the little things we notice
Yesterday, my daughter and I checked into a hotel in our city to celebrate her 8th birthday. She’d been asking for a special girls’ night so we loaded up our bags with face masks and nail polish and swimsuits (to take advantage of the indoor pool, of course.) I casually mentioned the reason for our stay to the front desk clerk as she checked us in and she made sure to let us know where the pool and all the best food was.
Not even five minutes later, we get a knock on the door and it’s the lady from the front desk with a bag of snacks for Anna. She was shook, as the kids say. It took a day that was already special and made her feel like she was the center of the whole world and what’s better than that?
It made me think of something I’ve been trying to pay more attention to this year. I’ve been trying to notice more and I’ve been trying to notice when I’m noticed, if that makes sense.
In the Bible, there’s a story about a woman named Hagar. She was Abraham’s wife’s slave. After God told Abraham (who was old and childless) he would be the father of many nations, he and his wife, Sarah, took things into their own hands and he had sex with Hagar. Christians don’t like to use the term “rape” when it comes to the heroes of our faith, but, Hagar wasn’t a willing participant in this. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t his wife. She was a slave. Not even his slave. She was his wife’s slave. She had no autonomy. She had no choice. She had no control over her body. She had no choice but to surrender her will and her body. She conceived a son with Abraham and as soon as it was obvious that she was pregnant, her and Sarah’s relationship changed. Sarah thought Hagar was judging her and Abraham said, “Do whatever you want to her.” It doesn’t tell us what Sarah did to her, but it was bad enough that Hagar ran away in fear of both her and her baby’s safety.