“Hi, nice to meet you! Is this your first time here?” asked the incredibly bubbly and outgoing teenager at the youth group doors. I shook her hand but inwardly I screamed, you’ve introduced yourself to me five times now. I come every week. I felt invisible and this wasn’t an entirely new feeling. I had always been the shy, quiet one, at least when I first met people. Only those closest to me saw my crazy goofy side. Growing up, I often felt misunderstood or that people never really knew the real me. I was unmemorable, the quiet kid, the wallflower.
Then when I was eleven, my family was launched into the national spotlight when my brother was murdered at Columbine High School. Reeling from the worst loss and pain I had ever felt, I somehow, once again, felt overlooked. This time it wasn’t because I was shy but because everyone’s sympathies and first thoughts went to the parents of the victims. My grief was largely dismissed by many people, if not for me losing “just a sibling” but also because of my age. People wondered out loud, “Does she understand?”
Don’t get me wrong, I had many amazing people around me, people with compassion and kind hearts. But as I grew older, over and over again when I would tell my story I was met with the same sentiments, “Your poor parents.” “I’d love to hear your parent’s story.” “Did you understand what happened?” You could say I developed a bit of a chip on my shoulder. No one understands my deepest pain. My heart craved being seen, my pain being validated. I started to realize that a deep pain that is not seen, understood, or recognized, tends to hold on a bit longer.
We all want our pain acknowledged and we love when we are fully known. We love when someone gives us that perfect gift and we can exclaim, “you know me so well!”. We love when we tell a joke and someone actually appreciates our humor. We can let out a deep breath when we are struggling and a friend sits down to commiserate with us over a cup of coffee. C.S. Lewis so poignantly said, “Friendship … is born at the moment when one man says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought that no one but myself…’.”
One day, decades later, I saw a music video of all things. It was a music video by a singer who had also lost a brother and in minutes, I was saying to myself, “she gets it”. At the same time, a strong sense came over me, one that said even if no one else understands your pain, God does, and that’s enough. A burden lifted from my shoulders. The chip was gone. I looked back on all the tragedy and pain and I knew that only God was with me through every minute of it. No one would ever understand me and my pain more than God did. Maybe I didn’t need everyone else to understand because I was known by El Roi, “the God who sees”.
In Genesis, Abraham and Sarah are promised by God to have a child, even in their old age. Much time passes and Sarah takes matters into her own hands. She has her husband sleep with her maidservant Hagar. Hagar becomes pregnant and becomes upset with Sarah. Sarah begins mistreating Hagar. Hagar flees to the desert where God sends an angel to meet her. In her brokenness and despair she is given words of hope and Genesis 16:7 (NIV) states, ” 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.”
If you’ve ever felt misunderstood, invisible, or that your pain was diminished, I want to remind you that you have a God who sees you and knows you. Take comfort today in the One who sees you. Take comfort in knowing that even when no one else “gets it”, He does and He is with you always.
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