How near is He to me in this moment?
It is in these harder, hidden places that we can see Him reaching.
His reach happens in minutes, over laundry and dishes and across the car console as we make our hand into an olive branch to our spouse, when no is looking. His reach is a set of eyes during our 3am feeding hour and our 4am cleaning-up-vomit and changing sheets for the third time that night.
His reach is not a result of stingy eyes and a scrutinizing glance (as we so often might receive it to be), it’s a mercy-look and a kind whisper that we don’t always hear when we’re scolding ourselves.
And His reach moves the heart in hiding to want to look back and, soon, to lock eyes. When we feel His kind “I see you”, a thousand human hands applauding us feels like a loud distraction from that which has truly enraptured us.
This “hidden version” of you doesn’t need more discipline to look longer at God — the hidden you needs to see the layered fire in His eyes for you, when you’re crazy-weak, and you won’t want to look away.
We don’t need another media fast or a longer Lent or more mustered will-power to say no to all the bad things (though, these, in and of themselves can be important steps to take in the right time). We need a long, permissible (though unconventional) look at Beauty and we need the open ears of a child to hear what He has to say back to us, about us.
Days filled with intermittent looks at Him who is looking gently and knowingly back at us, and then the hidden and misunderstood pockets of our life become spaces of receiving and becoming beauty.
Three o’clock in the afternoon looks different when I’m not grittingly forcing myself to look at a God who I believe is mostly frustrated with me. Three o’clock in the afternoon looks different, even when I’m tripping over legos and receiving texts from a misunderstanding acquaintance — if I get five minutes of quiet where I can be reminded of how much He enjoys me, even the weak me.
Three o’clock in the afternoon then moves from being the resented, hidden hour of the day, to the one where I am privately re-upping for another few hours of internally radical living under the expansive Truth of how He sees me.
When I see the truth of how He sees me — when I don’t just read but I experience the gentle Father of His Word, alluring and inviting me (even in the midst of my mess and confusion) — being hidden from the applause of the crowd or the accolades of friends or being thwarted in the promotion I craved, pales in contrast.
When I see Him, seeing me with kind eyes, I begin to crave the hiddenness that offers me those eyes.
My heart starts to move and to grow when I remember again that I’m seen by Him.[written by Sara Hagerty]