Life can be discouraging. Some situations and circumstances cause us to think we’re on our own, unseen, uncared for, grappling for breath. Helpless. It feels like “someone” has it out for us; delivering left and right hooks, upper cuts and attempted knock-out blows, yet still expecting us to keep going. Tired and battered, we press on. Responsibility beckons. There’s no time to lie down.
The Zambian Mire
Recently, life in my city has been a mixture of intermittent—possibly contaminated—water supply, load shedding, and a generous helping of recurring malaria that requires taxing treatments. I’ll tell you right now: this gets old pretty quickly. It’s a miracle that we still go to work, care for our homes, get the kids to school and manage to be enterprising in this environment. Water and electricity are basic needs, the lack of which adds anxiety and stress, unnecessary hardship and overwhelming inconvenience to our already strained minds.
It’s a miracle that we still go to work, care for our homes, and get the kids to school.
Lacking immunity, my family has suffered from this unusual malaria numerous times throughout 2025; so numerous, I’ve lost count of who’s had it how many times. My husband would, however, be the undisputed champion in our home if we were competing for most recurring positive tests—not that anyone would care for such a title.
I sat down one day, after yet some more positive malaria test results, feeling battered and worn, wondering: “who’s going to fix all of this? Who can?” The truth is really that no human can fix this. Even the most utopian places on earth—developed world cities that know nothing of malaria, water shortages or power schedules—have their share of misery and woe. It just takes a different shape; it has another source. This is why John’s vision of the new heavens and the new earth is for everyone (Revelation 21:3-4; Isaiah 25:7-8). One day, we will be in the presence of our creator God, immersed in his glory; in a place of worship, beauty and peace. And there, sickness and suffering will be no more.
God Knows My Name
As I reflected on the wonder of paradise, my mind drifted back to a study I did years ago: the names of God. A friend had done it with her family and urged us to do likewise. That study had proved to be a tremendous blessing to my soul—both then and now.
It’s a wonderful blessing to know that I have a good Father, my God.
Most beautiful among God’s names was Abba (Father). My own father passed when I was young, so I have little to no remembrance of having an earthly father. But it’s a wonderful blessing to know that I have a good Father, my God. Tender and affectionate, he is nevertheless powerful and dependable. Another name I regularly delight in is El’Roi (the God who sees). This name was spoken by Hagar in desperate times, believing that God saw her. She said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me” (Genesis 16:13).
Washing the dishes, listening to a hymn, His Eye is on the Sparrow, and with the study safely tucked in my heart, a realisation dawned on me.
He Sees the Sparrows, Sinners and Sufferers
“Do not be anxious about your life,” so begins a famous passage from Jesus’ sermon on the mount (Matthew 6:25-27). “Do not be anxious,” Jesus goes on, about “what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
My Father, Abba, feeds them.
A few chapters on, in Matthew 10:29-31, Jesus asks, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”
Again, the Father, Abba; and little birds, sparrows.
Far more crucial than the hairs on my head is that he knows my heart.
Jesus’ point is not only clear but beautifully comforting. If a fallen sparrow isn’t outside of his care, then I know that—being more valuable than a sparrow—he surely sees me and cares for me. Our Abba is El’Roi. He knows me to the extent of knowing the very number of hairs on my head. Only, far more crucial than the hairs on my head is that he knows my heart. My Father knows my joys; he knows my sorrows and my woes. Psalm 139 expresses this beautifully, from start to finish. Isn’t it incredible that we get to call this God our Father?
You Are Never Outside of His Care
Child of God. On this earth, despair and woes abound. However, as I sit here writing this, about to take my children for more malaria tests, at least one thing is sure: the Lord God, my Father in heaven, sees me. He knows me and everything about me, including my troubles and stresses. I am not outside of his care. Nor are my troubles outside of his will. He sees me. Yes, even now, he sees me. He is Abba, with loving hand laid upon me; so that I am hemmed in (Psalm 139:5).
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