To be noticed. All I’ve ever wanted is to be noticed. And when I say “noticed”, I don’t mean locking eyes with someone through the shelves of a grocery aisle. I don’t mean being asked my name because it’s being typed into a computer at a doctor’s office. I don’t mean being told “happy birthday” by my parents because they made me & it’s sort of an obligation of my siblings to say it. No, a glance in passing & celebratory clockwork doesn’t scratch the itch in my soul.
When I say I want to be noticed, I mean the real, raw, palpable definition of noticed. To say I had the privilege of being acknowledged, so much so that a stranger turned into a friend. A sharing of space in a coffee line turned into a conversation God didn’t have to orchestrate Himself; a human being willingly did. Noticed like the brush of someone’s fingers against mine that don’t leave but dwell there like my fingers are a fireplace & they’ll get frostbite if they part. Noticed like a pursuit straight out of a script – someone chasing me down in a parking lot to tell me they hope to see me again, to notice me once more. Pursued because they want to know me, hold me, hear me, see me. Noticed. A privilege every single person I notice is basking in. Every person except for me, & it makes me wonder where I went wrong. Am I underdeveloped, uninteresting, unattractive, or worse, unlovable? Am I so boring that I fade into the background like a song in an elevator no one would know the name of? Should I wear less clothes or more makeup or get into trouble or move to a new city with a contrived facade so no one ever meets the real me again, because she’s historically irrelevant? What does it take to be noticed?
The one person I know who notices me for sure, is Jesus; however, I admit, His focus alone doesn’t feel enough. I want more. In fact, it plagues me that no one else sees what He sees. It’s like I only exist in the spiritual realm accompanied by the Holy Spirit, just us two at a table with tulips in a vase & He’s asking, “How are you”? Except, in reality, I’m sitting at a real, tangible table with people beside me, I’m just invisible to their human eyes & they don’t ask how I am. The thoughts I’d like to add to their conversation stay uninvited, so I tuck them back into the folders of my mind for the hundredth time. Then I go home, lie in bed, & wonder what it’d been like if someone listened to what I had to say. I fantasize of a spark in someone’s eye when they look at me. It’s evolved from a dim desire to a desperate daydream that never ceases. My subconscious trained my mind as a child how to disassociate into a world where I’m seen (because my invisibility cloak wasn’t pretend, after all). And that world I created as a child is just as vivid as an adult, if not even more so. Daydreams of playing with other kids on the playground as I stared blankly from the bench has matured into glazed over eyes staring at my crush who’s looking past me at another girl. Instead of imagining one of those kids coming up to me asking if I want to play, I imagine the soles of my crush’s shoes stopping at the toes of mine. He wouldn’t take another step past me to get to someone else, because in my daydreams, I’m the girl. I’m not a window he peeks through to catch a beautiful sight. I am the sight. Noticed.
I wonder what Jesus thinks when He sees me standing in the middle of the pasture staring past Him to where the grass is surely greener. I wonder how He feels when I’m wishing another man was looking at me with soft, loving eyes, because His gaze doesn’t give me the butterflies I want. How stained with sin is my wool when I turn my back to Him, staring at the backs turned to me, wishing they’d turn around? How invisible does He feel when I want someone else's attention? My shepherd – who tends to me, loves me, & notices me – isn’t enough, according to my needy, greedy heart. I wonder if real sheep think the attentive care of their shepherds is not enough & they too get dirty & lost looking for love elsewhere. I think in real life sheep are quite cute, but admittedly, they’re dirty & dumb. If they didn’t have a shepherd watching them like a hawk to make sure they stay out of trouble, they’d probably die. If there wasn’t a shepherd who overly noticed them, they’d likely wander aloofly out of their pasture looking for some greener grass, stumble onto some wrong path & then consequently either fall into a pit, consume something poisonous, get stolen, or drown. Shepherds are the reason sheep don’t die, & that’s because they pay attention to them. They notice them.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul, He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my
cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
I’ve come to the conclusion, this psalm of David is the real definition of being noticed. The real, raw, palpable version I long for. He makes me lie down in green pastures so I don’t have to lie in someone’s bed for comfort. He leads me beside still waters so I don’t drown in my rushing desire. He guides me along the right paths so I don’t get lost on the wrong ones. He refreshes my soul when my loneliness is thirsty. He’s prepared a table for me in the presence of my enemies when the one I’m sitting at is conversing as if I'm not there. In the moments I’m feeling needy & greedy, ironically enough, I lack nothing. I shall not want. The Lord is my shepherd, & He alone is my everything. How could I ask for more?
