The God Who Sees Me (El Roi)
There’s something electrifying about being truly seen. Not the casual kind of “oh, I see you” people say when they notice your new hairstyle or your outfit, but the deep kind of seeing — the one that slices through the walls, the filters, the masks, and lands straight on your soul. That’s what Hagar experienced in the desert, when life had written her off as nothing more than a runaway servant. Abandoned, thirsty, hopeless, she meets the God who introduces Himself not as “The Almighty, Thunder-Wielding, Sky-Shaking Ruler,” but as El Roi — the God who sees me (Genesis 16:13). And let me tell you, that hits different.
Because when El Roi looks at me, He doesn’t just see what everyone else sees. He doesn’t see the mess-ups, the days I feel like a failure, or the labels people try to slap on me. He sees the blueprint He Himself sketched before I even took my first breath (Jeremiah 1:5). He sees the me I sometimes forget to believe in — the chosen, the loved, the capable, the daughter who carries divine fingerprints. People may see weakness; God sees destiny. People may see baggage; God sees potential. And honestly, I’m obsessed with that.
Think about it — when humans “see” you, it’s usually filtered through their own opinions, expectations, and projections. That’s why one minute you’re “amazing” to them, and the next you’re “too much.” But when El Roi sees me, He sees with eyes that made me, eyes that know my flaws yet call me beautiful, eyes that recognize my pain but refuse to let it define me. Psalm 139:1 says, “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.” Isn’t that wild? The God who knows the galaxies by name also knows me better than I know myself.
And here’s where it gets juicy: God seeing me is not a passive glance. He doesn’t scroll past me like I’m an ad He’s not interested in. No. His gaze is active, intentional, and personal. Just like with Hagar, He steps into the desert places of my life and says, “I see you. I hear your cries. I know your story isn’t over.” Even when I want to vanish, He keeps me in view, because to Him, I’m never invisible.
So yes, I’ll admit it — sometimes I crave human approval more than I’d like. Sometimes I wonder if people get me, if they see the real me. But then El Roi whispers, “I see you, and that’s enough.” And suddenly the applause of the world feels like background noise to the melody of His gaze.
Here’s the mic-drop moment: when God looks at me, He doesn’t see me as broken beyond repair; He sees me as redeemed beyond recognition. When He looks at me, He doesn’t see failure; He sees future. When He looks at me, He doesn’t see who I was — He sees who I’m becoming. That’s the power of being seen by El Roi.
So if you’ve ever felt unseen, unworthy, or just plain overlooked — remember Hagar. Remember the desert. Remember El Roi. Because even when no one else gets you, God does. And the next time you whisper, “Does anyone even notice me?” let your soul shout back, “Yes — the God who sees me does.”
And that, my friend, is enough to make me strut through life like I’ve got heaven’s spotlight on me. Because guess what? I do.
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