The God Who Sees You

"She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: 'You are the God who sees me.'" Genesis 16:13

There are moments in life when you don't just feel broken; you feel invisible.

Grief has a way of doing that.

The phone stops ringing. People go back to their routines. Conversations become normal again. Before long, it can feel like everyone else's life has picked up where it left off while yours is still standing in the rubble.

Hagar knew that feeling.

She was an Egyptian servant living in Abraham and Sarah's household. When Sarah grew tired of waiting on God's promise, she gave Hagar to Abraham so she could have a child through her. Hagar became pregnant, but instead of finding security, she found herself caught in jealousy, rejection, and conflict. None of it was her plan.

Eventually, she ran.

Alone, pregnant, and overwhelmed, Hagar fled into the wilderness.

That's where God met her.

Not in a place of comfort. Not after everything was resolved. Right there in the middle of the desert.

He called her by name.

He spoke to her.

He reminded her that He knew exactly where she was.

Hagar's response is one of my favorite moments in Scripture. She called Him El Roi... "The God Who Sees Me."

She's the only person in the Bible specifically recorded as giving God a name.

I wonder if that's part of why this story is so beautiful. The woman who had spent much of her life feeling overlooked became the one who reminded us that God sees the people everyone else overlooks. In one encounter with God, she realized she had never been invisible to Him.

Years later, Hagar found herself in the wilderness again.

This time, she and her son had been sent away. Their water was gone. Certain they were about to die, she laid her son beneath a bush because she couldn't bear to watch.

As a parent, that part of the story is almost impossible to read without feeling the weight of it.

But once again, God came. He heard Hagar's cries, spoke words of comfort over her, and opened her eyes to a well that had been there all along.

The more I think about that moment, the more meaningful it becomes. The well didn't suddenly appear. God hadn't been absent and then decided to show up at the last minute. His provision was already there. Hagar simply couldn't see it through the fear, heartbreak, and exhaustion she was carrying.

I understand that more than I wish I did. Maybe you understand that too.

About a month after I lost my son, Coty, my supervisor called to ask when I thought I might be coming back to work. She even offered me a better position. I know she meant well, but after I hung up the phone, I remember thinking, Doesn't anyone understand?

Everyone else's life seemed to be moving forward. People were going back to work, making plans, and settling back into their routines. Mine world had literally stopped. I wasn't ready to step back into normal because nothing about my life felt "normal" anymore.

There were days when I felt like no one really saw what was happening inside me. If I'm honest, there were more days I wondered if God saw me. I was angry. I had questions I couldn't answer, and I didn't know what to do with the weight of them.

For a while, I wasn't seeking Him. It wasn't because I had stopped believing in Him. My heart had simply closed itself off, and I couldn't imagine how to let Him in.

Looking back now, I can see that God never stopped being present. He hadn't moved. I was the one who had become too wounded to recognize Him.

Little by little, I started talking to Him again. Not with polished prayers or carefully chosen words. Sometimes all I had were tears. Sometimes with loud cries. Sometimes silence. Sometimes a single sentence whispered through the pain. As I opened my heart again, I slowly began to recognize His presence; not because He had finally arrived, but because I was opened my eyes to see Him again.

That's why Hagar's story means so much to me.

The well was there before she ever noticed it. In the same way, God's presence isn't dependent on whether I can feel Him. Grief has a way of narrowing our vision until all we can see is the pain. It doesn't mean God has walked away. It simply means we're hurting.

If you've ever felt forgotten, if you've wondered whether anyone notices how hard you're fighting just to make it through another day, or if you've questioned whether God still hears your prayers, I hope you'll remember Hagar.

The God who found her in the wilderness is the same God who walks into ours. He still calls people by name. He still meets broken hearts. And He still sees what everyone else misses.

El Roi.

The God Who Sees You.