The God Who Sees What We Don't.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how much of life we pass by without truly seeing it. Not just the small things, like the sky painted pink at sunrise or the way a loved one’s eyes light up when they laugh—but the deeper things. The quiet moments where God is moving, the people we take for granted, the whispers of His voice that get drowned out by our busyness.

I think back to so many seasons where I was rushing—working, serving, preparing for the next thing. I was checking boxes, staying busy, and feeling productive. But if I’m honest, I wasn’t really seeing. I overlooked so much: the beauty in the mundane, the sacredness in the simple, and, maybe most painfully, the ways God was right there in the middle of it all.

I’ve been drawn to the story of David lately. When Samuel came to Jesse’s house looking for the next king of Israel, David wasn’t even called into the room. His own family didn’t see him as worthy of consideration. He was “just the shepherd boy,” the youngest, the one out in the fields tending sheep. But while everyone else overlooked David, God saw something entirely different. He didn’t see a boy too small or unimportant—He saw a king with a heart after His own.

And then there’s Hagar. Her story always breaks my heart. She was used, discarded, and left to fend for herself in the wilderness with her son. She must have felt so invisible, so forgotten, so hopeless. But God met her right there in her pain. He called her by name, made a promise for her future, and revealed Himself as El Roi—the God who sees me. Imagine that: the Creator of the universe seeing and acknowledging her, when no one else did.

These stories remind me of a truth that I so often forget: God sees what we don’t. He sees the small and the unseen, the people we’ve brushed past, the moments we’ve rushed through. He sees the potential in us when we can’t see it ourselves. He sees purpose in the places we’ve written off. And He’s working in it all, even when we’re too busy, distracted, or discouraged to notice.

But maybe—and here’s the part that makes me pause—maybe we aren’t meant to notice everything. Maybe it’s not about us at all. Maybe there are small, quiet things we do for others that God wants us to forget. Because if we remembered, we might be tempted to keep count, to make it about our effort rather than His grace.

It reminds me of Matthew 6:3-4: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

God sees the things we don’t, not just in others but in ourselves too. The times we offered a kind word, a prayer, a helping hand without realizing its weight. He notices when we don’t, because He doesn’t want us to keep record—He’s keeping it for us.

Looking back, I can see how often I’ve overlooked my own story. The seasons I wanted to rush through because they felt hard or unremarkable. The moments where I assumed God wasn’t doing much because it didn’t look big or exciting. The gifts He’s given me that I downplayed, thinking they weren’t enough.

But God doesn’t overlook us. Not a single one of us. He’s present in every detail. Those seemingly wasted years? He’s redeeming them. Those hidden struggles? He’s using them to shape you. Those tiny acts of obedience you think no one notices? He does. He sees it all.

Isaiah 43:19 has become an anchor for me: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

I love how it reminds us that God’s newness isn’t always obvious. It’s not always loud or grand or easy to spot. Often, it shows up in the wilderness—in the dry, desolate places we want to avoid.

So, maybe the invitation is to stop striving to notice everything and instead to trust Him more. To let go of the pressure to keep track, to notice every detail, to be in control. Maybe it’s to lean into the truth that He’s got it covered.

Here’s my prayer for this week: Lord, help me to trust that You see everything I don’t. Open my eyes to what You want me to notice, and help me release what I don’t need to hold onto. Let me live with open hands, knowing You’re faithful to work all things for good, whether I see them or not. Amen.

Friend, He sees you. Every moment, every tear, every dream, and every prayer. And if we let Him, He’ll help us see too—but only what we’re meant to.

Love Sarah x.

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