Tell Me the Dream Again: Healing and Wholeness After Hiding نموونە

I could ask the darkness to hide me
and the light around me to become night—
but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
To you the night shines as bright as day.
Darkness and light are the same to you.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.

Psalm 139:11-15, nlt

Remember the rush of finding a good hiding spot and being as silent as a statue while playing hide-and-seek? Or remember what it was like to squish together, all sweaty with other friends, while collectively masking giggles in a game of sardines? That kind of hiding is fun because it’s momentary. We know that someone will find us or at some point declare, “Game over.”

But sometimes hiding reaches much deeper than a game or a moment. Sometimes it becomes a lifestyle. We may have even learned to hide from ourselves.

Have you ever wished you weren’t so afraid to be seen?

Do you ever wonder if anyone is looking for the hidden parts of you?

Have you hidden for so long that you feel bent out of shape—unrecognizable?

Have you doubted that you’re even worth the pursuit?

If you’ve ever asked any of those questions, you aren’t alone. Many of our spiritual ancestors spent years, if not decades, in hiding. So many of them, like us, wrestled with fear and struggled with questions. They, too, wondered how far God’s love would actually reach.

In David’s psalm, we’re reminded that there’s nowhere light can’t reach. God was with us while we were hidden from the world in our mother’s womb, and he knows us intimately—even the parts we hide.

Take a minute to think about your own answers to the questions above. Write them down in a place you can revisit when this devotional is done.