I spent Monday morning scrolling through my phone’s voice notes.

Some felt like a total time travel.

Others felt like such confirmation of where I’m currently at.

Especially the ones I used to record after leaving my therapist’s office some 6 years ago.

The same spirit still strong today.

As I wrapped up my little time capsule moment, I pressed one more to play.

It was recorded August 18, 2021 – almost two years to the day. And for the rest of the day, I thought back on that recording like, I bet God wanted me to scroll through my voice notes JUST to hear that one. Just for THAT reminder.

I recorded the memo after listening to a message by Charles Metcalf called Help, I’m Hidden.

You can probably see where this is going already.

Truth be told – I’m in a season, month, whatever you want to call it, where I feel hidden or in some areas, unseen. And it has begun to affect the perception of my value. I wish this wasn’t the case. I wish I just didn’t value the acknowledgement of people in the ways that I do. But because I chased after the acknowledgement and nod of worthiness from my dad for so long, it bled out into a need of much of the same from everyone else. Acknowledgement has always provided a sense of acceptance and security…a place of belonging. And studies show that such things help foster self confidence and self worth. Go figure.

So I’m in this moment where it feels like I’ve been tucked away from everything that I crave to be around.

I feel untethered from so much.

The ability to anchor to anything right now is like a motor skill I have yet to develop.

And in this message, Charles is talking about these seasons we experience, where we equate our visibility with our value. Where, if only we were seen by people, or jobs, or opportunities, we would consider ourselves valuable. 

But I don’t need to sprinkle diamonds in front of me to know they’re valuable.

I don’t need to see a million dollars stacked in front of me to know it has worth.

I don’t need to constantly have my eyes set on things I know are of value.

So why do I need eyes set on me in order to believe that? And moreso, why are His eyes on me not enough?

I needed a bit of a pep talk this weekend. (More like a chin check) LOL

To HIDE means to put or keep out of sight; to conceal from the view or notice of others. Another definition is to use (someone or something) to protect oneself from criticism or punishment. 

God, Himself, is shielding us, protecting us. And think about it – we only ever hide things that have value. In our homes, or in our hotel rooms, what goes in the safe? We don’t throw old busted tennis shoes in there. No, we put our valuable items in there – passports, money, keys, jewelry, etc. There are seasons in life where it’s almost as if God is putting us inside His safe. Not to lock us away, but to keep us safe and to conceal us from the view or notice of others FOR A REASON. Sometimes, He has to align us with a season of hiding to keep us from the everyday eye. If what we have is seen before it’s ready to be seen, or to be utilized, or even just matured enough for how He intends, it’s susceptible to be altered, affected, stolen, or destroyed.

Take King David, in the Bible, for example. He spent years seemingly hidden, tending to his father’s sheep.

Unseen.

Overlooked.

No acknowledgement.

Probably feeling forgotten some days.

And I have a feeling that David had a similar stirring to the one I have right now – where I’m pretty dang curious of God’s game plan and also pretty disconnected from my world around me – YET, in this time, David was faithful. Patient. Committed to the work God was doing in the hiding. And because he was faithful, patient and committed in obscurity, he could be trusted out in the open.

This is my season of hiding. Of preparation…training…realignment.

Or at least it feels that way.

He’s bringing things to light – like this voice memo that I’m certain I was supposed to hear that morning.

That small, yet powerful, reminder that even when I’m not seen, and even when I don’t see it, He’s working.

And oh, what a work He’s doing in me.