The Rejected One
Once upon a time…
Okay, it was a month ago… I submitted a piece to a magazine for a consideration in an upcoming issue. Ironically, the theme for the magazine is belonging, and yet, my piece didn’t belong. To be fair, this piece is certainly not my best work. I was rushed in writing it and trying to make it fit into their parameters instead of writing from a place of peace.
I’d actually forgotten I’d even submitted it until I got the dreaded email… We will not be moving forward with your article at this time. To my surprise, this no didn’t sting. It felt less like rejection and more like a confirmation. I was trying to do too much at once, and, in doing so, I hadn’t sat with this message as I should have. Instead, I wrote from a hurried place, knowing best writing comes from a place of calm and presence.
And so… this is the rejected one…
Though it wasn’t a right fit for the magazine, it still feels worth sharing. So here goes…
I keep noticing the phrase, “I see you,” threaded through captions and comments online. Maybe we overuse it because we ache for it. Because every one of us wants to be truly seen and deeply known. We’re made for relationship, after all.
But what happens when shame, fear, or insecurity start telling us we’re disqualified—less than, unworthy? Sometimes the relationship that suffers most is our relationship with God. We want to be seen, but we also want to hide. We wonder if the parts we’re least proud of will make us less loved.
For years, that was me. Like Adam and Eve in the garden, I tried to cover what I couldn’t fix, hoping no one—not even God—would notice (see Genesis 3). Of course, he already knew. There’s no outrunning the One who made us, and no shadow he can’t light.
Scripture gives us language for this. Hagar, abused and alone in the wilderness, is met by God. In that desolate place, she names him El Roi—“You are the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13, NIV). Not the God who sees the cleaned-up version of me. Not the God who sees me once I’ve earned it. The God who sees me as I am.
Being seen by God isn’t a spotlight of shame; it’s a refuge. “Nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38–39, NIV).
Shame says: Hide until you’re worthy.
Love says: Come as you are.
Shame says: You don’t belong here.
Love says: You already belong to me.
My perfectionism kept whispering that love must be earned—that respect, acceptance, and belonging were rewards for flawless performance. But love didn’t wait for my perfection. Love came looking for me.
The first time I believed God saw me was in a counselor’s office with tissues balled in my fist and questions I could barely say out loud.
Do I still belong to God? Can God still use me? Am I still worthy of love?
Bit by bit, through therapy, prayer, and learning to forgive myself, God reminded me: I am loved. I am forgiven. I belong. The process wasn’t instant; healing rarely is. When I couldn’t see a way forward, El Roi still saw me. When I couldn’t carry my shame, Jesus already had.
Here’s what I’m still learning about being seen by God:
Being seen exposes what hurts and heals what’s hidden. Hagar’s wilderness did not disappear when she named God El Roi, but the knowledge of his nearness reframed the wilderness. When God sees us, he doesn’t simply observe; he intervenes with presence, direction, and hope (see Genesis 16:7–12).
Belonging isn’t a finish line; it’s a starting place. I’ll never stop sprinting if I believe I belong only after I’ve “fixed” myself. But mercy gives me a new starting point: belonging first, transformation next. That’s grace. That’s gospel.
Honesty is how we stay seen. The way out of hiding is simple, though not always easy: tell the truth. Tell it to God in prayer. Tell it to a counselor or trusted friend. Tell it to yourself in the mirror. Honesty opens the door for the Spirit’s comfort, correction, and courage.
Today, let your hiding turn into hope. Try a simple breath prayer you can carry into the day:
Inhale: El Roi, you see me.
Exhale: In Christ, I belong.
