As the old year comes to an end, let me remind you of The God Who Sees us. I can do this because He showed Himself so powerfully to me yesterday.
As you surely know, I’ve not hidden any of my grief from anyone. The grief I’ve felt over many friends who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) be present in my life due to the pandemic at a time when our family was walking through very muddied and murky waters. The grief I’ve felt over the loss of what feels like foundational truths in our culture. Of course, the grief I’ve experienced since dad died in October was laid on top of all of that, along with the grief I was already feeling over the loss of a close friend just months before that.
It’s been a lot, and I’m sure many of you can relate.
All of that had me pouring over scripture after scripture yesterday around the theme of joy being restored. As I read God’s truth, a wave of emotion hit me and I began to weep. They weren’t tears of defeat or depression as much as tears of disappointment and honesty.
“Father, I know that these words are true, and yet I also know how far away this seems. I know that You can turn my mourning into dancing, but when? How? Please, Lord, restore my joy.”
It was a simple, weighty prayer from a broken place to a God who – if I can be so bold – seems distant. I say seems because I know He isn’t, even though it feels that He is.
I left that place and went on with my day. Nothing extraordinary happened. It was just a normal Wednesday, or as normal as any day is now.
And then, in the middle of our weekly prayer service at church, I found myself being bear hugged by a good friend who kept squeezing me and praying the same thing over and over again:
“Restore his joy, Lord. Restore his joy. Let him laugh until his belly hurts. Restore his joy.”
I don’t believe in a God who sees me because it’s doctrinally or theologically true (although it is). I believe in a God who sees me because of moments like that. Moments when God speaks through someone who could have no idea about a simple prayer whispered in a quiet room to the God who sees in secret.
He sees me, and that means He sees you, too. No pain you feel has escaped His heart. No moment you’ve experienced has escaped His eye. No prayer you’ve whispered has escaped His ear.
He has felt it all, heard it all, and seen it all.
He is El Roi.
The God Who sees us.
