Sea Turtles and the God Who Sees

Did you know the very first book of the Bible contains a cautionary tale about surrogacy?

It’s true.

If you crack open Genesis chapter 16, you can read all about how this poor servant woman named Hagar is essentially forced, because of her low status, to function as a surrogate mother for her master, Sarai. There’s not much indication that Hagar has given her consent, but here she is, pregnant with Sarai’s husband’s baby and totally at their mercy for her own sustenance. So when Sarai grows jealous of Hagar’s condition, she begins to treat her with cruelty. It gets so bad that Hagar runs away.

The story finds her in the wilderness, desperate, pregnant, mistreated, and alone. She’s scorned by society and without any means of rescuing herself. She doesn’t know what to do or where to turn. And that’s when the angel of the Lord shows up. He encourages her to return to Sarai with the assurance it will turn out alright for her. He promises her an inheritance and a bloodline. He shows her she has not been abandoned.

Hagar is moved by this turn of events. While she may be scorned by man, she is seen by God. We see her marveling about this God. “El Roi,” she calls Him. “The God who sees.”

I honestly believe that if more people knew how deeply and personally God knows their unique hearts, situations, and lives, the world would be transformed overnight. But it’s hard to conceive of such a God, especially when the going gets tough and, like Hagar, you feel abandoned, desperate, and alone.

I was wrestling with this a bit myself last night. It’s been a bit of a rough month between navigating past shame, libel, and spiritual attacks on my children. I feel like I’ve been white knuckling it a bit. Nothing I’m going through right now is even close to as heinous as some of the things I’ve already endured, and that’s a blessing in itself. But last night, as my bloodied baby sat screaming in agony in the ER with the top of his finger dangling off after having been slammed in the door, my nerves were just fried. Nothing was going right. The nurse inserted the IV incorrectly, so the meds that were supposed to relieve my baby’s pain weren’t getting into his system. He had to be poked, prodded, and manhandled, and I just felt like my prayers were not penetrating heaven. I actually told my husband that I felt like my prayers were being blocked, like I was begging God to intervene and help things go smoothly, and the opposite was happening. It’s hard to hear your baby wail. It was just a lot to handle, and I couldn’t feel God’s presence like I’ve felt it in the past.

So I started thinking about His faithfulness in the past. Now this is probably going to sound really weird to some of you, but it’s the truth. Historically, when I’ve been going through some really tough things, God has repeatedly shown up unexpectedly by giving me a nod in the form of a sea turtle. Why a sea turtle? I have no idea. It’s not exactly like I was really partial to them before, but here are a few examples:

When Tristan was 14 months old, he suffered a 30 minute seizure that almost killed him. He had to be intubated. They didn’t know if he would make it. I sat there helplessly begging for God’s mercy. I didn’t connect the dots at the time, but as I was leafing through some photos from his hospital stay a few years ago, I was struck by this one. One of my co-workers had brought him a stuffed sea turtle. We still have this stuffed animal 13 years later. It’s got sentimental value

A decade later, I was speaking at a church in western WA in defense of women’s privacy, and I zeroed in on a woman at the back of the room. She appeared to be transient, was missing most of her teeth, had track marks up and down her arms, and openly confessed to the congregation that she'd been struggling with alcohol that week. My heart was so drawn to her. I wanted to know her story.

Anyway, after I spoke that night, there was a fellowship time in the adjacent hall. I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned around, this woman grabbed me and gave me one of the longest, most sincere hugs I've ever had. She didn't want to let go. I could see that she knew that I could see her suffering, and beneath it, the dignity desperately trying to break through.

She handed me a worn beaded lanyard and said, "I want you to have this. It's special to me."

You can see for yourself what was on the end of it.

So here’s another one. Shortly after my (now ex) husband had finally pulled the plug on our marriage, I was invited to speak at a fancy event at the Ritz Carlton in Hawaii. I thought I was going to Hawaii to speak at a conference to help change the trajectory of the national locker room battle. Other than that, my priorities were to spend at least a small amount of time on the beach and to find some sea turtles.

My speech was fine, and I made some important connections and great friendships, but it turns out that's not really why I was sent there at all. I was sent there to rest and to grieve. In my economy, one generally necessitates the other, which is why I carve out time to do either approximately, oh, you know, never.

But God knew. That year had been H-A-R-D. I lost my marriage, my career, and my sense of normalcy all at the same time. To expect that not to hurt is stupid, no matter what I try to tell myself.

Since I was informed that sea turtles weren't really an option without an expensive sailboat excursion package, I figured I could at least find some crabs or geckos. So off I went, ignoring trail signs, getting dangerously close to the edge of some cliffs, determined to fill the void with adventure.

But there's something about standing at the edge of a cliff in the middle of a vast expanse of aquamarine that reminds you how small you are. And how alone. So I did what all forsaken wives who've been through the ringer do. I sat down and cried. The big boo-hoo slobbery variety that makes it perfectly clear why you're alone. For a while. And then I started talking to God and singing hymns and thanking Him for the future I couldn’t yet see because He promised it would be good, and I believed Him.

And as soon as I finished singing, I looked out into the water and saw a set of hilariously beady eyes staring straight into my soul. A sea turtle just for me.

.These are just a few of the many times this has happened to me in my life, each time a distinct reminder that I’m deeply loved by a God who sees my suffering.

So this morning, after a three hour wait at the hand surgery specialist, I was just beat down and tired and grumpy and feeling a bit distant from God. I even told Him so as I prayed, desperately trying to keep my toddler from falling apart in the overcrowded waiting room, which, I’m not exaggerating, had over 30 children waiting to be seen. We were the second to last before the clinic closed for the day.

When the doctor finally came in to investigate the carnage on my baby’s hand, she was gentle and kind and affirming. She sat directly across from me so I could function as a human strait jacket while she poked around at the injury. That’s when I glanced up and saw her necklace, a silver chain with a delicate sea turtle on it. I got super excited and tried to explain to her why it was significant. She must have thought I was crazy, and that’s fine. It doesn’t have to mean anything to her. It meant something to me.

I call these types of things “God nods,” and my heart fills with a Hagar-like gratitude for El Roi, the God who sees. He’s so eager to engage us this personally and this intimately. We just have to slow down and look for Him to show up.