How Does God See Us?

As beings more radiant and more beautiful than our mortal minds could ever comprehend.

A couple of weekends ago, I was volunteering at a homeless shelter inside my church. In this case, volunteering mostly means listening: a lot of these folks (like a lot of non-homeless people) feel profoundly lonely and just want someone to really hear and see them.

So I started talking to this woman, and I asked her how her week had been going. One thing led to another, and she told me that she had spent 10 years working as a writer/director/producer for Disney.

To be honest, when I heard this I was skeptical. First, because not a lot of people have the skill sets to write and direct and produce at a high enough level to be hired by Disney. Second, because of a piece of advice that a friend gave me when I first started volunteering with homeless folks: "Everyone's had a week, and most people will be eager to tell you about it. Believe about half of what you hear." This felt like it might be a fantasy, a fictional biography this woman had invented for herself.

I didn't want to probe, because I figured if this woman was lying about working for Disney, she probably had a reason. Maybe her life was so awful that this was the fantasy past that she had chosen to live in. Who was I to burst her bubble?

Only, as we talked, she kept volunteering information. She gave me the kind of nitty-gritty details that someone who was making up a fake past probably wouldn't invent. She gave me the names of famous episodes of Micky Mouse that she had worked on. She told he about how she had co-written a bestselling horror book, and how for one shining week it actually outsold Stephen King on the NYT Bestseller list. She told me the name of the book.

And then, at her prompting, I Googled the book. And I saw the image on the back, of both co-authors. And one of them was very clearly her.

I was in the presence of one of the great writers of our time. And I hadn't even known it.

She had clearly fallen on hard times, which was how she ended up at the shelter. She had had two debilitating injuries, and those had wiped out her savings. She hadn't been able to work in a few years. But still. She had spent decades creating some of the most-watched television of the era.

Once I realized that, the whole conversation shifted. I spent the next hour or so sitting with this woman, in absolute awe as she told me story after story of her time in the industry. I was no longer trying to help her (though I hoped, by seeing her as she truly was, that I was offering some sort of psychic help). Now, I was just trying to soak up everything she said.

And it hit me, as I was listening to her, that this is how a lot of my conversations with the homeless folks I volunteer with go. I don't mean that they're all famous authors or spent time at the top of their field. I mean: they're all absolutely amazing.

I talked to one guy, a big black man in a worn coat. He knew the Gospel inside and out. And he seemed poor, but he didn't seem beaten down by his circumstances. He radiated joy. And wisdom. He gave me some excellent marriage advice. I asked if he ever considered becoming a pastor, and he said no because it would pull him away from the work he needed to be doing: ministering to his fellow homeless men and women. He said that he felt like God wanted him right where he was. I got the feeling I might be talking to a modern-day John the Baptist: ragged and dirty on the outside, destitute, but deeper with the Lord than I could possibly understand.

I talked to another woman a few weeks later. She had been raped, repeatedly, by different men. She had been almost killed. Almost everything in her hurt. She had a debilitating mental disorder that gave her the mind of a child if she didn't take certain medications. And yet, God's peace shone out of her every pore. In spite of her past mental anguish and her present physical pain, she felt so connected to God that I could feel it almost physically. For context, I can sometimes lose my connection to the divine because I have a bad headache. This woman left me in awe.

Anyway. As my conversation with the Disney writer (and director and producer) wrapped up, I reflected back on how amazing it was. How honored I was to have had the chance to meet this incredible author and to hear her stories. How blown away I was by her talent and her walk with God.

And I asked God, "What do you want me to know about this interaction?"

And the answer came back: "You know how you felt about her? That's how I feel about every one of you."

I started volunteering at the homeless shelter because I wanted to help people. I had this idea, back then, that the homeless people were lower than me and needed my help.

And to be clear, I think a lot of these folks do need help. Some of the people I talk to are desperately lonely and deeply need to feel listened to and seen by another human being (this need, I'm learning, is so acute that Steven Covey calls it "psychological air"). Many of them need the food and other resources that the shelter gives out.

But being in need doesn't make them lower. And on that day, as I walked out of church and asked God what He wanted me to know about my interaction with the Disney writer, I thought I glimpsed them the way that God must see these folks: not as ragged and dirty and broken people, but as radiant and beautiful human beings whose stories and whose faith would fill me with unutterable awe if I knew them.

I think that's how God sees all of us. It's common in some circles to see God as a joyless scold who's constantly looking down on His creation. But I don't think that's right. He made us, after all (and in His holy image, no less). He delights in us. And I think He must see us as we truly are: as being who have flaws, who sin; but who are nonetheless more radiant and more beautiful than our mortal minds could ever comprehend.

---

Heal the West is 100% reader-supported. If you enjoyed this article, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription or becoming a founding member. I greatly appreciate your support.