wished I’d spoken plainly, and hidden my struggles to appear stable. At my worst, I was whoever people wanted me to be: smiling when I was hurting, agreeing when I disagreed, shaping my words to earn approval. 

“A lying tongue hates those it crushes, And a flattering mouth works ruin.” (Proverbs 26:28, NASB95)

Flattery is not love. It is outright lying. It is deceit. It wounds while it smiles. When I flatter, I am not loving my neighbour; I am using them. I am bending the truth to protect my comfort, preserving peace at the cost of holiness.

But flattery does more than distort our words; it distorts our fellowship. It creates a counterfeit peace. A calmness built on silence rather than sincerity. 

‘If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth’ (1 John 1:6, NASB95)

The apostle John reminds us that this hiddenness is not light, but darkness. We walk in the shadows, hiding our true thoughts, fears, and struggles, all while calling it humility or maturity. The fear of disapproval drives me to mask my true thoughts and feelings, convincing myself that being liked or avoiding disagreements is safer than being honest. Fear rarely shows up as fear. It manifests as niceness, compliance, overcommitment, and silence.

The Pride Beneath the Niceness

People-pleasing is not only fear-driven; it is also pride-driven. That was a hard confession for me to make.

Sometimes my desire to help, that is, to be dependable, available and reliable, has been more about managing my image. I wanted to be seen as the mature one, the strong one, the sacrificial one.

But underneath that “humility” was a belief that I needed to be impressive to be loved and accepted. Scripture cuts through the façade:

“Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves;” (Philippians 2:3, NASB95)

The desire to appear humble is, ironically, a form of pride. My so-called humility is often just concealed ambition, an attempt to secure worth by how helpful or sacrificial I seemed. But God opposes this way of living:

“...Therefore, it says, “God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” (James 4:6, NASB95)

Pride places self: our image, our reputation, our adequacy, at the centre. True humility does not need to be liked. It is content to be small because Christ is great. The gospel offers a better mirror. A glory not reflected in the world’s eyes, but in the cross of Jesus Christ.

Boasting in the Cross

If Galatians 1:10 exposes the disease, Galatians 6:14 gives the cure:

“But may it never be that I would boast, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.” (Galatians 6:14, NASB95)

The cross gives us a new boast, a new anchor for identity, safety, and worth. To boast in the cross is to rest our entire hope on Christ’s finished work.

When I repented of my sin and placed my faith and trust in Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord, something radical happened: the world died to me. Its approval no longer defines me because, in Christ, I am fully known, fully loved, fully accepted on account of Christ.

But Paul doesn’t stop there; he adds, “and I to the world.” Not only has the world’s opinion lost its power, but my craving for its acceptance died too. Because I am united to the one whose acceptance alone matters.

“For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” (Colossians 3:3, NASB95)

People’s opinions lose their tyranny because they no longer define me. My pride dies because Christ exposes my sin, secures my worth, and frees me from needing to impress anyone.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9, NASB95)

To boast in the cross is to unmask ourselves before God and confess: ‘This is who I am now: not what people think, not what I perform, not what I fear. I am Christ’s.’ 

It means the fear of man loses its grip because the Son of Man has spoken a better word over us. This is the death of people-pleasing. This is the birth of true freedom. No image management. No performance. Only grace.

The Slow Unmasking

Freedom from people-pleasing is not instant. It is the slow, gentle unmasking of a heart learning to boast in Christ alone. It begins with knowing who we are, and then living before one face: God’s. 

The more clearly we see His gaze of grace, the less we panic under the gaze of people. Slowly, quietly, the heart relearns its rhythms. The Spirit loosens the knots of insecurity we tied over many years. He untangles the fear of disappointing others, the silent dread of being misunderstood, the pressure always to say the right thing, act the right way, or maintain the right image.

‘The less I need people to like me, the more I can genuinely love them.’

For me, it has looked like:

• Saying “no” to good things when obedience requires it.
• Allowing others to think poorly of me without rushing to defend myself.
• Asking for help when sin plagues me, without shame.
• Speaking truth kindly but clearly, even if it creates tension.
• Receiving criticism with patience instead of panic.
• Letting others be disappointed without collapsing inside.
• Doing unseen obedience simply because Jesus sees.

Some days I do these things well. Many days I don’t. But slowly, the mask is slipping. Slowly, fear is losing its voice. Slowly, pride is being crucified. Slowly, the Spirit is shrinking my craving for acceptance and expanding my joy in Christ.

“When you have tasted the beauty of God and the approval of God in Christ, the addiction of Human approval is broken and you are free.” -  John Piper

When I live before the eyes of people, I perform. When I live before the eyes of God, I rest. His gaze is not suspicious or shifting. It is the gaze of a Father who delights in His child, a Saviour who finished the work, and a Spirit who has sealed my place in God’s family.

