Saturday, 19 June 2021 16:24


Written by  Priscilla K. Garatti
Ipecac Photo by Lucas Allman

Someone is paying attention while we flit about and check our texts.~Anne Lamott (From Dusk, Night, Dawn--On Revival And Courage)

Each week I may spend more time hunting for an image to post in this space than I do in the writing. Sometimes the image comes before the writing. 

I heard on a podcast that God loves to provide us images. The speaker said, "Try something. Ask God how He sees you. Don't fret about it or think too hard," he said. "Allow what comes to mind." I sat in my study, the air conditioner softly thrumming, the sun streaming through the blinds. "How do you see me, God?" The first image that came to mind was a picture of the giant oak that sat across from the house where I used to live. It was at least a hundred years old, its branches creating a wide arc. Thick roots above ground indicated an extensive root system. I often sat on my porch gazing at the oak, its beauty providing a type of ipecac, ridding me of life's toxins, its grit. I never tired to look at the oak; its presence centered me. Blue sky peering through its branches offered me solace and hope. I loved that tree.

Then today, I flipped through a notebook where I keep record of eclectic quotes, and a black and white photo taken of me in 1964 slipped from the pages. I leaned against my dad's Ford Fairlane--a chubby nine-year-old wearing Keds and anklet socks. In the background, a massive oak stood in my grandparents yard. I'd forgotten about that tree. My grandfather always tied a rope swing through its solid branches. I swung for hours and hours on that swing, the oak limb never breaking or bending, holding me fast.

"That's how I see you," He seemed to say. "Even as a child, I saw who you'd become. Now you're in the later seasons of your life, yet know that you are strong, and I renew your youth. Your roots go way down deep in my love for you."


You've known pain for being misunderstood by others. Not seen.

"Why don't they get it?" "Get me?"

You walk away, or hide, or lash out, or go so deeply inside yourself that you're an enemy too, your words belittling.

"I'm never enough." "I do not measure up." I've failed at another relationship." "There's a gap between my two front teeth."

"I didn't finish the degree."  "I filed for bankruptcy."

Then someone comes along and sees. Shines a light into that dim, unlit corner of your heart.

"You're generous. You're a giver."

"You're so funny. You make me laugh."

"You made me think. You ask good questions."

"You're so graceful the way you move. Are you a dancer?"

"You manage money really well. I wish I was more like that."

"You're patient with the kids. I'm not so much."

"I love your transparency."

"Where did you learn to fix cars?" "Wow!"

"You're kind."

"You're observant."

"You're loyal."

"You've got a green thumb."

"You're beautiful."

"You're my hero"

"You're the best."

We need people to see so that we can see too.

And if there's no one who sees.

God sees. You.

May you know that His vision of you acts as ipecac to clear out all the negatives. Allows you to remove the blinders. Silences the naysayers. 

Ask Him. Ask Him what he sees.

Expect a brilliant reveal.

May you see as He sees.






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What Readers Are Saying

In Missing God Priscilla takes a brave and unflinching look at grief and the myriad ways in which it isolates one person from another. The characters are full-bodied and the writing is mesmerizing. Best of all, there is ample room for hope to break through. This is a must read.

Beth Webb-Hart (author of Grace At Lowtide)

winner"On A Clear Blue Day" won an "Enduring Light" Bronze medal in the 2017 Illumination Book Awards.

winnerAn excerpt from Missing God won as an Honorable Mention Finalist in Glimmertrain’s short story “Family Matters” contest in April 2010.