Keep me as the apple of your eye;
Hide me in the shadow of your wings.

Psalm 17:8

We walked carefully up the mountain path, our feet straddling the sides of a newly formed spring which flowed through the middle of our trail. A low-lying fog gave the forest a hushed quality, the only sound that of the swollen Waptus river which raged below. Through a world of mist and mossy trees, we climbed until we found a spacious ledge where we paused to look around.

In the distance, a forested valley shone with the light of a few rays the sun had allowed in a momentary cloud break. Around us, stately evergreens swayed with the gentle wind, cool and fresh on our faces. Breathing deeply, I took in the coppery scent of rain and the sweetness of decaying leaves. Exhaling, I released the sense that my attention was needed anywhere but here.

As we headed back down the trail, I marveled aloud to Drew at the gift of being the sole witnesses of such lonely beauty as we found in the quiet heart of the Salmon La Sac trail in the Okanogen-Wenatchee National Forest.

Isn’t it amazing that such beauty persists, I wondered, even when there is no one there to see it?

After a day of basking in the immensity of Creation, I think of the countless occurrences of beauty I am not there to witness, but which happen nonetheless: white light glimmering like diamonds on the Mediterranean, a sherbet sunset over a bay in the Philippines, thick snow carpeting a forest floor in Oslo, a horse galloping through tall grass in Montana, the echo of footsteps in an ancient French cathedral, a mother singing a child to sleep in Spanish.

Beauty persists, with or without our attention.

There is a scene from the film The Secret Life of Walter Mitty which illustrates this truth perfectly. The lead character, Walter, has traveled thousands of miles from his home in California to find a famous wildlife photographer, who he finally meets on a narrow, snowy ledge of a Himalayan mountain. The photographer has his large zoom lens fixed on the opposite peak, where he has been watching for hours for a rare and elusive snow leopard to appear. Holding one finger up to his mouth, the photographer silently motions for Walter to sit down and join him.

He whispers to Walter, “They call the snow leopard the ghost cat—never lets itself be seen,”
“Ghost cat?” Walter wonders aloud.
The photographer responds, “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.”

When the snow leopard finally does appear, the photographer never takes the shot he’s been waiting for; he simply sits back and rests in the sacredness of the moment. He invites Walter to look through his lens to witness the rare ghost leopard for himself. A few seconds later, the snow leopard disappears into the vast whiteness.

Beautiful things don’t ask for attention. But they are glorious, all the same.

*

I used to think that my life had value only as it was seen and valued by others. 

Now I am beginning to wonder if that isn’t true, because it’s is exhausting working so hard to be seen—wondering if I’ll ever be enough in the eyes of others. I do not know why I care so much about how others perceive me; I do know that others’ approval is something I’ve idolized, and I want to be free of it.

The life of Jesus shows me this is not how we are meant to live. He lived quietly and humbly, solely for the love and approval of his Father. Scripture tells us,

There was nothing beautiful or majestic about his appearance, nothing to attract us to him.
(Isaiah 53:2)

In her book Anonymous: Jesus’ Hidden Years and Yours, Alicia Britt Chole writes:

Because we naturally grant more weight to the visible than the invisible, it is easy for us to underestimate the vital importance of the three undocumented decades preceding Jesus’ three celebrated years of public life and ministry. However, with his life (and ours), it is critical that we not mistake unseen for unimportant.

It is refreshing for me to remember that Jesus lived most of his life in anonymity. Apart from his birth story, all we see in the Gospels is the final three years of Jesus’ life and ministry—yet how precious and valuable the thirty years leading up to his ministry must have been. In those thirty years, Jesus was becoming who he needed to be for the salvation of the world. Chole continues,

God’s unanticipated move of hiding Jesus granted him protected, undisturbed room to be and become. From God’s perspective, anonymous seasons are sacred spaces.

With or without the approving gaze of humans, Jesus knew that he was seen and loved by God—and it was enough for him. Could it be enough for us, too? How I want to be content with a hidden life, resting in the loving “Yes” of God, regardless of whether my life is ever applauded by others.

Psalm 139 tells us we have been seen and loved since before we were born:

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

 Whether we are remembered or forgotten on earth, applauded or rejected, every atom of us is seen and cherished by the Author of beauty.

The beauty of you persists, with or without the attention of others.

May we rest in the goodness of this, surrendering our stories and identity, fear and longing, unto the attentive and watchful care of our God who says, “I will be with you and watch over you wherever you go.”

Amen.

You are all I need
In the air I breathe
In the joy of being
Hidden in your time
Until the life ahead
You are all I need.

-Citizens, “All I Need”