Sunday, September 5, 2010

Do you know me?

I miss being known.

I knew this was coming… I mentioned it before we moved. 
And here it is…it’s unavoidable. I miss being known

I miss walking into a room and glancing across to a familiar face and knowing that they know me. Where I am not worried about what people think if my kids act out, if they are eating McDonalds, or if they are watching Go Diego. Because I know the know me. They knew me before I had children, they knew my heart, they listened to what I had to say. 
They trusted me… They respected me…   They knew me.

I was somebody...I don’t mean that pridefully either. But after 8 years of living and loving and investing deeply in a church and community, I felt like somebody… Somebody who was known.

I could laugh with them, and joke with them, and be a little sarcastic with them... and they knew. 
       They knew I was just being me

They knew I could be ridiculously silly 1 minute, and crying over my sin the next.  They knew I was a good mom even if my 10month old was not sleeping through the night, or if my 2 year old threw yet another tantrum in the hallway.

They knew my story, and they were a part of it. And I just miss that.   I miss being known by those people.  I miss the ease of our relationships...being able to call someone on a whim for a last minute playdate. Or to not have to apologize about a messy house, laundry on the couch, or dishes in the sink.

I miss the glances in the hallway that meant more to me than any 30 minute conversations--- those glances that say --
“I know you, I love you, I am praying for you,
            and I am right here with you friend”

There is something very comforting about being known.
It is safe. Even in seasons where depth is lacking or when time is limited... you can rest easy in the comfort of being known.
Because you are not alone.  These people are your people...

They may not all be your best friends, but these people know you.  They have wept with you and rejoiced with you, they have seen God provide in amazing ways, and you don’t have to explain to them your history.
           Because they know.

And I miss that.
Because now...I am a nobody (not really, but I’m just making a point here).  It’s not that I am a nobody really… just that I am not known yet.   And I have no personal resume I can hand to them to let them know that I am a great person with a lot to offer and a huge heart ready to be their best friend.

I am meeting and greeting and smiling and trying to remember names. Wondering... “What do they think of me? Will my children embarrass me? Will I fit in? ” How long will it be before I can rest in the comfort of being known here?

So today, I rest in the One who knew me in my mother’s womb. Who knows the numbers of hairs on my head.   Who knew me before the creation of the world.  Who loves me (and my wild children)  

He is a God Who knows.

**disclaimer— Everyone here has been more than friendly and welcoming.  Just this afternoon I wrote down well over 50 names of women I have met (and those are the ones whose names I can remember).  I love it here… it’s just that it will take some time before I am known here.