His eye has always been on her. When she and her sister were in their mother’s womb. When their mother experienced crisis. When their existence was perhaps a shock, joy or sorrow. When she was born into extreme poverty and brokenness. When her birth was traumatic. When her birth mother made the unimaginable decision to leave her in a place she would be found. When her sister went to be with Jesus. When her frail body fought. When she lived in fear and pain. When she only knew malnourishment, neglect and mistreatment. When we had no idea who she was.
She was never not seen. She was never alone. She was never not cared for. She was never not loved.
God cares for the flowers that surround her here, that were in full bloom yesterday and will be gone tomorrow. How much deeper is His love and care for her. He numbers the stars, He knows each grain of sand on every shore and He knows the number of hairs on her head.
These truths anchor me. They anchor me in seasons of loss and seasons of fear, in the face of hard and scary diagnoses, when the future is not a place I want to be. Being anchored doesn’t mean I don’t grieve or lament or feel heavy things. Being anchored means I bring all of that to my Father. Being anchored reminds me of what reality really is. Reality isn’t always what we can see.
When no one else saw her. He did. When I feel unseen. He sees. When I don’t want to face tomorrow, He is already there.