Just Like Grandma

Grandma didn’t know she had hit a nerve. In her late eighties, she had traveled with my aunt to visit us in the Midwest. She came from stoic pioneer stock and loved telling us about her childhood adventures. When the time came for her to leave, Grandma turned to give me a parting hug. Then, as if a thought had struck her, she said, “I’ve been thankful all my life that my parents taught me there’s a God who sees me.” She then hugged me and left. 

There are few things she could have said that would stick with me more. About a decade before, I had started keeping track of what people in the Bible did when they realized they were in the presence of God. One of my favorites describes the first time a human came up with a title to recognize one of God’s attributes. Hagar was a slave who was running away from her mistress (Genesis 16). God spoke to her and gave her guidance. She called him, “The God Who Sees Me.” She was used to being treated as invisible, so it makes sense that realizing she was noticed and being cared for left a huge impression on her. That same understanding has stuck with me since then.

The awareness that God sees us can be both intimidating and encouraging. Yes, it means he sees our failures, our sin, our stubborn ways. But the way our compassionate God sees us also means he takes measures to deal with the situations he sees. Has someone treated you unfairly? He sees and takes it into account. Are you at the end of your rope? He knows, understands, and is ready to give you the strength you need to keep holding on. Like Hagar in the wilderness of Shur, and Grandma on the Kansas prairie, we can rejoice in the God who sees us. Grandma gave me a real-life example of someone living with the God Who Sees Me.