Do You Long to Be Known?

“Did we know each other thirty years ago?”

My husband and I recently attended a reunion of the 524th Bomb Squadron (BMS) in conjunction with a celebration commemorating the 25th anniversary of the closing of Wurtsmith Air Force Base in Oscoda, Michigan, on the shores of Lake Huron. (That’s about knuckle high on your pointer finger–if you aren’t from Michigan, check out this hand map, and you’ll understand)

My husband was a B-52 pilot, and this was our first base assignment as newlyweds. We called Wurtsmith home for four years, and our first child was born there. Wurtsmith and Oscoda hold cherished memories.

The BRAC Commission Armed Forces draw down placed Wurtsmith on the base closure list in 1991, and the front gates were closed for the last time in 1993. Everyone moved somewhere. Some people crossed paths with each other during their Air Force careers. Not us. We never saw any of the 524th BMS people again.

So here we were, in a room full of people we weren’t sure we knew, searching the deep recesses of our memories for shared experiences. Hence the opening line, “Did we know each other thirty years ago?”

Far from being awkward, that question prompted conversation. It allowed others to be okay with not remembering me, as I clearly did not remember them. It led us to ask each other what we had been involved in while we were there.

“Did you bowl in the ladies or couples league?”

“Were you part of the Officers Wives Club?”

“What did you do after Wurtsmith? Where did you live? What are your kids doing? Where are you now?”

In one conversation with some women, I shared I was training for a mini-triathlon. “Why?” one of them asked.

“Because I want to be interesting.”

The deeper, unspoken longing was to be interesting enough for them to want to know me.

All of us had husbands who flew planes for a living. Some, like my husband, are still pilots. It’s a profession people find fascinating. My husband has great stories to tell, and he’s often the center of attention in conversation. He doesn’t seek it; it just happens. It’s easy for me to fall into the trap of feeling invisible and uninteresting.

The instant I confessed my motivation, heads nodded. I get that, one gal mouthed. Another revealed she likes living in the small town where she teaches because she’s “famous.” People know her.

We all shared the common bond of living in the shadow of men who are larger than life to most people because of what they do. It didn’t matter that we didn’t know each other thirty years ago. We knew each other then, in a way that transcended time. In that moment we bonded, however briefly, over the shared need to be known, to be interesting in our own right.

We’re created with a longing to be known. We seek it in our roles as women, moms, and wives. We seek it in our jobs and accomplishments. We seek it in signing up for a triathlon when we hate to exercise. We do crazy, crazy things in this quest to be known, to be interesting, only to discover they’re all temporary fillers of that hollow space in our spirit.

The truth is we are already known—deeply and intimately by the God who created us. The psalmist invites us to know this as confidently as he did:

“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…For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be…when I awake, I am still with you” ( NIV).

No matter how long it’s been since we’ve come into God’s presence—a day, a week, or a lifetime—we don’t have to ask him if he remembers us or ever knew us. The answer is yes. He has always known us and beckons us to let him satisfy our craving to be known through a saving relationship with Jesus Christ.

The triathlon was a great conversation-starter, but it was our topic for only thirty seconds before we moved on. Still, it reminded me of what I so easily forget: what we do will never truly fulfill our need to be known.

Paul writes that all who are known to God through Jesus Christ are His poiema, his work of art, his masterpiece with multi-dimensional depth of character, vibrant with color, passion, and beauty. Our experiences, relationships, quirky senses of humor, and the myriad unique skills, gifts, and talents God created in us make us interesting. When we’re willing to be vulnerable and share our God-given uniqueness, we’ll find those shared intersections of life that invite relationship.

It doesn’t matter if that relationship is three minutes in conversation at a reunion or for thirty years. Relationships are what satisfy our craving to be known. Our relationship with Jesus. Our relationship with God. Our relationships with others.

Be confident that God has known you, does know you, and will always know you. You, my friend, are interesting! Share yourself with someone else who also needs to be known.

Denise Roberts loves doing life with her husband, Blake, morning snuggles with her one-hundred-pound chocolate Lab, French fries, and Chick-fil-A lemonade. She’s an empty-nester mom who prays she didn’t mess up her kids too badly. Her greatest joy is writing about her experiences when Jesus steps on her toes, picks her up, and dusts her off so others can discover him at the intersection of faith and life for themselves. Connect with her at www.deniseroberts.org.

Photograph © Raw Pixel, used with permission