My folks aren’t Christians and in God’s absence, Santa Claus sometimes stood in. Worn down by eleven months of sibling squabbles, come December my parents invoked the Bearded Enforcer. ‘If you’re not good’ they said, ‘Santa won’t come’. Sleeping or awake, we were reminded, ‘Santa sees’. Well, I didn’t want him Seeing: especially as he held the keys to Barbie’s Dream Castle.
I can’t confirm the beard, but Scripture reminds us that God too sees us wherever we are. For years I’ve taken this as a threat – but in fact, it’s a promise.
I was struck by this as I leafed through Psalm 56 this morning. It’s written to the tune of ‘A Silent Dove in Distant Lands’. I don’t know it either; but the point I think, is this: doves are normally fairly chirpy fellows who stay close to home. This one is silent; and a long way from where he comes from. Driven from his homeland and rejected by even his enemies (1 Sam 21.10–15), the writer, David, knows what it is to suffer. And in this psalm, he pours out his heart to the Lord.
One verse in particular caught me:
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book. (v8)
Whether it’s trivial, (a sad film) or something that matters, (losing someone we love), our tears fall easily and they’re too cheap to count. But the Lord sees our grief. Every tear we shed matters to Him; and He cares for and comforts us, long after we forget.
God sees us: but not in a CCTV, I’ve caught you sense. In the way a parent tiptoes into their sleeping child’s room and watches over them. That’s how loving He is. And that’s how precious we are.
Here’s an incredible testimony to the Lord’s care; even in the furnace: Life Without Lizzie