You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
How do I want to be known?
Who am I? Tim’s wife, my children’s mother, my parents’
daughter, Babbaw or Grammy Penny. Or perhaps you knew me when I was a quilter
and crafter, a librarian who read to your children, the volleyball coach, or
the lady who rode her bicycle all over town. Maybe you know me now—as
a writer, a reader, or a reviewer.
In whatever phase of life I’ve been known, I strive to be
recognized as a follower of Jesus. As I continue to work through my story and
purpose along the path God sets for me, I pray I leave a trail of kindness and
encouragement.
In the psalm, the writer, David, confirms God knows him. Not
as a passerby, but as an in-depth relational bond. The Father sees when he gets
up, lays down, comes and goes, and every word on his heart and tongue. David
must have been humbled by this realization, as I am. When I stop and think
about God seeing, hearing, and knowing everything I do, I’m a little taken
back. He’s known me since I was a tiny embryo, and now he sees me with white
hair and (ahem) a few wrinkles.
He sees my ugly and my beautiful. And loves me anyway.
God hems me in—in other words, I cannot hide from
Him. There is not one thing I can bury, cover up, or camouflage. He sees my
heart, my intentions, and my failures. He hears my words and follows me on
social media. Seriously, God is aware of all of our comings and goings. Sounds
a bit overwhelming, right?
But it’s not. When we live as though our heavenly Father
knows us, then we live in obedience, serving one another in love.
Be the person God nods at and acknowledges as the one trying
to do his or her best.
