Seen

Eric Liddell, Scot, Missionary, Competitor of the 1924 paris Olympics, Winner of the Gold Medal for the 400metres.

Do you ever feel invisible? Forgotten? It’s a common complaint. Lots of mums feel it, especially when moving from the workplace to being full time mummy at home. In my work with a local mental health charity, many of those seeking help will say they feel lost, invisible, forgotten. Disconnection from family, friends and communities are at the heart of a great many mental health issues that people present with today. I have learned that not only do people need to be heard, but to be seen and known.

I remember feeling like that in the many years of babies and toddlers. I chose that path, to be a mum of many, and I’d do it all again, but it doesn’t mean it was easy. It can be a lonely path. I began to wonder, in that season, if God even noticed. While many ladies were out of the home being busy and useful to the world, the work of raising the next generation is often forged out of sight.

In 2011, I was in such a place in my life and was tired and discouraged. We were home educating and still had 11 children at home and there was no time for anything else. That Summer we pushed the boat out for our summer holiday and saved to go camping in Dorset. We loaded up our bright yellow minibus (an ex-school bus from a remote Scottish isle) and found a beautiful site with a fabulous pitch overlooking the sea and set up camp. We had an enormous tent for our super-sized family and already other campers were viewing us with uncertainty as children poured from the bus noisily. This meant we worked extra hard to ensure our family were always well behaved and considerate in the small hope that we could nullify any negative ideas people had over large families. In those days, I had to be ready for all kinds of sarcastic and cutting comments that people felt they had the right to make. This isolated me further.

One beautiful day we made the trip to a coastal landmark called Durdle Door. We approached it as always, as a military exercise. A steep walk down a cliff side with each able child and teenager carrying what they could until we arrived on the beach and set up. Our older boys swam out to a large rock which Dean thought was fine and I was internally fretting over. Keeping watch over little ones kept us on our toes all afternoon but it was a lovely afternoon. But finally, the time came to pack up and climb the many steps to the top. Dean and the boys went ahead, loaded up like mules. My 9-month-old was in a sling on my chest and tired toddlers pulled on each arm, dragging spades and dropping precious beach discoveries. I had 2 problems. I’m asthmatic and as I began to wheeze, I realised I had left my inhaler in the van at the top. Also, I was desperate for the toilet.

Nearing the top, Dean and the boys sat waiting on some rocks. They grinned at my red, huffing face before realising I was out of breath because I couldn’t breathe! The inhaler was retrieved and used, but while still trying to recover the urgency of other need took precedence. The little ones needed to go too. Rushing into a cubicle, cramped, hopping, while trying to help kiddos and simultaneously holding onto the flood that was about to break I finally collapsed onto the porcelain throne only to see the door would not properly close. Gasping, red, sweaty, babe on chest, one leg outstretched to keep cubicle door closed with foot I looked up to the ceiling and prayed a wretched prayer Heavenward. ‘WHY is my life always so difficult?’

I expected no answer. Why would I?

All at once, I felt the Presence of God fill ‘the place’. Yes, He even visits public toilets, it seems. It’s not what you’d call a ‘Holy Place’ but it became Holy to me. If you’re wondering what the Presence of God feels like, I would describe it as the purest light, purest love, purest peace. It is the feeling of warm sunlight on your face and knowing deep inside that all is well and nothing else matters. Well, it feels like that for His children, anyway! I could only explain it as His hug, His pleasure. I knew in that moment, He saw me. I came out of that moment, that place, wholly different; not under the circumstances, but over them. My head was lifted because I knew He saw me and approved of what He saw; not the struggling, but what the struggle was for.

An old favourite film of mine is ‘Chariots of Fire’. It’s a true story of a Scot, Eric Liddle, who won gold at the Paris Olympics in 1924. His family were missionaries and his sister struggled to understand why Eric ran, when there were so many more important things to do. Eric told her that although he knew God had called him to China, he also knew God made him FAST, “and when I run, I feel His pleasure.” For me, on that day in Dorset, I realised that God watched me run my race, the work He put in my hands to do, with a smile. I felt His pleasure, His approval. I wasn’t out of sight or out of mind but SEEN.

In the Bible in Genesis 16, is the story of Hagar, an Egyptian slave. Nobody asked her permission or opinion about anything. She was property, little seen and heard. Pregnant, she ran away and in the wilderness in as low and desperate a position possible, her cries were heard by the Lord, who responded and comforted her, showing her what to do and what would become of her unborn child. It’s a beautiful moment. Verse 13 says, ‘Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said ‘You are the God who sees me.’ ‘El-roi’. He sees you too.