Do You See Her?
“Mom! Are you watching?”
Hairbrush in hand as her makeshift microphone, Taylor “Swith" is on her fourth performance of the morning. She circles the coffee table, sashaying and twirling as she belts Frozen songs. I'm nursing the baby on the couch, trying to wake up. It's 7:20 am, and I need a second cup of coffee.
"Hey, Mom, watch me!" She takes an exaggerated curtsey and blows me a kiss.
I see her, but my gaze is sleepy; I’m distracted by the to-do list that tends to scroll through my mind precisely when I’m in this position. I snap out of it and clap, forcing a giant smile, and spook the baby while I do it.
“I see you, sweet girl,” I almost sigh.
Later that night, after we finished the bedtime routine, I sequestered myself in the laundry room. I shook out t-shirts with dramatic snaps feeling all kinds of sorry for myself.
Because even after all the fun of the day, I felt invisible in my messy bun and spit-up stained t-shirt. Unlike my corporate career or my time in grad school, my "performance" as a mom often goes unrecognized.
The other arenas of my life are not necessarily easy, but at least they come with performance bonuses, the dean's list, and "atta girls." Motherhood lacks in accolades. There’s often nothing to show for a day spent pouring yourself out, just more laundry and dishes and crumbs to sweep.
If I’m honest, sometimes I confuse significance with recognition. Like acknowledgment somehow attests to my worth.
Yet, Jesus would tell us our significance is found in recognizing our unworthiness. The humble acknowledgment that we are nothing without His grace.
There is a story in the gospels where Jesus gets invited to Simon’s house for dinner. As Jesus and the other guests are reclining at the table for their meal, a woman enters the room and breaks an alabaster jar of expensive perfume. As the strong odor overwhelms the onlooking guests, she anoints Jesus with the oil, wiping his dirty feet with her hair as tears roll down her cheeks.
The disciples are appalled. “What a waste.” “How inappropriate,” they say.
What she does is not socially acceptable. It's social suicide, probably even financial ruin. She pours everything she has at the feet of Jesus.
Yet, Jesus doesn’t reprimand her. He doesn’t ask her quietly to stop. Instead, he draws even more attention to her.
Jesus says, "Do you see this woman?" (Luke 7:44)
The disciples looked at this woman and measured her by society’s standards. They looked at her sacrifice and weighed it on the world’s scales.
But Jesus SAW her. He saw her humility, her self-denying sacrifice and praised her for it. He called her worthy and significant – all four gospels mention her.
I don't think it's a bad thing to want to be seen. Like my four-year-old dancing circles around the living room, we were created for applause. (Not just good but “very good," God said when he made his image bearers.) We naturally want to be praised and adored.
But too often, we seek applause from the wrong audience. We're striving for the approval of peers, a bigger salary, another degree, a snazzier Instagram grid, and the whole time adoring eyes are watching our every move. Holy eyes that see us in our humanity and called us worthy enough to die for.
Scripture says Jesus is sitting at the Father's right hand today. I like to imagine that multiple times a day, Jesus leans over to God, gently nudging him with his elbow, and points to you. You, pouring it all out for your family. You’re warming up chicken nuggets for dinner after a long day or patiently disciplining a toddler in the diaper aisle at Target. You’re cleaning up crumbs from breakfast or awake in the wee hours of the morning rocking a sick baby.
And, with a smile on His face, he whispers, "Do you see this woman?"
You are seen, Mama. And, what a gift it is to model the adoring gaze of God to our children.
Do you know what I think would be fun? What if we threw some confetti on our mama friends pouring it all out for their families? What woman to do see? Tag her here and tell her! (Use #doyouseeher)