Over the past few weeks I have posted at few sites that are not this blog, and I’ve forgotten to link there. SO since today I have a post over at Deeper Story on what it means to be seen, what it meant for me, what the implications are for my conception of God, I thought I’d also list the post I wrote about my car, and the post about my parents’ dog Lexi. Because of course.
Thanks for reading!
Then the sudden presence. The air changes all around her. Feet materialize. A body. A voice. And before she can even see his face, she feels His eyes stilled on her soul. On her. Hagar. An invisible slave girl from Egypt. A girl in the final moments of her life. A nobody.
In a voice weak with compassion, He promises her protection and whispers better days to come–He has heard all her tears.
Hagar raises her eyes to the face of God and cries with disbelief:
“You are the God who sees… me!”
It’s the first time in history a person called God by a new name. A name spoken from the very depths of her heart, summoned out by the truest moment of her life.
My buddies and I started calling her “The Blueberry” for her deep blue exterior, and over time, I grew to love her. I didn’t expect to suddenly love a car as much as I did, but something in me understood what this car represented in my life. What it meant to have the absolute, no bounds means for movement.
Because, at my core, I am a wanderer.
My parents’ Labrador, Lexi, has been moving through her Final Act for some time. She’s old, thirteen-years exactly. And her once honey kissed face has paled to a bone white. When she stands, it takes effort, her legs wobble under her weight, but she still wags her tail and tries to jump to please you, to let you know that she’s so happy you’ve stopped by. And so I try to soothe her back down to rest. I try to let her know it’s my job to make her happy now.