A couple of weeks ago I had my hair highlighted. This is always an interesting endeavor for me, because I have really weird hair. It’s just like a baby’s — it is so very soft and so very fine that I am just eternally grateful God gave me curls. If it were straight I would be much worse off. No one on earth has a clue as to how to style it — a “blow out” results in muffled snickers all around and an immediate shower when I get home. So I never let anyone touch it. I always leave the salon with sopping wet hair despite nervous and yet fervent protests.
That Thursday I had an appointment with my usual stylist but had to reschedule for Friday due to some vehicular damage — a whole other story. Anyway, instead of my guy, Nash, I had this lovely woman who tried to reassure me that she wouldn’t damage my hair. I found this horrifying. “Oh no,” I said, “that’s why I’m here. The whole point is to damage my baby fine hair into twice it’s actual thickness. Damage is my goal.”
I’m not sure if the other patron had already arrived at this point or not, but in the course of the next few minutes, another client began talking to the stylist. This other client talked about plans to travel to New Zealand and her baby, and really it’s hard not to listen in on those salon conversations. But I couldn’t look over at her because she was kind of behind me. When my hair was all foiled, and I stood up to walk over to the dryer, this other client greeted me with, “Oh, Sharp Sticks!”
I cannot even tell you how much this made my day! This beautiful, young mama had been at a MOPS group where I spoke last spring. In fact, I had the opportunity to talk to her quite a bit that day in May and felt almost like I was catching up with an old friend at the salon. We may not have readily remembered each other’s names, but we nonetheless had a connection that was more than just oh-I’ve-seen-you-before.
We all have an unquenchable longing to be known, and there’s something unbelievably satisfying about having different parts of our worlds collide in unexpected ways. I had a different kind of small-world experience in the last few days. I’m taking wobbly, timid steps towards employment, because I think it’s probably about time. So I had lunch with my favorite professor from law school a couple of weeks ago. He put me in contact with his wife, also an attorney, and I met her for lunch this week. She told me I should reach out to another alum from my law school — and he has something of an average-joe kind of name. When I went to look him up, I realized I already know him because our sons both pitched on a championship-winning baseball team together. Now, what are the chances of all that?
But as much as I just adore when my world feels a little bit smaller, a little bit more interconnected, no one knows me like the Lord Jesus himself. No one remembers more, no one forgives more, no one knows me to the core like He does. Do you ever stop to think that He knew you in your mother’s womb? The Psalmist wrote “you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb” (139:13). He’s loved you since before you took your first breath. And He knows when your days on this earth will end. Every moment of every day He knows you, and He loves you.
We all have a longing to be truly known and to be truly loved. Have you come to realization that YOU are? Every moment — no matter how beautiful or how ugly that particular moment happens to be — you are deeply loved, and even though He knows you already, He longs for you to KNOW Him. I hope you do, my friend, I hope you do.