The Confessions of a Silent People-Pleaser

People-pleasing promises safety, but it cannot give rest. Only Christ can. When Paul says, “If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ,” he reveals something crucial: we are always serving someone.

We either serve the opinions of others or we serve Christ. One path leads to exhaustion, anxiety, and bondage. The other leads to rest, courage, freedom, and love.

“…If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23, NASB95)

Jesus invites us to die to those false masters so we may truly live. To take up the cross is to die to the old compulsions. To wrestle against the old instincts with the power of the cross. 

I admit it is not easy. I am not there yet. The temptation to please people is still loud. The fear of rejection still claws at my heart. I still wrestle with old instincts: to curate, hide, impress. I even feel it as I type these words. But He who began the good work will be faithful to complete it (Philippians 1:6). He promises:

“…but whoever loses his life for My sake, he is the one who will save it.” (Luke 9:24, NASB95)

Letting go of the need for approval and acceptance does not diminish us; it saves us. It frees us to walk in the freedom Christ purchased for us (Galatians 5:1). We stop people-pleasing by treasuring Christ more. As we behold His glory, He transforms us “from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18).

This does not promise freedom from pain, misunderstanding, or rejection. But it frees us from the slavery of needing approval or the fear of disappointing anyone.

I’m learning, slowly, to fix my gaze on the cross of Christ, where my identity is firm and secure. Before one face.For one glory. By one cross. And His grace really is enough.

I wouldn’t call myself lazy. I get things done. I meet deadlines. I even have moments of intense, focused work. However, laziness doesn’t always look like idleness. Sometimes it masquerades as productivity without purpose, focusing on side tasks while neglecting what truly matters. I’ve noticed something about me lately: a subtle laziness dressed up as rest, procrastination masquerading as preparation, a quiet yielding to distraction’s gentle pull.

I get to work, open my colour-coded calendar and see what’s waiting: emails that need replies, calls I should’ve returned, meetings to attend, project deliverables piling up. But instead of planning and diving in, I stall. ‘Like so many, I find myself reaching for my shiny pocket rectangle, that beloved window into distant realms’ (Endangered attention). ‘Maybe just a glance at social media to see what’s new. A ‘quick’ check at my statuses. ‘Trying to attend to the world as God does’. A little prep first,’ I tell myself. I’ll get in the right headspace before I begin.

Minutes vanish. Twenty here. Forty there. I make progress, but distracted progress. I have been the servant the parable of the talents never names (Matthew 25:14-30). Not the one who buries his talent, but the one who settles for less, distracted and half-hearted. The one who gives God something, but not everything. I stop short of what is possible, because I stay too long in distractions He never called me to.

At the end of the day, a strange tension lingers: I did something, but not what I could have. I was present, but not purposeful. And into that fog, The Spirit whispers the sharp edge of God’s Word:

“Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil.” (Ephesians 5:15–16, NASB20)

It didn’t just confront me, it convicted me. I’ve squandered moments. I have not been making the most of my time. I have treated time as if it were mine to spend, as if it could be paused, refunded, or stretched.

“Just One More”

Our world disciples us to distraction. TikTok trains us to live in thirty-second doses. Netflix whispers, ‘Just one more episode.’ Instagram swipes the next reel without your permission. Notifications nudge like needy children tugging at our attention. I find myself opening statuses, not because I’m searching for anything meaningful, but simply to soothe that restless craving for something new.

Everything around us conspires to keep us scrolling, refreshing, checking. Never fully here, never fully satisfied. And somewhere in the middle of it all, is a harsh tyrant: “Just one more”. One more before I start. One more to take the edge off. One more to help me wind down. One more, and then I’ll get serious.

What once might have felt like indulgence now feels like a warm-up or cooling off. This lie, “just one more”, is no innocent phrase. It’s a thief. It doesn’t steal our whole day at once. Just a little here. A little there. Minutes become hours, hours amount to days.

“‘A little sleep, a little slumber, A little folding of the hands to rest,’ Then your poverty will come in like a drifter, And your need like an armed man” (Proverbs 6:10–11, NASB20)

Spiritual poverty doesn’t often come like a storm. It seeps in like a leak. A series of tiny delays. A distracted heart, slowly growing numb. It slowly becomes a pattern. And the pattern becomes a life. And I begin to realise what once felt like small compromises harden into habits. And I must ask: Am I living as though my time belongs to Christ or to my Comfort?

Walking Carefully, Not Carelessly

Paul’s call in Ephesians 5 is not random advice for better scheduling. It flows from the identity he laid out in the previous verses:

“for you were formerly darkness, but now you are Light in the Lord; walk as children of Light” (Ephesians 5:8, NASB95)

Children of light should not stumble through life as if the dark still blinds us. We’re called to walk with awareness, to live eyes-open in a world where time is a contested territory. Why? “Because the days are evil”(v16). The world around us does not drift toward righteousness. The whole world lies in the power of the evil one (1 John 5:19).

