Lynda MacGibbon

Signposts on the path of seeing and being seen

We feasted at our office Christmas party this year — platters of rice, roasted chicken and pork, a big bowl of tzatziki to go with the pita bread, and a Greek salad spilling over with olives, feta and onions. Then we added Korean Fried chicken, spicy and mild, because we knew that would be appreciated. That’s the sort of community we are, often learning about one another – the foods we love, how we grew up, what we’re reading, travels we dream about, even our opinons on difficult issues — as we sit and eat together.

The meal was delicious but cookies were the the stars of the party. The icing on the cake, you might say. The cookies were a surprise, a gift baked by Nan, the wife of my colleague, Doug. Together, the night before the party, they’d carefully iced each one with the names of all the people who work in our office – more than 26. Every name spelled correctly. 

People were delighted. “Did you see what’s in the kitchen?” “Wow!” “Emily’s off today, let’s wrap her cookie and save it for her.” At the end of the party, before we ate the cookies, we took a group photo with everyone holding their cookie. Before that, lots of selfies were snapped, gingersnaps held close to our hearts. 

“We never thought this would matter so much to people,” Doug said to me later. 

“It’s amazing how finding your name on a cookie brings so much joy,” I replied. 

I ate my cookie with as much relish as everyone else and the taste lingers still. I’m savouring the gift of that singular decision Nan and Doug made to ice the cookies with names. It’s profound to have generosity and affection sprinkled across one’s name. 

The cookies left a trail of crumbs in my mind, one that I hardly realized I was following until the first signpost appeared, reminding me to pay attention, to go further up and further in. 

Remembering Hagar 

I read a well-acclaimed book this fall, one written to help skeptics understand God through significant stories and themes of the Bible. I was troubled, though, by what the author excluded. 

Specifically, the author left out Hagar’s story. Abram’s concubine. Sarai’s slave. Ishmael’s mother. Hagar’s ancient story is remarkable in so many ways. That her story is even recorded in the Bible, a book written and assembled by men, is astonishing. It helps me believe there must be a supernatural force behind the Bible. How else would Hagar’s story have survived? 

Since reading the book back in September, I’ve seen mention of it in various lists, sometimes it’s even up for an award. And each time, I think not about what I read in the book but of Hagar. 

We need her story if we are to understand God. Made pregnant by Abram, then mistreated by a jealous Sarai, Hagar flees to the desert. It is there she encounters God, so the Genesis account tells us. God speaks to her, acknowledges her difficult life, and promises her a son, who, she is told, will also live a life of difficulty. Not the most cheerful message. But one true to reality. 

Hagar responds by giving God a name. She is the first and only person we know of in the Bible who does this. And it’s a remarkable name. Hagar calls God El Roi, The God Who Sees Me. 

This is not Hagar’s only encounter with God. They meet again in the desert, this time with her son Ishmael; a mother and child on their own. Banished. When God speaks this time, it is with a blessing. It’s not the covenantal blessing that would go to Abraham and Sarah, and their son, Isaac, but it’s still a profound blessing. Ishmael will be the father of many nations. 

I read the story with wonder. Were those moments in the desert when Hagar felt seen pivotal? Was she able to make it through her difficult life with more resilience because she knew God saw her? Was she convinced that God would always see her? 

To exclude Hagar limits our understanding of humanity and God. Life as a human can be unbelievably difficult. Hagar tells us God knows this. God sees it. I don’t know why God doesn’t fix it, but perhaps the lesson in all of this is that there is something beyond difficulty. Perhaps there is provision and guidance through it. 

The Language of Seeing

My trail of crumbs let me to another signpost, a Faith Today podcastconversation about pivotal moments in life. 

In an interview with writer Karen Stiller, World Vision CEO Michael Messenger commented that in his experience, it is through life’s pivotal moments that perspective changes. Such a pivotal moment for him came when he learned the meaning of an ndebele greeting while travelling in Zimbawbe. 

Sawubona, he explained, means “I see you.” It is not a throw-away greeting but one meant to convey dignity, that the person in front of you has value. The response to this greeting, said Messenger, is another ndebele phrase meaning “I am here to be seen.” 

Such a vulnerable, open-hearted response. 

A Conversation with a Cabbie

Like many people, I’m away from my Toronto home this Christmas, spending time with my 94-year old mom in Halifax. On the way to the airport, the taxi driver initiated a conversation, asking not just where I was going, but why. His question was another signpost, this one bright with the light of curiosity. In the span of our 20 minute cab ride, we shared stories of our lives and also our concerns for this troubled world. 

“Perhaps moments like these, when strangers like us can learn about each other’s lives, is the only way to navigate the chaos of our world,” I said as we approached the airport. I thanked him for his company, which was worth far more than his service. 

“A blessing on your mother,” he said, as I left the cab, seeing not only me, but her as well. 

It really doesn’t take much to truly see each other. A cookie baked with intention. An ancient story remembered. A meaningful greeting. A conversation between strangers. All moments of blessing. Small exchanges with lasting meaning.