God who sees

The God Who Sees and Redeems

BETHANY BELUE|GUEST My family loves music. While we love all kinds of music, many nights after the kitchen is clean and the kids are bathed, we find ourselves dancing to 90’s pop and swinging our children around the room. Recently, as I danced with my little boy and looked over at my husband holding my little girl in the air, I thought to myself, “This is the life I dreamed of. Oh, how I feel seen by the Lord!” It’s a simple thought and a true statement, but it stops me in my tracks. Of course, I feel seen by the Lord right now. I’m living the life I wanted. I hold the children for which I longed for so many years; I look at my husband for whom I spent many years praying, and although my life is far from perfect, I am living a life which brings me much joy. Yet, did the Lord not see me four years ago when we moved to a new city? I felt completely alone in a new church, our marriage was hard, and our children were an unmet desire. Was He not just as present then as He is now in this moment? The God Who Sees I’ve always been drawn to the story of Hagar...

For the Mom Who Longs to Be Seen

It's that middle place for children, right after self-awareness and just before it's singed with pride and embarrassment: When they look back at you after a great or terrible act with a question in their eyes, "Did you see that?" Of course, this carries far past the little years, but there is this short period of time where their need to be seen is so... seen. They threw a ball! Did you see that? They pushed their brother. Did you see that? Their chubby little fingers stacked the third block and it didn't fall—head turns and eyes grow: Did you see that? Our seeing their accomplishment actually completes it for them. But it's more than that, isn't it? They feel at home in our gaze; they feel like a whole person with our eyes on them. To be seen is to be. We would be fools to think that we somehow grew out of this basic human need. We've just figured out how to shade our eyes so that no one sees us looking around, trying to catch another's gaze: "Did anyone see that?" Longing to Be Seen We can feel this sorely, though not solely, as mothers—when every part of our body and brain and soul just needs to lie down, and we can't even remember what made us so tired in the first place. We hurt from loving, we ache from longing, and no matter how affirmative our husbands might be, we can still feel unseen. (Is anyone watching me make four lunches at once?) We may (I have) turn to sharing our moments on social media. Maybe a few hundred hearts and thumbs will quench this thirst. Maybe a comment of solidarity will pick me up off the ground. But it can't last, can it? I can't hold that person's face in my hands and fix their gaze forever. It's not just the hard moments that we wish for others to see—like when two people need their bottoms wiped at the exact same time (always, always... law of nature!). But it's the beautiful moments, too: when your baby hugs your leg and says, "I love you!" for the first time, unprompted. Oh, did anyone see that?! And so, like I experienced as a young mother, our brains can spiral down into a philosophical depression—is my life of motherhood the proverbial tree that falls in the forest? Do these common, everyday moments mean anything outside of someone's gaze?...