And the evil one doesn’t just tempt us to rebel, but to grow complacent. He wins not only through defiance, but through distraction. A thousand tiny detours can still lead to destruction.

“For this reason we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away from it.” (Hebrews 2:1, NASB95)

To float is to drift. If we are not actively redeeming our time for Christ, we are wasting it. Time itself has become a battleground for me. Every moment is either redeemed or squandered.

Let me be clear: this is not a call to fear, panic or godless productivity. The world worships speed, efficiency, and results. It equates worth with output. But God is not impressed with full colour-coded calendars and empty hearts. He is not glorified by activity divorced from adoration.

He desires faithful stewardship. He desires a surrendered living (Romans 12:1). The wise, therefore, are not merely busy; they are purposeful. They work, but are mindful of who they are serving. Always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord their labour is not in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58).

In the Fullness of Time

But for those of us who feel the weight of wasted hours, there is good news: Jesus Christ not only came to save our souls. He also came to redeem our lives. That includes our time.

“But when the fullness of the time came, God sent forth His Son…” (Galatians 4:4, NASB95)

Christ stepped into time. Every moment of his thirty-three years bent perfectly to his Father’s will (John 8:29). He never once wasted a second. Never delayed obedience. Every word, every step, every act aligned with God’s eternal purposes.

And on the cross, he bore the weight of every sin, every squandered hour we’ve ever wasted, every slothful attitude, every distracted day, every neglected duty. In rising again, he didn’t just forgive our past; he freed our present:

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17, NASB95)

Now, grace doesn’t make time trivial; it makes it sacred. We redeem time because Christ has redeemed us.

“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body.” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20, NASB95)

Our time is not our own. Every hour belongs to Him because He bought it with His own blood, whether we’re resting or working, in hidden service or seen. Every task now becomes an opportunity for worship.

“Whatever you do… do all to the glory of God.” (1 Corinthians 10:31, ESV)

Redeeming Time from Distraction

To redeem time is to remember who owns it. Time is not our enemy. It is a gift purchased by Christ. The gospel reminds us that every moment is wrapped in grace: our days are numbered by the Father (Psalm 90:12), secured by the Son (Ephesians 1:7), and guided by the Spirit (Romans 8:14). We are no longer slaves to distraction or fear of wasting life, because Jesus has already redeemed us from futility (1 Peter 1:18–19). This changes how we use our hours. In Christ, even ordinary moments can be to God’s glory:

Emails answered in faith, children cared for in love, meals cooked with gratitude, conversations seasoned with grace, work tasks completed with integrity, a prayer whispered between errands in trust, extra hours put in to finish that semester with perseverance, time taken to coach that coworker who just can’t get it yet, a text sent to encourage a struggling friend, patience shown to an impatient child, studying through that difficult passage you’d rather skip, choosing prayer over scrolling.

The gospel frees us from both frantic striving and lazy drifting. We don’t need to prove our worth with productivity, nor surrender it to distraction. Instead, because Christ has already secured our inheritance, we can spend time generously pouring out for others, knowing none of it is wasted in Christ. So how does the gospel reshape the way we spend our days?

1. Begin with grace -We repent of our time wasted through distractions and start the day, reminding ourselves that we work as God’s beloved and place our hours in His hands through prayer (Lamentations 3:22-23).
2. Anchor your day in Scripture - Even a brief, slow reading of God’s Word fixes your heart on what matters most and nourishes your soul (Psalm 119:105).
3. Make Christ part of your ordinary work - Approach tasks, chores, and responsibilities as acts of worship (Colossians 3:23), asking Him to turn duty into delight.
4. Trade scrolling for seeking - When distraction tugs, choose prayer, Scripture, or encouragement instead, remembering your joy is in Christ (John 4:14).
5. Practice gospel interruptions - See unexpected needs and disruptions as opportunities to serve with the patience of Christ (Mark 10:45)
6. Build Sabbath rhythms -Rest in faith, declaring with your pause that Christ holds the world together, not you (Psalm 127:2)
7. End with thanksgiving - Close the day by naming God’s grace in your hours, trusting no moment given to Him was wasted (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

The night is far gone; the day is at hand (Romans 13:12). The end of all things is near (1 Peter 4:7). And the Master is coming. As we set our hope on the grace to be brought to us at His revelation, may he find us awake and sober-minded (1 Peter 1:13), not fearful. But faithful hearts, calendars, and to-do lists alike surrendered to him. Blessed is that servant whom his master will find so doing when he comes (Luke 12:43).

Our Master is not only Glorious, but also Good. For He is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for his name (Hebrews 6:10). And when He is revealed, and we stand before Him glorified, we will not regret a single moment spent for his glory. For He will say:

‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ (Matthew 25:21, NASB20)