Seen and Heard
I stared at the sky. This was one of the few, maybe the only time of year I could see the night so clearly. Even with the bright lights around the field, the stars glowed, more and more appearing as I kept watching. The stars came after I walked down the edge of the lake, watching the last of the day's sunlight reflected on the water and wondering at God's creation.
I thought of the girls in my small group, and the rest of the girls in our youth group. I thought of the girls who I wished were there. I thought of the hearts of the people I know, their words, their faces, their lives. I thought of my own life, the things I've been through. In the moments of the sunset, the light of the stars, the wonder of the magnificent, I wondered why.
Why did God step down, leaving behind the robes of majesty, the worship of angels, and the glory of Heaven, to touch our sickness, heal our disease, redeem our lives? Every sinful heart offered salvation. Every good girl given grace. Every heartbreak connected to healing.
We are so small. We don't think God, in all His majesty, His glory, His hugeness would ever see tiny, invisible us.
But He does.
He sees us. He doesn't make awkward eye contact and then look away as quick as he can, unimpressed by what he sees. He doesn't avoid us, or evade our phone calls.
He sees us. He doesn't look down or turn up his nose. He doesn't walk away, judging our weakness.
He sees us. Invisible us.
He hears us. He doesn't sit next to us and then check His phone for more important things every two seconds. He doesn't excuse Himself to get another slice of cheesecake (though I would understand if He did; cheesecake is pretty fantastic).
He hears us. He listens to the out pour of our broken hearts, the tears flowing from pain.
He hears us. Small, tiny, insignificant us.
Because to Him, we are not small. We are not insignificant or invisible. We may be broken, battered, bruised. We may have secrets and a rotten past. We may not be perfect (we aren't).
But, in Him, we are seen and heard.
And we are accepted and loved.
The creator of the stars, painter of every sunset, feeder of every sparrow, sees you. He hears you. He loves you.
Look up at the stars and know you are known.
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