‘You are the God who sees me,’ for she said, ‘I have now seen the One who sees me.’

Hagar, Genesis 16:13

“Do You See Me”
from the movie “Pendulum Swings”
Words and Music by Jeff and Carol Anne Hartman

40 days and 40 nights
A wake of all my wrongs and rights
You see right through me

Swinging on a pendulum
Going where I’m coming from
You see right through me

Underneath discriminating skies
Endangered by incriminating eyes
Powerless eliminating lies
Battle cries
Strength will rise

You see me
Turnaround, I turn around
You free me
Turnaround, I turn around
You see me
Turnaround, I turn around and see You

Carrying my burden high
You are now my alibi
(Do You see me)
You see right through me
Dangerously moving on
Even though my strength is gone
(Do You see me)
You see right through me

Underneath discriminating skies
Endangered by incriminating eyes
Powerless eliminating lies
Battle cries
Faith will rise

You see me
(Do You see me now)
Turnaround, I turn around
You free me
(Can You free me now)
Turnaround, I turn around
You see me
Turnaround, I turn around

I’m broken down and I’m forgotten
But no longer ’cause You see me
I turn around

(Do You see me now)
Turnaround, I turn around
You free me
(Can You free me now)
Turnaround, I turn around
You see me
Turnaround, I turn around and see You

Behind the Song

My son, Coble, is a ham. Mike Myers, best known for his work on “Saturday Night Live” and as Austin Powers, might describe him as he describes himself—”I’m made of 99% ham and 1% water. I was just cooked that way!?

With every word, with every move, at every turn he solicits, “Do you see me?”

“Yes,” I beam with pride. “I see you.”

“You see me,” he says with a satisfied smile.

When director Bill Rahn described his story—his film “Pendulum Swings” to me and the particular concert scene he needed a song for, I could only imagine said query, “Do you see me?”

In the scene, the main character’s youngest daughter gets lost at a concert he and both daughters are attending. He literally “sees her” and recovers her a few, breathtaking moments later. Throughout the film, the main character doubts God or anyone else “sees him” as he fails to gracefully maneuver through betrayal, divorce, and alcoholism. His “turnaround” moment comes when he turns around and sees God the way He sees him. The “pendulum swings” the other way.

Mike Myers credits his parents as the source of his artistic imagination—as do I. In 1987, his father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. By the time Myers joined SNL two years later and his career had begun to take off, his father’s health was deteriorating. (Courtesy of Parade)

“I felt ripped off. Little by little, I was losing the one person I wanted to see what was happening to me,” Myers said. “He was my inspiration… For me, the pain of his dying happened when his sense of humor left his body. It’s as if it left first. That was the hardest part for me… One dude that I wanted to see all of my success, the universe had taken away from me, and I didn’t understand why.” His father died in 1991 prior to his SNL and Austin Powers success.

I’ve always been inspired and moved by the Myers story, but I never imagined my sympathy would turn into empathy. The last time I saw my father alive was at the premiere of “Pendulum Swings.” His health had been deteriorating, but unlike Myers, his passing was unexpected. For me, the pain of his dying started when his strength left his body. He was my biggest fan and loudest cheerleader. He lived long enough to read the press release that read, “Local Composer Scores Film.” More importantly, he lived long enough to see each of his boys rise to the occasion and scratch the surface of their own personal and professional success.

With every word, with every move, at every turn I’d solicit, “Do you see me?”

“Yes,” he beamed with pride. “I see you.”

“He saw me,” I can say with a satisfied smile.

My father spent most of his life trying not to be his father. I’ve spent and will continue to try to be more like mine. I experienced many powerful moments with my father—the birth of my sons, best man in my wedding, working together to resolve a family crisis—but none more powerful than the only time I ever heard him pray out loud for the entire family in the fog of our family crisis. It was a moment I still illustrate in my mind as a son reaching for his Father.

“Do You see me?”

Author Mary E. DeMuth describes Genesis 16:13 and this idea of transparency—fight or flight—in the omniscient, unconditional arms of our heavenly Father. “Hagar is my unlikely, daily-life heroine. Why? Because she encounters God in the midst of a terrible day. Probably the worst day of her life. Hagar embodies her name, which means ‘flight.’ She flees. In the wilderness, hopeless, Hagar encounters the angel of the Lord. He encourages her and gives her direction. At the end of her conversation, she gives God a name—El Roi, the God Who Sees. Hagar is the only person in Scripture to name God. It’s this characteristic of God—His all-seeing ways—that we who work and play and parent must understand and believe. Hagar may be an unlikely heroine—having fled difficult circumstances instead of facing them—but therein lies the serendipitous beauty of God. God sees our own frailty. He meets us as we flee. God gives us hope, encouragement, and his presence so we can meet the challenges and privileges of the workaday world. There is no place God can’t see. There is no situation He cannot discern. He sees it all.”

