The gift of being seen...

Sometimes I forget how much my soul leans toward recognition — not applause, not performance, but the gentle awareness that who I am matters. Not for what I produce or manage or fix, but simply for the way my presence brushes against the world.

Today, a small happening reminded me of this — just a glance held a fraction longer — a moment where someone genuinely saw me. It wasn’t grand. In fact, it was the kind of moment that could easily be dismissed as ordinary.

But the heart knows when something lands.
It knows when the atmosphere shifts.

And in that tiny shift, I felt God whisper again that He notices me long before I notice myself. He sees the stories I carry. The ones I share carefully. The ones I’ve hidden so deeply they’ve changed shape. He sees the fatigue around the edges, the spark underneath, the hopes I pretend are too fragile to name aloud.

And He calls all of it good ground.

There is something healing about being seen like that — not scrutinised, not evaluated, but recognised. It unravels the lie that I am forgettable. It mends the corners where insignificance has tried to root itself. It reminds me I never walk through a single moment unaccompanied.

Advent teaches me this in its quiet way:

that God’s gaze is not distant but near,
not critical but kind,
not conditional but constant.

So today I’m learning, again, to meet His eyes instead of my fears.
To let myself be fully known without bracing for impact.
To live as someone already chosen, already loved.

Being seen is not a luxury.
It’s a gift.

And perhaps this season, part of the invitation is simply to receive it.