Watch Me, Daddy!

The ladies' ministry at our church does a mentoring program called Driven. The first night of Driven a woman, Sarah, shared about being innocent little girls before our Heavenly Father. There has been something on my heart ever since then.
About three months ago, Michael (my husband) and I began working at Paulding Gymnastics. We soon began working the summer camp and thus dove into learning how to teach correct tumbling techniques. In learning these techniques, and in watching excited expressions grow upon young gymnasts' faces, I soon became very excited about practicing everything new that I was learning. Michael quickly found our nightly routines being interrupted by the following plea: "Watch me, Michael!". We frequently spent 30 minutes to an hour in the living room practicing the correct way to do handstands, cartwheels, and foward rolls. Sometimes Michael would join in and try some things, but usually he would sit on the couch and watch my face beam with excitement and happiness as I practiced getting my legs perfectly straight and my toes beautifully pointed.

As a child, I loved gymnastics. My grandmother brought me to a gym for a little while when I was four, but it was too far of a drive and my parents didn't have enough money to pay for it. Even so, my love never ended. As a child I would spend entire afternoons with my feet propped up against the door in what I now know is a "ladder handstand." I would spend hours banging my head on the ground as I taught myself how to do a back-bend, and even more hours flipping around in the front yard practicing cartwheels.

The thing was, I never felt like anyone was there to watch me.

My mother would sometimes be home from work and she would sometimes watch me, as would my grandmother, and I'm sure my much-older sister noticed my flipping as she watched me and my neice out her kitchen window,

but never my daddy.

I don't know if it was that he was never really available, or if it was that I was scared of him, but I cannot remember him ever watching me. If there was ever a time that I said "Look, Daddy, look at what I can do! Look, Daddy! Watch me!", I cannot remember it. If I ever said it, I think his lack of knowing how to show affection or kindness might have told me that there was no use in ever asking him again.

The night of Driven, when Sarah began talking, everything began to make sense. My heart melted as I realized that there was something deeper than just a love of gymnastics behind my pleas for Michael to "Watch me!". A life-long desire to be noticed, accepted, and "watched" had been surfacing through my nightly gymnastics extravaganzas.
Fortunately, I have a loving, patient husband who actually took time out towatch me, laugh along with me, and seem absolutely amazed by my newly improved abilities.
What if I didn't, though? What if there was ever a night that he was too busy, or too tired, or more interested in something else? My heart would be broken, and the feeling of being "not watched" would re-surface. I say that because I know that Michael's love is not really what is going to heal that part of my heart. No matter how sweet those moments might be, there might be a day when he fails at giving me his full attention. He's not perfect. His love isn't perfect. No one's love is perfect.
The last couple of weeks have awakened me to a very healing understanding. God always saw me. Every time my little heart thought "Daddy, please look at me. Please notice me.", my Heavenly Daddy was looking at me. He noticed. He watched. He smiled. He waited for me to notice His watching eyes.
The last few years has been a long, yet wonderful (and sometimes painful) process of noticing those watchful eyes. Obviously, I am still noticing. My earthly daddy may have failed, but my Heavenly Daddy never did. My earthly daddy may not have noticed my longing heart, but my Heavenly Daddy always did. And He still does. Even now, as I flip around my living room, He always sees me. He delights in me. If Michael ever looks away,

He is still looking.