The God Who Sees

   

    Finally, home from a weekend with teenagers I quickly change into fuzzy Pajamas, cozy slippers, and pop in a pink piece of bubble gum to get ready to write. Lately, each day has felt full yet I have struggled with a sense of feeling empty of words. This happens when I really have something to say, but I am afraid to let it out. Instead, I have soaked in my favorite Netflix saga, or I have tried to dig into a novel to divert my mind from the pressing questions lingering just beyond the tip of my tongue.

   Learning to allow me the freedom to speak, express, and unlock the thoughts, feelings, and story from within has been both freeing and terrifying. To find my voice is to find a missing piece to the puzzle of my own identity, but it also challenges me to keep going, discovering, and speaking what I learn along the way.

    As I sit here feeling comfortable, relaxed, and free to write I shut my eyes for a moment. The gritty cloud of the sands of time seems to blow around me as I see the topic rising from the pages of the old book. A short phrase seems to lift off the page from the ancient Canaan lands, “Beer Lahai Roi.”

    In the distance, I can see a young woman walking in the blowing sand. The sweltering heat beating down as the sun stands high in the sky. As I squint in the glare trying to make my hands a visor over my eyes I can see that the weary girl is expecting a child but seems to be without strength as she crumbles under a tree.  Thankfully near the tree, there appears to be a small well of water. As the hot wind blows the fabric covering her face I can see that she is in torment.

    As I sit in this chair six months along I have to readjust my position as a sharp pain shoots down the left side of my neck and shoulder blade. From my distant position, I can’t imagine the journey this expectant mother must have traveled. Suddenly a voice like a gust of wind speaks to her. The tree branches do not move nor the desert grasses rustle at the sound of the words.

“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?”

   Looking around the troubled girl grows frightened. The voice like the wind is all around her, but everything else grows still. Her arms and legs tingled as the hair stands up like gooseflesh in the eerie presence.

“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from where are you going?” the voice pursues.

The girl continues to look around, who could know who she was or why she was here?

“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where…” The voice comes a third time.

“I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she says both ashamed and overwhelmed at the predicament she has found herself in.

    It was Sarai’s idea for her to become Abram’s second wife. As a slave girl, she had no say in such matters. Her mistress was well advanced in years and had given up the hope of having her own child with her husband, so why not throw her servant girl at him? When Hagar found that she was pregnant she did feel proud, it felt justified until now under this tree with the voice of the Holy one, the God of the Hebrews, enveloping her. Suddenly she felt regret for the haughtiness she had portrayed in front of her mistress. She remembered the tears of jealousy she saw flickering in her mistress’ barren eyes.

   The voice speaks again, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” As these words fill the air around her a peace comes to rest upon her like a gentle hand. In that moment the anger and frustration ebb away as if she had been refreshed by the water from the well.

“You are now with child and you will have a son. You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord, has heard of your misery.”

    Again a wave of peace comes over her like a second hand upon her head. For a moment she remembers the soft touch of her mother’s hand smoothing her black hair away from her little face. She had loved her own mother’s eyes dark as night, but tender. She had put such memories as far away from herself as the distance she was forced to travel from the land of her birth, Egypt. The land she hoped to reach in her flight. Such a memory filled her eyes with tears, tears that splashed at the feet of a man.

With head bowed she gazes at the beautiful feet of the One true God, the God of the Hebrews Abram had spoken of, standing in front of her.

“You are the God who see me,” she whispers brokenly. As she lifts her head slowly to behold him he suddenly disappears. 

“I have now seen the One who sees me.”

    Looking around, the oasis is quiet as the wind returns. Standing to her feet with renewed strength she walks to the well pulling at the rope to retrieve the water below. Holding the bucket in her hands she splashes the refreshing liquid on her hot skin. She quietly drinks deeply of the cool sweet water. Feeling refreshed at last she utters the words looking to the heavens, “Beer Lahai Roi” The Well of the Living One who sees me.

“Hagar! Hagar!” her named is called from the top of the nearby hill. There stands Abram’s head servant, Eliezar with a camel at hand.

“I have been searching for you, Abram my master is worried for you and the child.” He says as he approaches.

    As she stands by the well she whispers again to her soul, “You are the God who sees me.”

From my desk peering as if through the pages of Genesis I see her brave young face as she agrees to go back with Eliezer not on foot but from the mount of a camel. I see the power of an encounter with the Lord changes the weariest of hearts. I see a girl that not only returns but tries harder to honor her elderly mistress even when she sees the jealousy etched in the deep lines on her face.

   Hagar does not live a perfect life but God cares to pursue her in her despair. He is near the broken hearted. He has plans for us even when we have given up on any plans for ourselves.

   In the end, Hagar returns to the desert with her thirteen year-old son, no longer a slave but free.  The journey back to the desert is filled with heartache, but God again pursues her in her greatest need. He continues to prove that He is the God who sees.