I found it hidden under her dresser.

It was just a tiny, fake succulent in a terra cotta pot. Or what was left of it. From the looks of it, its remnants were shoved in, in a state of panic, with a few haphazardly placed socks and toys—no doubt to cover up the evidence. It wasn’t anything special. But finding it there like that, my heart sank.

What matters most to God isn’t your past, your problem, or your perfection. It’s you.

I scooped up the shards quietly and turned to face my daughter, who was flitting around, avoiding our bedtime routine. She jolted into a rigid tension when she saw what was in my hands. Her cheeks flushed, huge tears pooling in her eyes. All she could muster was, “I’m so sorry, Mommy. It was an accident,” before she lost it.

I held her quietly for a few minutes. When I felt her breathing steady, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me what happened? Why did you hide it?”

I already knew the answer.

My precious daughter, for whom I’d walk through fire, was afraid to come to me to help her with a problem. She feared exposing her mistake because she held a false belief—that I would condemn her instead of coming alongside her. She thought a $1 trinket would break us—and that crushed me.

She coyly explained: “You gave this to me, and it’s so very special, Mom. I didn’t want you to be mad at me or sad that I broke it, so I hid it.”

With her secret exposed, she quickly tried to move past the moment, offering ideas about fixing it. She was dismayed When I explained that it was probably beyond repair. I gently but persistently steered her back to the heart of the matter.

“Honey,” I reassured her as I looked straight into her eyes, “this is just an object. It’s not nearly as important to me as our relationship. Mistakes happen. Things break. But the real issue here, what makes me upset, is that you were afraid to come to me for help. Or to tell me you messed up.”

I continued, “Hiding it tells me you’re not sure you can trust me. I so want you to know you can trust me. Trust my love for you. Trust that I’m on your team, that you don’t have to hide things, and that we can figure out any problems together. Don’t you think this would have been much better than trying to do it all yourself?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she sniffled. She had to admit at this point that I probably had a better solution than filling her sock drawer with evidence of all her mistakes.

“Nothing you admit to me will ever make me stop loving you,” I continued. “But it takes courage, character, and trust to do this. It won’t hurt us; it will make us a stronger team. Holding back and hiding will hurt us. It will hurt you because you’ll be all alone in your problem. It will hurt me because I’d much rather hear about your mistakes than feel distant from you. Okay?”

I felt her relax in my arms. “Okay, Mom.”

We put the crumbled pot in the trash and transitioned to reading bedtime stories and tucking in. As I stroked her face in the dim light, praying over her and waiting for her to drift off to sleep, I felt the Lord tug at me.

“My children, even the grown-up ones, tend to do the same thing when it comes to their mistakes.”

My mind drifted to an infamous scene in the Garden of Eden, where Adam and Eve huddled and hid from God in man-made coverings in the cool of the day. Then, I pondered how many times I thought I could fix my brokenness or cover my shame. The times I distanced myself from God when I needed His help the most.

Why are we so resistant to confession?

I pondered how many times I thought I could fix my brokenness or cover my shame. The times I distanced myself from God when I needed His help the most. Why are we so resistant to confession?

Maybe it’s pride. Perhaps it’s because those inevitable consequences haven’t yet set in. Or, deep down, perhaps we anticipate condemnation, shame, and punishment, much like my daughter. So we go dark, cover up the evidence, and hide. But by doing so, we carry so much weight from regret, shame, and fear—unnecessarily. And we carry it alone.

The Hebrew word for “confess” literally means to hold out one’s hand to cast or throw something away. God desires confession not to catch us in some diabolical “a-ha” moment but to draw us near to Him as we experience its fruits—grace, forgiveness, and peace.

And there’s more. “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28, NASB). In the confessing, there’s a casting them to the One whose shoulders are broad and strong enough to bear the consequences of our biggest mess-ups for us—all the way to the cross.

What things in your life have you shoved under the dresser and hidden away, figuratively speaking? What are you covering, hiding, and dreading will come to light? Friend, He can only fix what we bring to Him. We’ll never get the restoration and rest He’s offering us if we refuse to admit things are broken.

Child of God— embrace the gift of confession. Tell your heavenly Father everything. Trust His unbreakable love for you. Believe that He is for you; you never need to hide anything from Him. Because what matters most to God isn’t your past, your problem, or your perfection. It’s you.

“Therefore, let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:16)