When No One Else Sees

    Does anyone see this?

    Does anyone see me?

    Do they hear me?

    Do they see my pain?

    If this is you, dear one, I want to say I am sorry.

    I am sorry for the days you’ve spent sitting across wooden tables listening to the woes of everyone else, the guilt that intrusively clouds your mind when you can’t attend Sunday brunch or Wednesday service, the grief that has found support on your wavering shoulders.

    I’m sorry that you’ve spent so many days trying to put broken people back together while your own hands trembled.

    Healing is a gift, you think, and I’m here to help, because the miseries of the despairing fly so easily from mouths and land in my outstretched arms.

    How do you turn away the souls that God has entrusted you with?

    Maybe you think you can’t. Because if you turn them away, who will be there to catch your fall?

    Maybe you’ve found that, even though you’ve been the one to comfort the fragmented souls, very few recognize or even acknowledge your own pain.

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    Psychology tells us that humans have basic needs, like food for survival and fellowship for sanity.

    But we need other things too, like gentle words and strong embraces and a safe harbor when the waves are rising above our heads. When we are thrown a rope, we pray that someone is on the other end to pull us to shore, because what good is a rescuer if hope isn’t attached to the other side?

    Years of wading makes one a strong swimmer, and maybe even allows one to help someone who is drowning. And it is gratifying to be the lifeguard for someone else.

    But when our own storms flay, nothing is more frustrating than seeing the people on shore turn away as you cry for help.

    And the words repeat themselves over and over until your frustration turns to anger.

    Why doesn’t anyone see me? Why don’t they help me? Didn’t I do that and more for them?

    If this is you…He hears you, dear one. He sees that you are working hard to be understanding and diligent and graceful in most (if not all) areas of your life. He sees you being the lifeguard in one life and the safe harbor in another. He hears your morning groans and midnight sobs. He sees the pain that no-one understands or even acknowledges because He felt the pain Himself. He, too, cried out in the early morning hours and sweated out blood and craved time alone with His Father because healing is draining.

    But He knew that His reason for being here was to save people.

    So, He poured and healed and gave and loved, until more blood and water ran from Him…even when their best response was denial.

    And yet, He did not condemn them.

    Instead He continued to love.

    Forgive them, Father, he cried out. They don’t know what they’re doing. They don’t know what they’re saying.

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    I know that my heart isn’t a fraction as giving as some people’s—and none can be compared to what Jesus has done for us. But after listening and giving and using myself up for the sake of others, when my heart is overwhelmed and no-one is there to catch me, I’m not so forgiving.

    My frustrations become anger that slowly bubbles over time and then erupts like Vesuvius.

    Because I think how? How can they not give back when all I’ve done is work and listen and dole out advice as if I am getting paid? (I most definitely am not.)

    How does a text message become more important than the person pouring out her heart in front of you?

    How does every conversation somehow make its way back to someone else?

    How can someone look at me and not see how much this situation is hurting me?

    And then after so many questions and misunderstandings I’m reminded once again: my faith is not in people.

    “Record my misery; list my tears on your scroll—are they not in your record?” (NIV)

    “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” (NLT)

    “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” (ESV)

    ~Psalm 56:8

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    He alone is our safe place to land.

    Not one of our tears remain on stained pillowcases; not one mental anguish or anxiety attack or breakdown is overlooked. Because He sits in heaven with a book and a bottle but also dwells within us as we struggle through each incident, He is always there, and He will always remember.

    The world will forget. You may even forget, but He never will.

    Beloved, never take lightly the promise that He does, very much, see the benevolence and the pain and everything else that seems to go unnoticed.

    Never forget that we are not working or living for man, but for God Himself.

    Quiet your heart. Steady your soul. And let the Maker of both take you in His arms and sing over you the melodies of the heaven, His love song to you.

    Writer of all the things~My goal is to create, share and tell people about the overwhelming, amazing love of Jesus.

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