El Roi.

It means The God Who Sees.

A few years ago the kids and I read a book about the different names of God.  I’ve particularly remembered this name.

There are moments I feel seen.

Moments I can sense the “being known”.  Through conversation divinely orchestrated.  In a situation so obviously brought about by a grand master plan.  In a secret tiny care being met even though I never spoke it aloud.  At those times it’s as if God is speaking in an audible voice and saying, “There you are.  I see you.”

And then there are moments I feel unseen.

Moments I force myself to repeat the words in my mind, in a deep sigh sort of way.

God.  You see me.

Not as a question.  There’s no upward inflection at the end of my sentence. A straightforward declarative sentence.

God.  You see me.

As if I am just reminding the both of us that what He said is true.  Reminding the both of us of what I am choosing to believe.

God.  You see me.

When I feel small and left behind.

When I’m lying in one of my children’s twin beds at tuck in time, only at Child No. 2 in a Child No. 5 scenario, knowing a cold kitchen with grocery bags to unload awaits me.  Knowing two hours of work is downstairs in my inbox folder.  Knowing that the argument between two sisters is nowhere near solved to either of their (nor my) satisfaction and feeling Alone in this parenting gig.

I whisper,

God, you see me.  You know my name.

When I think I just cannot listen to one more sniff of a runny nose, pick up one more lone shoe on the floor, type one more ad pitch, pay one more bill, fall asleep one more night alone . . .

God, you see me.
You see me.