One of my favorite names for God is El-roi, or  “the God who sees me.” (Gen. 16:13). This name for God, and the story of God dealing tenderly and patiently with Hagar, a woman who was a foreigner, slave, and surrogate mother, has become increasingly precious to me since my accident. God uses a variety of ways to show us that he sees us, including the compassion of our brothers and sisters in Christ. Last week was a sweet reminder of what it was like to feel seen in the early days of my recovery, and also an opportunity to watch that gift be passed on to the next generation. 

Last Monday, we took some worship team students from Valley Christian down to BIOLA to spend a couple of days observing chapels and audit a songwriting workshop taught by Matt Redman. This trip was especially meaningful because Ivan taught the three Redman boys piano when we lived in Southern California. Most parents keep their relationship with their children’s music teacher strictly professional, so we were really surprised the Redmans took an interest in how we were doing after my accident – especially since I’d never met them when it happened. Once I got a little stronger, they even let me come along to lessons to have a change of scene. This was incredibly thoughtful, since public spaces were still too crowded and noisy for my brain injury to tolerate, which meant I stayed in our apartment most of the time. 

I was incredibly nervous the first time Ivan brought me to a lesson. I was clutching two books and a journal, determined to vanish into a shadowy corner as soon as I got through the door. The Redman’s house was devoid of shadowy corners. Furthermore, I was not the piano teacher’s recovering tagalong, but someone they actually wanted to see. Matt’s wife, Beth, sat  and talked with me quietly in the living room for as long as I could tolerate, while also being sensitive to what Ivan must have mentioned about my struggles with fatigue and overstimulation. On the drive home, both Ivan and I were taken aback by this turn of events. However, after a few days of bewilderment I decided they were just being hospitable and I shouldn’t push my luck. The following Saturday I fortified myself with books and journal – and we repeated the entire ritual. 

After a few weeks I finally embraced that the Redmans weren’t viewing me as a charity project, or even trying to maintain some sort of public image. They were doing what they did because they loved God, and I loved God, and that commonality was far stronger than all our differences. Beth’s choice to give up a large chunk of her Saturday mornings gave me something to look forward to every week and provided a huge source of spiritual encouragement, as well as a rare opportunity to feel seen as a normal human being in spite of all the medical appointments that kept us scrambling Monday-Friday. 

Last week, as we were sitting in the songwriting clinic with our wide-eyed high schoolers and a handful of BIOLA undergrads, I was deeply encouraged to hear Matt share that his primary calling was not to help people sing better, but to help people see God better. God is a self-revealing God, he shared, and no matter what our vocation is, our calling is to live in such a way that people can see God’s character in what we do. For Matt, that means writing songs that reflect biblical truths and also give space for congregations to respond to those truths. I happen to be a writer, so my application is similar, although I don’t have to worry about whether my words work with a melody. But for all of us, I think the principle of helping people see God through our lives stems from one of my favorite verses, 1 John 4:19. “We love because he first loved us.” God saw us first and loved us first, and is always forever seeing and loving us through the death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus.  And if we are saved, it is our gratitude for this supernatural seeing and loving, and our reliance on his Spirit, that empowers us to deeply see and deeply love those around us.