One of my daughters just turned fourteen, which has me thinking about the year I turned fourteen.    I was a freshman in high school (I was always the youngest one in my grade) and my older sister was a senior.   Our school was not within walking distance of any fast-food or commercial locations, so only juniors and seniors were accorded off-campus privileges.   That year, my sister gave me the simple gift of taking me out to lunch with her friends for my birthday.   Our high school had  an amazing performing arts department (in fact, later that year they would earn national recognition for it), and my sister, a beautiful singer,  was involved in all of it.  I basically idolized her and all her music and theater friends.  On a normal day if they would even smile or give me a nod to acknowledge my existence in the hallways it was enough to make my day.  So for my little fourteen-year-old self, actually going out to lunch with them was pretty much the coolest. gift. ever.  My mom wrote a note excusing me so I could leave campus, and I joined my sister and three other seniors for lunch at McDonald’s. 

My sixth-period class  right after lunch was math… with my all-time least-favorite teacher ever.   My sister and all her friends, on the other hand, had Madrigals (the elite choir class) sixth period, so when she invited me to come to class with them upon our return from lunch instead of checking back in at the office immediately, you can bet I was all in!

The choir had a concert coming up soon, so they were rehearsing on stage that day.  I sat in the auditorium and loved listening to them practice, and at the end of class they all sang “Happy Birthday” to me.   Many of the students, mostly upperclassmen and the “stars” of the department, wished me a happy birthday individually on our way out that day, and to say I was on cloud nine would be a one hundred percent understatement.   I do believe I floated back to the office to check in for my next class after that. 

My sister probably spent a grand total of $5 on me for lunch that day, but she gave me an incredible gift which far surpassed the value of the meal.  What made it so memorable?  If I had to put words to it, I think I would say that what she really gave me was the gift of being noticed. 

Can you think back to a time when someone gave you the gift of being noticed? 

What do you remember about that circumstance? 

Can you remember how old you were?  Where you were?  What your surroundings looked like or smelled like?  The name of the person who noticed you?  How long it lasted?  How it made you feel? 

Twenty-five years later, I can tell you exactly what I was wearing on that special birthday, right down to my black ballet flats.   I remember the smile on my face and the happy feeling in my chest  as we crested the hill leaving the high school.  I have a picture in my mind of the table where we sat at McDonald’s.  I remember the names of my sister’s friends who went with us.  I can remember  where I was sitting in the auditorium, and where on the stage the piano was when the choir teacher started playing “Happy Birthday,” as well as the first and last names of a few more of the students who wished me a happy birthday on the way out that day.    All this detail is seared into my brain, and yet I can barely remember what I  ate for dinner yesterday.  

Recently I was reading a thoughtful post about ministering to others through food.  It touched my heart  and I spent hours, over the course of several days, reading the 600-ish comments left by others with whom this post resonated.   One thing that struck me as interesting was how many people commented that they could remember in precise detail occasions and meals when they had been ministered to through food.   Upon reflection, I realized that I, too, can distinctly remember occasions like these in detail… for example, there was one meal of sweet and sour meatballs, rice, and canned green beans I gratefully received from a neighbor after having a baby.    Although I generally don’t gravitate to canned green beans,  to this day–over a decade later–I periodically crave them in memory of that meal.   It is bizarre, but it is real.   I have eaten thousands of meals since that day, and yet I can remember it precisely.   Our brains are marvelous at sifting through information and determining what is useless and what is important to hang on to.  Why would my brain hang on to a particular meal like this?  I believe it has nothing to do with the actual food that was served and everything to do with the way the gesture made me feel–loved, nurtured, cared for… noticed. 

Isn’t that what we all really want?  The gift of being seen, known, and loved… just the way we are? 

I have been taking extra notice this year of ways that others have given me the gift of being noticed.  Most of the time people have done it in very simple ways.

