Deserving Better
My husband, our daughter, and I lived in a tiny, white, 2-bedroom Cape Cod home built in the 1940s for 18 years. The layout was choppy and it needed some updating, but I felt peace as I walked through the house. It was also within our budget, so we bought it.
As the years passed and my career and income grew, I saw the homes our friends and co-workers had. I started to believe I too should have the 3 or 4 bedroom home. At least something with a spare bedroom, a place for my daughter’s friends to hang out. A 2-story home, in a fancy suburb.
I made an agreement with my husband, but the pull of something “better”—a bigger house, more space, perhaps even envy—tempted me to try and renegotiate our plan. Our agreement had been to build his business on my income, which that home allowed us to do. Once his business was established, we could re-evaluate moving.
I spent time in discontentment and frustration, wishing I had something different. We believe we deserve better. When we get uncomfortable, unsettled, or things don’t go as we’d like, we dream of something different. We long for more when life doesn’t match our expectations.
The story of Hagar is one of those uncomfortable passages in Scripture we’d rather skim past. It’s raw. It’s messy. It confronts us with suffering, powerlessness, and waiting in places we’d rather escape. And yet, tucked inside Hagar’s wilderness is one of the most beautiful revelations of who God is.
Ha-Gar is a Semitic form that comes from the root gwr in Hebrew, meaning immigrant, foreigner, or sojourner. The name Hagar, thus, means “the immigrant” or “the foreigner.”
From the start, her very identity is marked as “other.” She wasn’t chosen. She wasn’t honored. She was acquired by Abram through deception in Egypt—treated like a possession, not a person. Sarah saw Hagar as a means to an end, saying, “Perhaps I will be built up through her” (Genesis 16:2).
Isn’t that uncomfortably familiar? When life feels uncertain, we reach for control. We want security. We want to be taken care of. And sometimes—whether we admit it or not—we see people as expendable in our search for comfort.
But Hagar’s story reminds us: God sees the overlooked. He hears the cries no one else notices. Just as God heard the innocent blood of Abel cry out from the ground (Genesis 4:10), He also heard the cry of a mistreated Egyptian slave girl wandering in the wilderness.
When Hagar fled into the wilderness, halfway back to Egypt, she encountered Someone unexpected: “The Angel of the Lord found her…” (Genesis 16:7). God came to her with such gentleness: “Hagar, where have you come from and where are you going?” Not a command. Not a lecture. A question. An invitation.
And it’s here—in her place of suffering, rejection, and isolation—that Hagar names God: “You are the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13).
But here’s the part we wrestle with: God tells her to return. To go back to her suffering. That doesn’t sit well with us. Why would God send her back into a broken situation?
Because even in her oppression, God was working out a promise. He told her: “You will have a son. I will greatly multiply your offspring so they cannot be counted” (Genesis 16:10–11). Ishmael would not be the chosen line of the Messiah, but he was still Abram’s seed—and God would bless him.
God restores Hagar in the wilderness. From tragedy, He gives her life. From rejection, dignity. From isolation, a future. Just as God met Hagar in the wilderness, He meets us in our own seasons of waiting and longing. He provides springs of living water in our seasons of despair. He whispers gently when we feel unseen: “I see you. I hear you. I have not forgotten you.”
In 2019, after 18 years of waiting and dreaming, we felt released to start looking for a new home—together, not just me. God blessed us beyond our dreams. He gave us exactly what we needed, and more than we could imagine. He is so faithful.
"Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us." —Ephesians 3:20
Hagar’s story forces us to ask some hard questions:
Where in my life am I trying to build the future or life I think I should have, even if it hurts others? Ex.
Pushing for a job promotion & neglecting family
Spending too much time on hobbies
Where am I running to escape pain, when God might be inviting me to stay and trust Him in the suffering?
Do I believe that God sees me—even in the wilderness?
The God who saw Hagar still sees you. And He is still bringing life, even in the most uncomfortable places.
