“Daddy! Hey Daddy! Can you see me? I’m over here!”
My daughter yelled at the top of her lungs to my husband. He was across the park and we were inside the fence at our neighborhood pool. When she saw him walking in the distance she jumped from her chair and used all her might to get his attention.
When he finally heard her voice and waved, she cried, “He sees me! He sees me! Daddy sees me, Mom!”
I was transported back to a text from a friend that very morning: “Does God even see me?” she wondered.
My friend was exhausted, broken under the burden of the hard calling of motherhood. She has six kids, one with significant special needs. She not only cares for her children who span in age from toddlerhood to the teenage years, but she is a full-time nurse for her daughter who can do almost nothing for herself. She gives away every morsel of her energy and time to her kids.
“Does God even see me?” was her heart’s cry.
Whether we are carefree little girls or completely spent mothers, we long to be seen.
To be seen is to be known. It is to be understood. It is to have our circumstances measured, our burdens weighed, our situations assessed and appreciated. But motherhood is often hidden. Our days are spent inside kitchen and playroom walls. We go days, weeks, and years alone with our kids, navigating terrain that others never see.
And we wonder if God sees us in our secret settings. Does he know? Does he understand what we’re walking through?
The birth of our Savior in a manger in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago was the ultimate act of God seeing his people. Our Father in heaven saw that we were bound for destruction and he sent a rescuer in. Our good and kind God had compassion and he ran towards us. He saw and he came. And not only that, but he sacrificed his one and only Son so that we, who he saw to be dead, might live.
33 years after his humble birth in a manger, before Jesus was crucified on your behalf and mine, he saw that his disciples were afraid to be alone, afraid to be without him. He assured them, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever” (John 14:16). Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would come and dwell with us and be in us (v. 17).
Our Father in heaven saw that we needed first a rescuer and later a comforter. He saw then and he still sees now. He sent his Son to identify with us and to rescue us, and he sent his Spirit to live in us, to help us, to teach us, to give us peace (John 14:26–27).
When we wonder if God sees us, we must only remember Christmas. Jesus is the Word who “became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). We have a High Priest, as the book of Hebrews says, who can “sympathize with our weaknesses” (Heb. 4:15) because he lived life in the flesh too. Our Father in heaven and his Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, are not far off.
God sees! He knows! He pursued us not just once, but twice—both in Jesus and by the Holy Spirit. We are not alone.
This Christmas let the blessed Baby in a manger remind you, dear momma, that God sees you. He knows the weight of your burdens, the contents of your days, the hard tasks in your home. The Lord “looks down from heaven; he sees all the children of man” (Ps. 33:13). And in his seeing, he doesn’t stand far off. The Spirit dwells in us. We must only call on him, daily surrender, and ask for help.
That day last summer when my hurting friend texted me, I gently reminded her that God is indeed there. He was, in fact, with her. I encouraged her to call on him just as my daughter would call on her dad later that same day.
Perhaps you identify with the words of my hurting friend. Let me remind you, as I did her, that God does indeed see. And you can call on him, just as a daughter calls upon her Father, and rest in his gaze, his remembrance, his understanding.
The Holy Spirit is right there, ready to minister to you and to me and to my friend with full hands and full days. He is our “refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Ps. 46:1). As Jesus was present 2,000 years ago, so the Spirit is present in your home, in your heart, right now. He sees and he’s your very present help.
Like my daughter, may you and I realize that we are seen. Through prayer, the Word, fellowship, and worship we can remember and rehearse the gospel. And then, with deep joy, we can exclaim to one another, “He sees me! He sees me! Our Father sees me.”
QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION/ APPLICATION:
In what ways has your experience in motherhood left you feeling unseen or longing to be understood? When was the last time you felt this way?
How is the coming of Christ the ultimate cosmic gesture of seeing/noticing?
How might recognizing your Father’s attentiveness to you and your needs transform the posture in which you carry out your days as a mother?