As my thumb scrolled through my phone last night, I paused on a picture of a newborn baby. He was snuggled up, tucked into the crook of his new momma’s neck. Her eyes were dark and tired. Her exhaustion spilled through the screen. There was no need to read her caption, I understood every unspoken word; her fear, her exhaustion, her joy.
I put my phone down. The Lord said, “I see her and I see you.”
My mind went straight to Hagar. In the desert, cast aside, she gave God the name El Roi- “The God Who Sees Me”. Then I thought about Hannah, and how year after year, she went to the temple and wept. God met her in a place of isolation and grief, and “paid attention” and “took notice” of her deep sorrow. Isn’t this our greatest need? As women? To be seen and to be noticed. It is in the moments of aloneness, that we search every corner for a way to appease our greatest need. All the while, He is there, waiting to sit with us, and see us.
My prayer is that I may be satisfied by the Lord, that his heart for me is enough. As women, especially as mothers, we tend to walk the darkest roads alone, by choice. But, He is watching, taking notice and waiting for us to turn to Him.
Here is a little of what I journaled this morning. Maybe today you need to feel seen, heard or noticed. May this be encouraging.
Mother: I see you, I hear you and I notice you
I see the mom who tampers down her dreams. Who puts her agenda on hold, for the little ones she has the chance to mold.
I see the mother who is wading through the laundry, and the dishes, and the mess.
I see the mother who wakes up night after night to nurse her baby while her whole house sleeps.
I notice the woman who counts the minutes down to bed time.
I see the mother who feels she isn’t enough because she has let the spirit of self-doubt win.
I hear the mother who feels that she has nothing left to give. The woman who has poured out ever ounce of who she is, but gets nothing in return.
I see the mother who feels that she doesn’t deserve her children. Her past causes her to feel inadequate, forgetting the grace she’s been given.
I notice the mother who didn’t plan on motherhood.
I see the mother who has a child they don’t understand.
I hear the woman who’s husband is slipping away.
I notice the mother who fears her children will grow up and leave her.
I see the woman who searches the couch cushions for quarters, just to buy bread.
I notice the mother who struggles to smile.
I notice the mother who is also the father. I fill the gap.
I see the tears on the hard days and I hear the cries when words aren’t enough.
I am the Lord who sees you, hears you and notices you.
There is nothing that I do not see, and there is nothing that goes unnoticed.
Those deep thoughts, I hear them. Those secret tears, I see them.
You are not alone. I am for you, woman.
Wait on me. Trust me. Lay these things at my feet and get up my dear.
I am behind you and I am before you. I am with you.
I see the mom who is struggling to make everyone believe she is okay while inside she crumbles away.
I see the woman who searches the world for approval because she never felt it as a child.
I see the woman whose dreams seem to fade away, because the hustle of life pulls her away.
I see the woman trying to bring in extra money, while her heart longs to be at home, with her baby, alone.
I see the woman who feels she is far from home.
You, I see you.
I see the mother who is sick.. Too sick to do what she longs to do.
I see the woman who chronically cares for her child. I hear her fears, I see her path. I am her comforter, protector and provider.
I hear the woman who is chained by her addiction, and I see the woman who is covering for her addict.
I sit beside you.
Woman, I hear you.
Woman, I notice you.
I see the mom who has taken in the orphan. Who is blazing the hard road of restoration.
I see the woman whose heart has turned to stone, because that last blow was one-too-many.
I notice the woman who fears for her safety, and stays yet again, because she is paralyzed.
You are not alone, woman.
I hear the cries of a heart that has been betrayed, by women on a screen or women behind the scene.
Turn to me, all who are burdened, I will give you rest.
I see the mother of the war-torn family. The one clinging to her sons at night, and not letting her daughters out of sight.
When the hours are too long, I see you.
Sit with me.
I am beyond the rules of man. All these sorrows out number the sands, but I am more than enough. I hear each one, I notice you. I am yours, I am hers, and I am theirs– entirely and completely. I am El Roi– the God who SEES.
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