Hidden

It’s 6:15 AM, and at this point I’ve been up for hour and a half. It’s still pitch black outside, but the three little boys I’m watching are wide awake. I play at the kitchen table with the sweet five-year-old, whose hair curls across his forehead. He rubs sleepiness from his eyes, reminding me of a cherub from a Renaissance painting, darling and mischievous all at once. The two older boys watch a video on legos, and the radio plays softly in the background.  Quietly, the little one and I destroy the house we built out of play magnets and giggle together.

I’m hardly ever conscious, let alone actually productive, during this time of the morning, usually opting to make up for my late night study sessions by waking up at the last possible minute before my morning classes.

Yet, there is something so still and profound about being awake this early. Everything moves slower, and since most of the world is still in the throes of slumber, everything feels like it done completely unobserved.

It is a strange thing—to be alive and conscious, and thinking, but with no one watching.

This early, in my thick glasses and my messy hair, I feel open, I feel vulnerable—

I feel hidden.

In this moment, I am hidden away from the great world, tucked away in the dark, early morning hours, but bared open to my Savior.

I have no pretenses with the Lord this early. There is no room for my excuses, for my defenses, for my covering of self. It is a strange feeling—to all at once be hidden and more vulnerable than usual. Feeling this, I speak silently to God. I don’t know whether I want Him to just listen and hear, or I want to hear an answer, but I speak just the same.

The scope of my understanding is limited, but here's one thing I do know for almost certain: most of us desire to be seen and heard, in some form or another.

Not all of us long for a public platform, or to be heard by large audiences, or make great speeches in front of crowds, but most of us want to listened to by someone. We want to be known—for our hearts, our souls, the intricacies and muddled complexities of our minds. We want to be known in our entirety, not just the artfully constructed self we present to brave the terrible world.

For much of my life, I have felt strangely hidden, as I do this morning.

If you know me, this might seem strange, and here's the funniest thing—I have always been a loud girl—speaking passionately and vehemently, and using big, showy words.

Ever garrulous and articulate in my speech, even at a young age when I spoke in sentences unusually early, and when I casually used words rather precocious for a seven-year-old. And I, like you, grew up in a society that inundates girls with the notion that in order to be valued, in order to be appreciated and seen, you need to uncover yourself. You need to show yourself off, to reveal your body in order to be taken for your true worth. 

This world has somehow led us to believe that in order to be seen and understood for our hearts, minds, and souls by someone, we need to bear our physical bodies first.

And if that's not bad enough, I find that there is a strange, tension within me—two modes of interaction and being that compete in my life. I have a tendency to either overshare, or not share at all. On one hand, I laugh loudly, post often on social media, tell personal stories in vivid detail, even make allusions to my struggles, but I never follow through with that sharing. I intentionally hide so much of myself. I hold back the parts of myself that I consider ugly, or repugnant, or un-pretty, or too complicated. For a long time I never really showed my true emotions to even my closest friends and family, and up until about a year ago, I rarely cried at all, and certainly never in public or in the presence of people. I sometimes lie when people ask how I've been (haven't we all?). 

And all this time, struggling and grasping to be looked at, to be heard, to be seen, to be understood, to be known for who I believe myself to be, all while hiding away my deepest, most sensitive emotions, I’ve lost my sense of what it is to be hidden away in Christ, instead of simply just in emotional hiding. 

And perhaps, you have, too. 

In a world that is loud, and flashy, and shocking, remaining hidden, and remaining unseen by anyone but your Creator—well, its a strange feeling. It's almost uncomfortable, and to rest in it is to embrace a narrative that goes against everything this attention-seeking world would tell you. 

For years, I've sought validation in the state of being looked at and noticed, in the warm, gushy feelings that come with being liked and paid attention to. Friends, teachers, boys—it doesn't matter. We've all been there, and many of us will admit to having done or said things solely for the benefit of others and not because we wanted to or because those things were reflective of our hearts, minds, or characters. 

This week, today, in this moment—I encourage you to allow yourself to be hidden for a bit. It's okay if its a bit hard, if its a strange, new sort of sensation, or if doesn't come naturally.

 Even if you don't really know what "being hidden" means in your life, that's okay, too. Spend some time in quiet, in solitude. Try to focus on what the Lord might be saying to you. Speak openly, and honestly, and vulnerably to Him. Lay open, and then lay down, your feelings of shame, or inadequacy, or unbelief. Don't do things to try to gain the attention of people, even if it's usually your go-to action. Resist that temptation, even when you want to do nothing more than to please others and have them affirm your actions. 

The art of being hidden, as paradoxical as it sounds, is recognizing that being hidden can make us more vulnerable than being seen does. Because when we've stripped everything away—any public masks, any looking-glass self, any pretense, or affection, all that's left is...well...us.

Being hidden away often looks like being stripped down to just the way God uniquely crafted us. And after a short lifetime of being hardened by the world, laying ourselves open, even to our Heavenly Father who knows us so very intimately, can be frightening. So, as hard as it is, just be —yourself, a child of God, a messy, complicated human being, loved and known fully, completely, and wholly by the Creator of the Universe.