To Be Seen

In second grade I noticed my teacher giving extra attention to another student who hadn’t quite grasped the basic addition on the last assignment. My young brain processed it in one thought, “you get extra attention when you fail.” At the age of 7 I had yet to fail in school, so maybe it was time I tried it out.

I devised a brilliant scheme. Not only would I get all the answers wrong, I had the whole process figured out. I would simply use the number line wrong, leaving all my answers one number off. When the teacher passed back the assignments, I was nervous and slightly giddy. She set the paper on my desk, and moved on without a word. The red pen stared at me from the paper, and I waited for her to move onto a new assignment and come help me see what I did wrong.

Nothing happened. I never heard a word about that assignment.

I couldn’t understand. I didn’t get the attention when I did well, and I didn’t get it when I failed.

I just wanted to be seen.

I don’t know when I stopped trying, when little me decided that I was better off staying hidden; when I convinced even myself that I wasn’t worth anyone’s time... When I believed that so many other people needed more, that I could just take care of myself. That God had others to worry about, and somehow He didn’t have enough to go around.

And somehow I convinced myself that I didn’t actually want to be seen.

Remember how Zacchaeus climbed up a tree just for a glimpse of Jesus? I imagine that he wanted to be able to see Jesus, but wasn’t so interested in being seen. I mean, he’s in a freaking tree... We had a tree on our property when I was a teenager that I used to spend hours in because I knew I wouldn’t be found there. No one climbs into a tree with the hope of being seen.

I feel a lot like how I imagine Zacchaeus must have felt. I want to see what’s happening, I want to feel like I’m a part of it, but I also want to keep the moment at arm’s length. But then… there’s this tiny part of me… this tiny part of Zacchaeus. This tiny part that thinks, “maybe… maybe this time… just maybe...” And as Jesus walks by, that nervous, slightly giddy feeling comes out.

And then.

The sound of the deafening crowd fades to deafening silence.

Everything slows down as Jesus starts looking up… the crowd blurs and in an instant, in a moment Zacchaeus didn’t even let himself imagine, Jesus’ eyes lock with his. “Come,” Jesus says, “let me in.” (I mean, more or less)

Can you imagine?

I can.

Because He didn’t just see Zacchaeus.

He saw me.

He saw me when I didn’t want to be seen.

He saw that little girl craving someone’s attention. He saw the teenager, hiding in the branches of the pine tree. He saw the woman, pretending she was better off alone. He was trying to lock eyes with her from the very beginning, and all she had to do was turn her head.

I had a word pop in my head a few weeks ago that I wrote down, thinking it was my theme for 2018. It was admirable, really. A big strong word, a courageous word even.

Then those eyes locked with mine again, and the voice that brings me to my knees spoke.

“Let yourself be seen.”

And honestly, it was in the middle of writing this that I hear the voice again.

“This year, let yourself be seen.”

Yeah, sure, let myself be seen, I know. Super easy.

“Let yourself be seen when you’re weak.”

Yeah, totally, I’m totally gonna do just that.

Guys, my sarcasm doesn’t faze Him. The guy is relentless.

“Stop trying to be brave and courageous, stop pretending to be strong. Be seen. Be seen and freedom will follow.”

So.

Here I am.

Here I am, that little girl inside still fighting to be seen, while that teenager insists that I’m setting myself up for disappointment.

Here I am, not sure I even see myself enough to let anyone else see.

Here I am… not willing to give up on the “more” God has, not willing to let the last couple years of fighting for freedom go to waste.

For better or worse, here I am. Choosing to be seen.