“Does He not see my ways and count my every step?”

Job 31v4

“You are a God who sees me…”

Genesis 16v14

“Every moment You know where I am.”

Psalm 139v3

This morning the woods are awakening. Squirrels have emerged from their winter hiding to scurry and scramble up the trunks of the firs and cedars that surround my cozy cottage. The black spruce right outside my window trembles gleefully, dancing in delight as I watch. Gnarled ash trees unfurl new leaves in incremental waves of life.

Fresh, vibrant, resurrected life.

And I wonder, as I tuck myself into this safe place—my cabin in the back, about you.

As I pray for you, my girls, and as I lean in close to the Father’s heart to listen, I hear stirrings. I wait— still, craning to hear. A watcher in the woods.

What is it, Father? Creator of all this tangled beauty, what are You saying? To me… to the women I love… the ones I write for?

And one phrase won’t leave me alone. A handful of words jingling like change in my pocket.

… your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

Matthew 4v4,6,18

His words warm me through on this chilled morning, because He sees you….

In your giving to those who need you— again and again and again— until you feel turned inside out from the giving…

In your nighttime vigil, pacing the floors, praying for someone in your life who needs more than you have to give…

In the intensity of your fasting, forsaking what you need for that one whose needs overwhelm your soul…

Three times these letters in red dance like squirrels delighting in new-found freedom.

Your Father, who sees in secret… Your Father, who sees in secret… Your Father, who sees in secret… will reward you.

A promise. A pledge.

And I wonder who needs to know this.

Who are the hidden ones— giving, praying, doing without— who need to know, right now, that You see?

I don’t know who you are or what you’re giving.

I can’t see what you’re doing or what you’re doing without.

Yet as I sit in my cabin surrounded by swaying branches and dancing squirrels, I bring my heart for you to the Father who sees and knows— who rewards the secret things.

And I feel Him bring me in close to say…

He is proud of you. 

He knows it’s hard to keep going.

He understands loneliness.

I pause and I pray. I make my way into the house to warm up my now cold coffee, all the while wishing I could hold you close. Feeling the weight of this burden that is yours alone. The burden no one else sees and even if they could, they wouldn’t understand— not really.

I hear more…

He is with you. He is for you.

He wants to feed you and strengthen you.

He, only He, is your rest.

The woods are still now. Just the barest whisper of wind sways the branches above my watching place. They’re working now, those squirrels. Doing what they need to do: gathering food, burrowing holes, feeding young.

My day beckons with work that won’t get done without me, as does yours. And so I leave you with the One who sees and knows and is with you always.

May you know that sweet there-ness of God in your secret place of giving,

From my heart,


P.S. I am here to pray for you— and would love to hear how He is meeting you in that place no one sees.

(Image by Bethany Small)