God Who Sees,
You made a promise
but when the waiting grew long,
faith turned to striving.
Sarai, tired of delay,
offered a solution.
Abram listened.
Hagar obeyed.
And suddenly the house was filled
with tension, pride, blame, and pain.
Lord, I confess
I too have rushed Your promises.
I’ve tried to “help” You fulfill Your word,
as if Your timing needed my wisdom.
I’ve chosen shortcuts over surrender.
I’ve created chaos in the name of control.
Forgive me.
Sarai grew bitter.
Hagar grew proud.
And Abram grew silent.
No one came out clean.
Yet You did not turn away.
Hagar fled
a woman alone, pregnant, wounded.
Used, dismissed, discarded.
But You found her.
You pursued her into the wilderness.
You spoke gently.
“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from? And where are you going?”
Not a rebuke.
A question.
An invitation to be seen.
You told her to return
not to endorse her pain,
but to promise her purpose.
You named her son before he was born.
You saw her story before she could write it.
And she, the one no one honored,
gave You a name
El Roi.
“The God who sees me.”
Lord, I need that today.
When I feel invisible,
when my pain is private,
when my obedience goes unnoticed,
when my heart is weary
remind me
You see.
You see me in the wilderness.
You see me when I flee.
You see me when I fall.
You see me when I fear the future.
And You don’t just see
You speak.
You comfort.
You name.
You bless.
You are the God who sees and stays.
So I bring You the parts of me
I’ve tried to run from.
The impatience.
The shame.
The ache of delay.
The consequences of shortcuts.
And I surrender again.
To Your timing.
To Your promises.
To Your mercy.
Let me not rush what You are forming.
Let me not reject the wilderness where You meet me.
Let me trust that You see
and that seeing me, You still love me.
In the name of Jesus,
descendant of Abraham,
lover of the outcast,
and restorer of the broken
Amen.