Let Me See

January 29, 2020 Kacey Burnley

I can hear my mom’s voice, “Kacey, let me see.” Whether it was a bee sting, a fresh splinter in my thumb, or a scraped-up knee, I’d hold it tucked in close, covered from view, hollerin’ and cryin’.

There was an instinct in me to cry out for help, but to hold the wound covered and protected. I didn’t want to see it, because I didn’t want to feel it. I wanted help, but I wanted to keep it covered.

Fast forward to recent. Once again, I found myself in a place where I knew I was wounded, I knew there was a deep cut on the inside, but I didn’t want to look at it. To look at it meant I would have to feel it.

I prayed often, “Help me, please!” I confessed all I knew to confess, I repented of all I knew to repent, I said the words I knew to say. But I kept my hand firmly in place over that wound. I didn’t want to feel it. I kept moving and doing so that I didn’t have to stop, engage, and feel.

And He gently says, “Kacey, let Me see.”

I keep moving and doing, responding, “It’s there, please heal it.”

He says, “Kacey, let Me see.”

He wants me to engage. To tell Him what hurts. To not give Him the pat answers and the textbook responses. He wants me to get real. To pause. To dial in. To feel.

And when I finally do, the very second I stop fidgeting and come near, His salve is released. When I stopped moving and doing, when I paused to look deep, when I got real for just a second, there it was. Someone reaching out to encourage, to bless, to say, “I’ve been praying. I wasn’t sure why, but I’ve been praying.”

And He says, “Kacey, I see.”

You know what else? Now I can see, too. I can see I needed to go there to really get there. I can see all of those times He was sending me courage while I was still unwilling to stop moving and doing. He’d been encouraging me and wooing me to that place. He helped me get there and helped me when I got there.

I have a question for you. Are you so busy moving and doing, partly on purpose so that you don’t have to stop and dial-in? Are you avoiding it? You are officially invited to pause. Go there. Let Him heal you. Sometimes His loving-kindness means He’ll heal it while you’re running. But more often than not, as I’ve witnessed, He wants to pause and address it.

We’re here. Come for a prayer ministry appointment. Or find a friend to sit with. He’s waiting. It’s time.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3