Blending a family is no small shock to your system.
Getting married is a big change in and of itself. Adding a child to the mix turns your world upside down. But adding a husband and two kids at the same time, whew. Not for the faint of heart.
Of course it wasn’t just me. We all had a great deal of adjusting to do. And honestly, I’m stunned at how well we blended (and are still blending). It wasn’t easy, by any means. But I had read four or five books on the subject and I was prepared for much, much worse.
Caroline was almost four when Brad and I got married. She went from having my undivided attention to sharing me with not just one, but three other people.
She would sit at the dining room table at dinner with eyes as big as saucers taking in all the activity and conversation. She would wait for a break in the action so she could say something but when we’re all together, those are pretty rare.
She would lean over and whisper to me, “This makes me feel invisible.” I would laugh and remind her to speak up or try to help her find an opening.
Sometimes she would walk in and start talking to me like I was the only person in the room, to which Brad quote her words back to her, “You’re making me feel invisible.”
Brad, Sydney and Caroline don’t like invisible. Beau doesn’t mind it and actually may prefer invisible. I don’t like invisible either, for the most part. But as a true middle child, I do wish I could disappear at will. (It never works. They always find me.)
We all know what it’s like to feel invisible (and not in a good way). We’ve all been in a situation at work, in a family, in a marriage, in a group of people and wondered, Does anybody see me? Does anybody see the things I’ve done? Does it matter to anyone? Would anyone notice if I weren’t here?
One of my favorite movie lines is from the movie Avatar. The tribal alien/people/creature things didn’t greet each other with hi, hello, what’s up or how’s it going. They would walk up to each other and say, “I see you.”
Sounds obvious, right? Obviously they see each other if they’re talking to each other. But that line is weighty with meaning to me.
I see you.
You exist.
You have value.
You’re here.
You matter.
God created us with the need to be seen. And thankfully, our God never sleeps, never blinks, never takes His eyes off us.
Hagar knew what it was like to feel invisible. The Egyptian slave of Sarai (Sarah), wife of Abram (Abraham), she was only seen as a viable womb for the promised descendants. At Sarai’s suggestion, Abram impregnated the slave girl and things quickly unraveled. Hagar hated Sarai for what happened and in response, Sarai began to abuse her to the point where Hagar had to flee to safety.
Then God stepped in, told Hagar to return to her mistress and be civil to her and He would bless her with descendants ‘too numerous to count.’
She responded 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” (Genesis 16:13). Empowered by the visibility and value given to her by the God of the universe, she returned to Sarai and Abram. And so came into being one of the great names of God: El Roi, the God Who Sees Me.
Sometimes I forget to see people. I get in my groove, checking things off my list and forget to connect. Brad can easily become little more than a quick goodbye kiss. My kids turn into projects to manage, chores to be done. My coworkers become a means to an end. And anyone serving me is an obstacle standing between me and efficiency. Maybe you can relate.
I need to regularly get my eyes checked by my Creator and consistently ask these questions:
Do I see my spouse? Do I know what he does all day? Do I know the names of the people he works with? Do I know and care about the desires of his heart? Do I recognize his strengths and help strengthen his weaknesses?
I heard a friend say about her marriage, “I don’t want a business partner. I want a love affair.” The single most important earthly relationship I have can end up getting my leftovers, if I’m not careful. I must choose to intentionally SEE my husband.
Do I see my kids? Am I current on their favorite colors, their favorite movies, their favorite foods, their best friends? Do I know what they want to be when they grow up? Do I know their toughest subjects in school, their teachers’ names, their latest crush? Do I know not just where they need to be when, but how they feel about it?
My time with the kids is so short, especially sharing them with their other parents. Beau, Sydney and Caroline are going to have a lot to say about me to their therapists someday. But one thing I want to keep off their growing list of my screw-ups is that I didn’t really know them or connect with them. I’m gonna fight for that one.
Do I see my coworkers? Do I know the names of their spouses/kids/pets? Do I know which projects they prefer and which ones they’re not crazy about? Do I know what they believe, what church they go to (if any) and why?
Some of us spend more hours at the office than we do at home. This is our mission field. Take your heart to work. Get to know the people, not just the positions.
Do I see my servers? The waitress in the restaurant. The guy working the drive-thru. The bagger at Publix. The janitor in my office building. Do I give them a smile and a greeting? Do I ask them how their days are going? Do I thank them for what they do for me?
I’ll admit it. When I’m at Publix or Chick-fil-A, I can usually muster up a smile and a polite tone, but inside I’m screaming, CAN YOU PLEASE JUST HURRY UP?! It’s not their fault I’m running late. And seeing and assigning value to another human being trumps any other activity I’m racing to.
Do I see those who are suffering? The homeless family who walks up and down 17-92 in Winter Park. The guy with the cardboard sign at the stoplight. The poor woman sitting on the sidewalk, holding a Styrofoam cup in a silent plea for spare change.
Sometimes I have stuff in my car that I can give to people. Snacks, a bottle of water, money. (That’s right. Sometimes I give money. And I don’t apologize for it.) But when I don’t have anything (this is tough to admit), I literally avert my eyes and pretend I don’t see them. I act like they’re invisible. I walk past them on the street, afraid to engage. Like a little kid closing his eyes thinking that he’s disappeared, I act like if I don’t see them, they won’t see me.
And the heart of God breaks.
For His needy child whose soul needed to be seen as much as his stomach needed to be fed. And for His shortsighted daughter who turned a blind eye and gave up a precious opportunity to be Jesus to someone, who deliberately chose blindness, who stole another shred of quickly-fading dignity from another already poor in spirit.
I must see the people God puts in my path. The people who get in the elevator with me. The woman cleaning the bathroom in the football stadium. The forgotten family member in a nursing home. The lonely college student. The difficult kid whose parents are getting divorced.
All have eternal souls. All created in the image of God. My smile and brief greeting may be the only kindness they receive all day, all week.
Brad and I were flying out to a conference back in April. I was exiting the plane and inching past a lady standing in a row of empty seats. She was there to pick up trash and straighten up the cabin. She was old, too old to still be working. She should have been crocheting in a rocking chair somewhere.
But there she was, ready to clean up our mess. Her face was hard and weary. Her eyes were glaring at nothing in particular. She was hunched over, holding onto a seat back for support.
After watching dozens of people thank the flight attendants and ignore the cleaning lady, I looked right into her face and said, “Hey there,” and gave her a smile.
She looked startled for a second, surprised to be noticed. And then her entire face changed. The hardness melted, her eyes came to life, she gave me a shy smile and said, “Hi.”
I kept walking, knowing I would never forget her face. Looking back, I wish I had just taken fifteen more seconds to thank her for what she did.
It cost me nothing. And to be seen when you’re used to being invisible breathes life into gasping soul.
I’m gonna do more of this.
