God’s Eyes are on His Beloved

“But you do see; you take note of misery and sorrow; you take the matter in hand.” Psalm 10:14

I can still vividly recall the scene. I am watching from a distance as my son, Jon, who is two or three, is running around on a playground. He is so immersed in his play that I can see joy oozing from his pores. He is beginning to experience the wonder and power of independence from the parental units, a chance to be on his own and test his own abilities as a human. How fast can I run, he wonders. How high can I climb?

But then he falls hard, tripped up by an untied shoelace or perhaps just the clumsy feet of a toddler. He gets up and looks around. Seeing no one, he resumes playing, unwilling to give up his freedom. But as I walk toward him he sees me and, you guessed it, begins crying and pointing at his knees. Apparently, he didn’t know he was hurt until he saw someone who cared, someone who would scoop him up and take care of him.

I am sure most parents have a similar story to tell, for the story is an old and familiar one. It’s only natural, after all. Why cry if no one is there to hear and comfort you?

We are all still trying out the freedom God has given us by placing us here, strangers in a strange land. We are not always sure what we are doing or how well we are doing it. We have this feeling that sometimes we are succeeding and sometimes we are failing. We’re not sure we are always pleasing God but perhaps have a sense, as Thomas Merton famously wrote, that in trying to please God we are doing so:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

– Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude”
© Abbey of Gethsemani

And so we all move along, toddlers in God’s eyes, immersed in the flow and beauty of being a human “at play.” And we fall from time to time. We get some things right and some wrong. Sometimes we’re not sure either way. But we keep playing and we keep scanning the periphery of the playground, looking for God, especially when we are hurting. For whether we’re getting it all right or not, we know somehow that we remain children in the eyes of a loving God.

We all need to know that someone is watching and noticing us when we hurt. Whether our hurts come from our failing bodies, our dissatisfactions with what life seems to be throwing at us at the moment, the trials and pains of those we love, or own failings with God and our fellow “playmates,” we need someone to run to and show our scars and bruises. We need someone willing to scoop us up in huge, loving arms, kiss our “boo-boos” and, somehow, make it all better.

That’s the power and the glory of a life of faith in a God who sees us, loves us and can call us by name. That’s the wonder of being able to say with confidence: “Father God, look at me!”

(A much different and shorter version of this reflection first appeared as my Saturday, July 21, 2012 reflection in Living Faith, Daily Catholic Devotions.)