You are the one who sees me.
Please see me in soft focus.

This mirror shows only
what's shameful, worthy of scorn:

every flaw magnified
and stripped of holiness.

As imperfect as I am, how
can I find favor in your eyes?

Yet you watch over my planes
as they take off and land.

When life feels unbearable
you make laughter well up in me.

When I wake from bad dreams
you gentle my pounding heart.

Your voice quickens my pulse
and mends my broken places.

Your steadfast kindness
dissolves me like salt in water.

Help me believe you see me
more gently than I see myself.

In Genesis 16, Hagar names God as אל ראי, which can be rendered as "The One Who Sees Me."

This is another in my ongoing series of poems of yearning, 36 of which will make up Texts to the Holy. (As of now this poem isn't in that manuscript, but it's part of the same work.)