The One Who Sees Me

The day is finally here. 

The one we’ve anticipated for several years. The one that seemed so far away when I sat in that first parent meeting nearly four years ago. Today is the day that C, my oldest son, newly 12, gets to board his first airplane and head away on tour for ten days. Without me. No contact. Did I mention ten days?

 

As I spent the last few weeks packing, organizing, ironing, and making sure pants were hemmed and chaperones were informed, while still parenting five other children with jobs, math, tummy aches, church picnics, and orthodontist appointments, I had little time to think. Tonight, however, as I sent children to bed and sat in mine contemplating whether I should sleep for a few hours and trust my ability to respond to a 1:30am alarm call or just wait up until our 2am departure time, I paused and turned to Peter, wondering if he, too, was suddenly struck with the miracle of our situation.

I truly don't know what other tour parents may be concerned about, although I imagine they have the normal worries such as "will my son be homesick, will he remember where I packed his toothbrush, will he even bother to brush his teeth?" I know I saw some emotional moms at the airport a few hours ago worrying about the homestay families or that their boys might not enjoy the flight. The running joke in our house was about the mom who told me a few months ago that she was concerned her son wouldn't eat enough fiber while on tour. Meanwhile, I am concerned my son might become fiber to an alligator on this swamp tour for which I had to sign a waiver!

In reality, however, I confess that I am fighting a bit of worry...will C enjoy flying? If not, will someone comfort him? Who will he look to when he is uncertain about a situation? What if there is a storm? He hates storms. Who will sit with him in my stead? What happens if a meal is delayed? Will he be concerned that he won't be fed? It took him years to overcome his food anxiety. Will his chaperone recognize the signs of confusion or distress that I have learned to spot almost before they appear?

Last night, as I sat thinking about how far C has come--from a malnourished infant, to a 3 y/o with a limited vocabulary, to a member of an Emmy-winning, Grammy-nominated choir--I was humbled that God would allow us to have been part of such a miracle, and as I sat praying for this fast-approaching trip, Holy Spirit whispered to my heart, reminding me that my worrying is in vain. 

Most of us are familiar with the story of Abraham and Sarah, but we often overlook or perhaps even look down on Hagar, servant to Sarah and mother to Ishmael. The angel of the Lord, however, did neither. Instead, he appeared to her and blessed her. Genesis 16:13 says she responded in this way:

    "She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her:

    'You are the God who sees me,'

    for she said, 'I have now seen the One who sees me.'"

Hagar had run away into the desert, yet God saw her. When she was alone, He was there. 

The Psalmist wrote: 

    "Where can I go from your Spirit? 

        Where can I flee from your presence?"

Last night, Holy Spirit reminded me that He is El Roi. 

El Roi.

It's the name Hagar gave to the Lord near that spring in the desert. It means "the God Who sees me." 

So, as my phone pings with the notification that C's flight has departed four minutes early, and as my heart speeds up just a tiny bit thinking of him in that flying tube of metal without me, I can rest in knowing that the God Who saw Hagar, the God from Whom David could not flee, is the same God Who will keep watch over my son not only for these next ten days when I cannot, but also for the rest of eternity. 

O what peace we often forfeit,

    O what needless pain we bear,

all because we do not carry

    Everything to God in prayer. 

(1855, Joseph Medlicott Scriven)