I've been feeling a little invisible. A little forgotten. A little frustrated lately.
With not being pregnant anymore.
With hearing repeatedly to be still.
With trying to be patient.
With feeling like I'm literally standing on a boat in gentle waters most of the day and some days rendered unable to walk without holding onto the wall or a hand for support because I feel so off balance.
It's all things I don't often wear out on my sleeve.
All things I can keep circulating in my brain, quiet prayers constantly being uttered in a persistent, humble bringing to God and asking Him if He could just
Heal me of the grief from losing the babies.
Give me a direction in which to move.
Give me patience if I can't have that direction yet.
Restore the life balance and with it my physical balance.
Please God. Please.
Maybe I'm greedy. Maybe I'm needy. Maybe I'm feeling a little like desperation looks.
I know I have much for which to be thankful. I know He's answered many prayers these past few months.
But still I plead for restoration and direction
and to just know that He hasn't left me here alone in this place of frustration.
Sometimes I forget and I mistake God's silence for stillness.
Sometimes He has to remind me clearly that the two are not the same. And in that sometimes He breaks His silence.
Like yesterday.
Our senior pastor and I record a weekly video called Joe on the Go. And in it he spoke about how that morning he was reminded of the story of Hagar when she's out in the wilderness and she called God "the God who sees me."
I didn't give it a second thought.
Until I came across that very same story of Hagar again on Facebook.
And then
again in a book I was reading.
I closed the book, taken aback, and heard a whisper in my heart that said, "I see you."
As I journaled the day, I realized, too, that on a day when I had an explosion of frustration from feeling so invisible from what I was truly wearing on my heart, God sent others to really see me, too.
My husband saw I needed more sleep yesterday and wanted to make sure the kids slept until a decent hour before leaving for work.
My almost six year old noticed that morning that I was rushed and encouraged me to relax and slow down. {He's not even six! He rarely notices more than light sabers and play forts let alone the way I'm feeling!}
A friend messaged me during the day to say that she knew how I was feeling and could she come over tomorrow?
Another friend shared that she felt like our friendship made worthwhile the hardship of having moved to the suburbs.
Simple conversations that seemed to sing, "You know, I see you. I really, really see you."
And on a day when I had an explosion of frustration from feeling so invisible from what I was truly wearing on my heart, God broke silence to say, "I see you. I really, really see you, too."
And in being seen, I feel like today my eyes are open to what's really going on these days -- I'm not wandering alone, off map in unchartered territory.
I'm under the careful watch of the Shepherd who knows where we're going ... even when I don't.
