Longing to be Seen
We all long to be seen. More than that, to be known. We desire to be chosen and cherished; to be special in at least one person’s eyes. It’s one of the adjustments that makes widowhood so hard. We suddenly find ourselves feeling invisible and wondering if anyone would notice if we simply disappeared.
Early in my grief, I lamented to my counselor that I wasn’t anyone’s “person” anymore. My husband and I had often said that marriage was having a built-in best friend: a go-to person to call when lonely; hangout with when bored; tell stories to (even the dull ones) when feeling chatty; and walk with into social situations when feeling insecure. We were each other’s person. There was no question that we’d be together on holidays. Our birthdays would be celebrated by the person who loved us most. And Valentine’s Day? Even if we were eating takeout pizza in sweatpants, we’d be spending it together.
But now? I was alone. The third wheel. The afterthought. The one who had to fit into everyone else’s plans. Aside from my child (whose love for me is based mostly on need), I wondered if anyone would even notice if I didn’t come home one day or check on me if I didn’t show up to a usual place.
The pain of this loss was sharp at first and, though I’ve grown accustomed to it over time, it remains. I feel unseen when I get home and no one asks about my day or listens to details that only matter because they matter to me. I feel invisible when I walk into couple-oriented spaces in which I no longer fit.
I imagine you feel this ache too. It’s the ache that drives us onto social media, searching for approval and the dopamine boost of another “like”. It’s what tempts us to lower our standards and enter into unwise relationships to get the affirmation we long for. It’s what scares us late at night when we contemplate growing old and wonder if we will still be all alone.
This ache, which entered the world when our intimacy with God was broken, is woven throughout the stories of the Bible. As I’ve felt the increased loneliness that comes with Valentine’s Day, my thoughts have turned to Hagar, a woman whose story helps me feel less alone in my loneliness.
Though Hagar wasn’t a widow, she knew what it felt like to be unseen. A pawn in the hands of her striving mistress Sarai, she was used to bring an heir to Abram when the aging couple decided that God was being too slow in fulfilling His promise of a child. In Genesis 16:3-6 we read:
So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian slave Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. He slept with Hagar, and she conceived.
When she knew she was pregnant, she began to despise her mistress. Then Sarai said to Abram, “You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my slave in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the Lord judge between you and me.”
“Your slave is in your hands,” Abram said. “Do with her whatever you think best.” Then Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her.
Vulnerable and pregnant, Hagar fled into the desert. She had no way to care for herself or the child in her womb, but being alone to starve was better than being despised and mistreated in her master’s house. It was here, in the midst of her deepest anguish that God revealed himself to her. Genesis 16:7-16 says:
The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert; it was the spring that is beside the road to Shur. And he said, “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?”
“I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she answered.
Then the angel of the Lord told her, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” The angel added, “I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.”
The angel of the Lord also said to her:
“You are now pregnant
and you will give birth to a son.
You shall name him Ishmael,
for the Lord has heard of your misery.
He will be a wild donkey of a man;
his hand will be against everyone
and everyone’s hand against him,
and he will live in hostility
toward all his brothers.”
She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” That is why the well was called Beer Lahai Roi; it is still there, between Kadeshand Bered.
So Hagar bore Abram a son, and Abram gave the name Ishmael to the son she had borne. Abram was eighty-six years old when Hagar bore him Ishmael.
Don’t miss the wonder of this moment. Hagar, alone, miserable, and forsaken, is called by name. God, who’s seen her the whole time, seeks her out, calls her by name, and meets her in the midst of her need. Though people have cast her aside and harmed her, God has a special purpose for her. She matters to the Lord and so does the child in her womb.
As the passage closes, Hagar gives God a name that is unique to the way He revealed Himself to her: “You are the God who sees me”. In Hebrew, this treasured name for God is El Roi.
The same God who was El Roi for Hagar is El Roi for you and me. We may feel invisible or cast aside. We may have suffered in harmful relationships. We may be all alone and not sure how we will ever survive. But God is still El Roi. He sees us. He knows us.
The God who had a purpose and plan for Hagar has a purpose and plan for you and me. Though it’s tempting to find an escape from our loneliness, the only source of never-ending comfort and presence is in our God.
I’m encouraged by Hagar’s obedience to the Lord. She went back into the very circumstances she’d run from, but this time she was empowered by God’s presence with her. It’s doubtful that Sarai gave her a warm reception, but she could courageously face Sarai’s rejection with the comfort of being seen by God.
With this same comfort from El Roi, let’s faithfully walk in the circumstances He has placed us in. Hard as they are, we do not face them alone.
Yours in Christ,