“Yes,” He beams with pride. “I see you.”

“He sees us,” we can all say with satisfied smiles.

Further Scripture

“For He looks to the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens.” Job 28:24

“For His eyes are upon the ways of a man, and He sees all his steps.” Job 34:21

“The Lord looks from heaven; He sees all the sons of men; from His dwelling place He looks out on all the inhabitants of the earth, He who fashions the hearts of them all, He who understands all their works.” Psalm 33: 13-15

“For the eyes of the Lord move to and fro throughout the earth that He may strongly support those whose heart is completely His.” 2 Chronicles 16:9

Through the Window
by Carol Anne Hartman
February 15, 2011

Tomorrow will make four weeks. FOUR weeks.

That’s pretty much a month. It feels like just yesterday and an eternity all at the same time.

We got the call around 9:15 in the morning on January 18th. My husband’s father had passed away in his sleep the night before. Although his doctors had recently discovered a heart condition that he has likely had his entire life, no one expected this.

NO. ONE.

So we sat in my in-laws’ living room in silence. My mother-in-law’s friends and boss all there in their nurse scrubs. My sister-in-law sitting in her usual spot on the hearth, even though there was no fire burning. My husband and brother-in-law pacing, hugging, crying; both not being able to grasp the situation. And her. My mother-in-law, widowed only hours, sitting in her spot on the loveseat.

There are just no words. Only emotions at that point.

Raw, rough around the edges, not knowing how to deal emotions.

The emotions that come along with losing someone close to you are an odd thing. You know that at some point in your life, it?s coming. You know how you are going to feel. But having never actually felt that way before, the feelings feel foreign and not at all yours. Like looking at your life, but through a broken window. You can see what?s going on, but nothing quite lines up.

When they carried my father-in-law?s body out of the house, no one wanted to see. We all looked away. But then something odd happened. We all had a need to see them put him into the hearse. I don’t know why, but we all moved silently to the double glass doors to watch. I stood on the edge, looking through the decorative part of the window and I remember thinking: this is what my reality looks like. I can see what’s going on, but it’s just not right.

This is a picture of that same window, the same spot I had stood in almost a week before, looking on. This is our lives now. Until we find our “new normal,” this is what life looks like. It’s there. We can see it. But nothing lines up. It’s just not clear.

Brad Dad, I love you. If I could have hand-picked my father-in-law, I could not have picked one better than you.

Brad Evan Hartman, age 59 of Lenoir, passed away at his home on January 18, 2011. Born July 15, 1951 in Waynesboro, VA, Brad was a son of Tessie Eleanor (Bloss) [Hartman] Orlando and the late Harry Clifton Hartman, Jr. Brad was a retired detective with the East Brunswick Police Department in New Jersey. Brad and his family moved to Caldwell County in 1989. He worked many years for the Bank of Granite. He was a member of the East Brunswick PBA and a past Rotary Club member. Brad was an accomplished golfer and an official PGA Golf Apprentice. Brad loved to read, cook and travel. He was a mentor, sports coach and teacher to many. His proudest achievement was the love of his sons, grandsons and family. He was a good friend and a man of his word. He dedicated his life to his family.

In addition to his father, he was preceded in death by three brothers, Gary Steven, Timothy Clayton Hartman and his twin, lost at birth. Surviving are his wife Kathryn Cecilia Hartman of the home; son Jeffery and wife Carol Anne of Conover, son Ryan Timothy and wife Sharon of Lenoir and son MASN Kyle Evan Hartman of the United States Navy; his grandsons Timothy Craig, Coble Alexander and Kellen Andrew Hartman of Conover; his mother and stepfather, Tessie Eleanor (Bloss) [Hartman] Orlando and Everett Stephen Orlando of Madeira Beach, Florida; brother Richard Alan Hartman and wife Jennifer of Seminole, Florida; his nieces and nephews Alicia, Brianna, Kelly, Steven, Patrick, Brian, William and Michael.

Friends and relatives celebrated Brad’s life on Saturday, January 22nd from 2 to 6 pm at The Broyhill House in Lenoir, NC, overlooking a golf course.

Memorials can be made in Brad’s name to The William Breen Memorial Golf Tournament, which he co-founded; payable to PBA Local 145, Post Office Box 4, East Brunswick, NJ 08816.

Pictured below — Brad in Alaska, September 2010