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God, do you see me?!

The words echoed from my heart to my head, eventually making their way through my lips in a shaky, audible whisper.

I gripped the steering wheel—one hand on each side—writhing the squishy plastic cover as each hand turned in and then out. My head met the warmth of the black, leather wheel and tears began to trickle down my tired face. I should have been heading inside to start getting my kids ready for bed. Instead, I sat in my parked car, in my driveway, alone in the silence that often prompted my soul to ask the hard questions.

Do you even see me here?!? The thought came again. This time not out loud but as a nagging wonder inside my very soul.

Truthfully, on this specific day, it felt as if He didn’t. It felt as if He didn’t see me at all. Or perhaps He had simply forgotten about me altogether on this day—during this season.

Here, where everything in life felt so out of control, and it seemed as if the Lord was prying every last expectation I had dreamed for my life directly out of my clenched, fighting fists—I truly wondered if He remembered me.

I wondered if He remembered that calling He had given me—the one I had been obedient to begin.

I questioned if He remembered the many promises made—the ones in His word I desperately held to.

I found myself asking God, like a child doing cartwheels across the room and looking with angst and excitement to her parent, “Daddy, do you see me? Look! Are you looking? Are you seeing this?”

Do you see what I’m going through?

Do you see my heart is aching?

Do you see this life is heavier than I can bear?

Do you see everything that once felt sure and certain is now falling to pieces around me?

Do you see the loneliness that plagues me?

Do you see the way my heart feels abandoned?

Do you see this pain?

And these tears?

Father, DO YOU SEE ME?!?

I have to think I am not the only one who has felt this way. Alone. Forgotten. Unseen.

I am not the only one who has cried all by herself in the car after a long day or week or month—where nothing felt right or lovely. Maybe you find yourself there—in the car alone, on the bathroom floor, awake in the darkness—as tears begin to flow.

RELATED: An Open Letter to the Anxious Christian

At that moment, what we want is for God to make all things right. We want Him to take away the heartache, to fix the broken relationships, to make all things easy, and simple, and good. But oftentimes as we cry out, something different happens instead.

A gentle peace settles—a peace that is rooted in truth.

A realization that maybe we’ll never make sense of it all—our understanding is far too limited.

A calm voice whispers—the Spirit of God reminding our hearts.

A reminder that God never quits on His promises. He never gives up on His children. He never stops loving, or seeing, or knowing.

He hasn’t forgotten you or me. And in this place where we run to Him, we find Him.

Our vulnerability allows us to feel Him and see Him again. 

And maybe that’s what this whole broken, lonely experience is all about—maybe it gives us reason to run to our Savior—a practice we often forget. It allows us to vulnerably stand before Him, to offer our hard and heartache, to be reminded that His eyes are still open and we cannot be hidden from Him. 

Yes, when we run to Him—we find Him.

RELATED: God Sees Me, His Beloved Child

So run to Him, friend. Choose to ask the questions, to speak openly, to let the tears flow. And then, be prepared to feel Him working.

Yes, when we run to Him—we find Him—the One who hasn’t forgotten.

 

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

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Sarah Lango

Sarah Lango is a momma of 3, wife, writer, speaker, Jesus follower, and coffee lover from small-town Missouri. She is the founder of Gracefilled Growth Ministries, where she writes about her faith, marriage, motherhood journey, and her new experience of being a “sick kids” mom. Her passion is to inspire others to live authentic lives, learning together, and embracing the grace that God so lovingly offers. You can read more of Sarah’s writing at www.gracefilledgrowth.com.

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