When I close my eyes I can see my son’s face. The dimples. The smile. I can hear his precious little giggle, and the way he flaps his arms when he gets excited. I can remember the soft feel of his skin when he throws his arms around my neck for a hug or reaches out his tiny hand to grab mine.
He is my son. I know him. I am wonderfully blessed to be able to work in a career that affords me a generous amount of time with him every day. I relish every precious moment of it. At this point in his young life, I know everything there is to know about him.
I’ve spent a lot of time in ministry teaching, preaching, and training people to join their heart to their mind in “knowing God”. Something I’ve spent much less time thinking about is how well He already knows me. My needs, my laugh, my idiosyncrasies, and guffaws. He knows all that could, would, or ever will be known about me.
For some that line of thought may be potentially terrifying. I find it gloriously freeing. We spend so much time in this life playing to the mob, trying to appease the expectations of those around us, fearful that they may discover us for the phonies that we are.
How amazing that God, who knows me, died for me, not just in spite of myself, but to bring me around to an altogether different destiny. I am His. He knows me.