• On one particularly bad day, two of my daughters surprised me with cheerful notes sprinkled on my bed like confetti and a massive hand-colored banner taped up in my bedroom declaring, “We love you so much!!!”
• On the first day of a new job, a daughter texted me to wish me good luck before work and my husband texted me after work, in the middle of his work day, to ask how my day had gone.
• A neighbor made a point to let me know that some heartfelt thoughts I had shared at church had touched her, and in return she offered me something uplifting and inspiring from her heart.
• A friend bought me a bouquet of beautiful, cheerful flowers for my birthday.
• A daughter who is old enough that I normally don’t “tuck her in” anymore let me know she valued our time together  by asking me to come scratch her back for a few minutes before bed and chatting about her day.
• Someone welcomed and greeted me by name as I entered a house of worship on a day I was feeling unimportant and unseen.
• A family member sent me a quick thank you email to let me know they appreciated something I had done and that they were thinking of me. 
• One of my children’s former teachers, from a full six years ago, hails me like I am her warmest and dearest friend every time I occasionally run into her at the school.
• There was even the ophthalmologist who praised me unexpectedly and profusely for some difficult changes and improvements I had proactively made in my personal healthcare. 

If you have done something nice for me this year that I haven’t listed here, rest assured that it hasn’t gone unnoticed.  I could go on and on with similar examples.  (Our brains are pro at finding evidence for things that we tell it are important to us and my list on this subject is long!)  Almost none of these gestures cost the giver anything but a little bit of thoughtfulness and time.  But in every case, I was the grateful beneficiary of love and attention.   I have come to recognize that often these types of small but meaningful gestures from others are examples of “the tender mercies of the Lord” in my life.  

David A. Bednar has described such “tender mercies” as being “a most personal and timely message of comfort and reassurance [sent from a loving Savior]” through various means.  “The Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.” 

While not every kindness extended to me feels like a direct message from God, and while I have noticed other tender mercies from the Lord that were only communicated between Him and my heart, in the majority of situations I would describe as “tender mercies,” His love was transmitted to me via the thoughtful attention of another human being.  I believe this observation speaks to an even bigger reason why being noticed matters–not only because we feel loved and noticed by the other person who gave us some type of time or attention, but also because we see that as greater evidence that we are important and known and loved by God, by our higher power, or the universe.   We are not forgotten or unseen.  Rather, we are absolutely seen, known, and–dare we say it–loved.   In fact, we matter. 

I confess that noticing all the tender mercies I have received from others has highlighted a gap for me.  Namely, the mental list I have of ways I may have noticed others is quite a bit shorter than the one wherein I am the beneficiary.   But being on the receiving end has inspired me and made me want to be a little bit better at seeing and extending kindness to those around me.  

Taking stock of the varieties of challenges and hardships that surround us all, I can’t imagine that there is a single person on earth who is in such a good place that they wouldn’t appreciate a little more loving attention from others around them.   To the contrary, as Jeffrey R. Holland has pointed out, “There is no shortage of suffering in this world, . . . so look in any direction and you will find someone whose pain seems too heavy to bear and whose heartache seems never to end.” 

In a nutshell, that means there is virtually NO WRONG PERSON to shower with a little extra love or attention.  ANYONE to whom we choose to give the gift of being noticed is the “right” person to give it to. 

Our local community is grieving the deaths of three youth in less than one week.  That kind of loss is staggering, but sadly there is probably as much suffering in your community as in mine.   I believe that only God can truly heal people’s hurting hearts, but I do believe that we each have the capacity to help Him deliver and accelerate that healing.  

As such,  I invite you to look around today and be a “noticer.”  You might just be able to deliver a tender mercy to someone else’s heart today through means as simple as a smile or a sticky note. 

Who is in your path?  Who could use just a little boost, and how can you give it to them?   

As the ever-insightful Rachel Macy Stafford says, “The one who notices is a rare and beautiful gift.”   

Find a way to give someone else the gift of being noticed today. 

**If you care to share,  I’d love to hear about a time when you have been given the gift of being noticed in the comments. **