Known by Heart
Last week, a friend from our home church in South Carolina sent me a message. Her text spoke of a show about a couple renovating a French chateau, uncovering secret passages, and searching for hidden treasure. Then she told me how she thought of me every time she watched a new episode.
From the moment I sat down to watch the first episode of the show, I understood why it would cause her to think of me. The dusty corridors of the ancient chateau. The excitement of discovering forgotten rooms behind paneled walls. The historical research to track down clues about potential treasures. It was exactly the sort of thing that makes my heart race with delight.
As I watched the couple navigate their renovation adventure, something unexpected settled over me like a Welsh mist. We've been in Wales for nearly 3 and 1/2 years now, but it wasn't until this simple message from my friend that I understood just how much I miss being truly known.
While we've made many lovely acquaintances in our little Welsh community, we haven't yet established the depth of friendships we had back home. The kind where someone knows exactly what would delight you without explanation. The kind where you don't have to explain your quirks because they're already familiar with your peculiarities and love you because of them, not despite them.
It's a curious sort of homesickness, not for a place, but for being understood.
Yet even as that realization washed over me, another truth surfaced with comforting certainty: there is One who has always known me completely.
"O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off." (Psalm 139:1-2)
The God who knit me together understands my fascination with history's mysteries and secret passages. He knows why certain stories captivate me while others don't. He recognizes the patterns of my thoughts better than I do myself and loves me anyway.
When I feel the ache of not being fully known in my new community, I can rest in the knowledge that I am fully known by my Creator. He doesn't need time to understand me or discover my quirks. He authored them.
There's profound comfort in being completely known and completely loved simultaneously. It's something we seek in human relationships and occasionally find glimpses of, but only God offers it perfectly and constantly.
Perhaps that's why those moments when a friend "gets" us feel so precious. They're earthly echoes of an eternal reality. We were designed to be known. Not superficially, but deeply, thoroughly, intimately.
So while I continue building new friendships in Wales and patiently waiting for those relationships to deepen, I'm treasuring this reminder that I am never truly a stranger. The One who counts the hairs on my head (and there are many) also counts my tears, celebrates my joys, and even understands why I'd be delighted by a show about hidden passages and treasure hunts in an old French chateau. I am known, understood, and loved.