I wasn’t always this way.

I used to love to be the center of attention. I was Mrs. Pugh in “Annie” the musical, as presented by my high school. I floated from friend group to friend group in the cafeteria. I led worship from the stage. I dreamed of writing songs, recording albums, and touring with a band — preferably heavy metal. (Yeah. I know. Wild!)

But that’s not really me, anymore. I often avoid attention. I sit in the back of the church, way back in the corners. When there’s a need, I am not the one to show up at the front door knocking. Instead, I slip quiet cards in the mail. I secretly deliver care packages to front porches. I donate anonymously. I pray without sending a text.

These days, I’m quite content doing things behind the scenes and between the shadows. Except, when I’m not. Because, sometimes, it actually does matter to me to be seen. Sometimes, my heart does need to be heard. Sometimes, my questions do need to be asked. Sometimes, space for all my too-muchness does need to be made, even (and especially) in the most imperfect of times.

Lately, I’ve been finding myself in absolute awe of Jesus’ ability to pay attention. I can’t stop thinking about the woman at the well and how Jesus knew He would find her there, precisely at noon, the hottest time of the day.

​​Now he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon. When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)
John 4:4-8 (NIV)

Jesus was attuned to her schedule because it was indelibly tied to her story. The story of a woman who would go out of her way to walk to the well at noon (a time when no one else would be there due to the heat) simply because she sought to avoid the society that didn’t see her.

But Jesus sees through our survival strategies. Jesus sees the ways we circumvent the crowds just to make it through our days. Jesus sees all the ways in which we hide and are prone to outwit the world, like the woman at the well, on guard and challenging every one of Jesus’ questions and statements. And yet it was there, right there, in the heat of the day, in the middle of the mundane, that Jesus met the woman at the well.

Jesus met her at the well, not to condemn her (as the rest of society would have done) but to confound her with His careful listening and attentiveness. When others sought to evade her, Jesus sought to encounter and encourage her.

Isn’t’ it ironic? The thing she avoided the most was, in fact, the thing she most needed. To be seen.

“Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did,” she told the people. Immediately after her conversation with Christ, she testified, inviting others to “come” and “see” the Christ who clearly saw her and deeply knew her.

The day Jesus met the woman at the well, I wonder if her heart had been burning to talk about the many things they talked about that day. I wonder how long she had been burying within her the stories concerning her multiple marriages, nuanced stories that needed space to unfurl every fragmented layer of truth and trauma.

Just a few weeks ago, after a hard, heartbreaking day, I told my husband I wanted to be the woman at the well. I just desperately needed Jesus to see me, really see me. To sit with me, lingering and listening. To hear me. Make miracles out of the seeming mess that is my life right now.

Well, later that day, I received a call from someone unexpected. It was the smallest thing, but what was spoken was an answer to a very specific unspoken prayer. And, here’s the thing: I felt like the woman at the well leaving behind her water jar. Because what meant more to me than the actual answered prayer was the fact that Jesus looked into my heart, and saw and spoke to the hidden mix of hurt and hope that swelled within.

He saw me. He met me in a moment when and where no one else could or would.

I just about melted, being reminded of the truth that Jesus sees me. Jesus sees you. Jesus sees us, His uninterruptible gaze ever cast toward us with fierce attention and deep affection.

For anyone who is feeling unseen in this current season of life, I want to loan you a song that has been reminding me of the unmerited attention of God. Please listen to “This Close” by Steffany Gretzinger, then come back and share in the comments how this song speaks to your heart.

No striving, no fighting for affection. No running away or hiding. No slipping through the cracks or slipping out unannounced. You are irrevocably seen by God, beloved.

Today, tomorrow, and forevermore.

 

Listen to Rachel’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

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