He Knows Us

I have a favorite barn cat. Her name is Puffy. If you looked at her picture, you would see a long-haired black-and-white cat. You wouldn’t know how old she is, or where she had her kittens last year, or that her favorite place to sit is on my stocking cap when I am wearing it.

Doesn’t everyone have a thinking cat?

I know those things because I know Puffy. She has been a part of my life and a part of the ecosystem of our farm for the past four years. She is known here.

You may look at another picture and see a cow and her calf. I know that the black cow is Flicka and the calf is her very first one, a heifer named Sko. You see, I know Flicka and Sko. I know when and where they were born. I know that Flicka’s mother hid her in some cattails, and I had to search for her. I know Flicka’s grandmother only has one horn and is the boss of our herd. Four generations of this cow family are known and loved on this farm.

I know all of this information. I care for these animals daily. I call them by their names.

But they are just animals, and I am just a human.

How much more does our heavenly Father know and care for us?

David knew that same kind of knowing and expressed it in Psalm 139: “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 of my ways.” (Psalm 139:1-3 NIV)

We are known, far beyond a personal level. To a molecular level, a soul level.

God knows us. Not just our names, and not just where we were born. He knows what makes our eyes sparkle and our tears fall. He knows what has happened to us. He knows how he will use it.

Jesus taught the importance of being known. In the Gospel of John, he tells us that the shepherd knows his sheep and calls them by name: “When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice” (John 10:4-5).

When we are in communion with God, we know his voice. We hear him speak to us, call to us.

Jesus goes on, “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me – just as the Father knows me and I know the Father – and I lay down my life for the sheep.”

Friends, we are not only known, we are loved. Loved so much and to such a degree that Jesus would die for us.

Maybe you don’t feel that known. Maybe you don’t feel that loved.

Draw close to Jesus. Read his words. I find John’s Gospel speaks well to my wounded spirit. Read how Jesus is the light of the world, sent to bring us out of darkness (John 1). Read how Jesus refused to condemn a woman and challenged the patriarchy on her behalf (John 8). Read how Jesus washed the feet of his disciples to show his servanthood (John 13).

Jesus isn’t a guy who lived long ago and did some nice stuff for others. He rose from the dead and lives now, within us. He is longing to know us and for us to know him as well. He loved you enough to die for you. Let him live in you!

When I walk the pastures and fields of my farm, I call to my animals. I scratch their favorite itchy spots. I laugh at their antics. I check on the ones who are old or sick. Friends, I am just a farmer caring for her livestock.

How much more does God care for us?

How much more does he laugh with us? Cry with us? Love us?

We are God’s creation and his delight. We are known by him. David wrote, “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” (Psalm 139:5-6 NIV).

We may think we can escape, that we can do life on our own. “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far edge of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast” (Psalm 139:7-10).

We were created to be known, to be loved. All we have to do is step forward, into the loving arms of our father, and go home.

Annie Carlson is rooted like a turnip to the plains of North Dakota where she raises great food, large numbers of farm animals, and three free-range kids with her husband. You can find her with either a book or knitting needles in her hands as she dreams up her next adventure.

Cows and Cat Photographs © Annie Carlson; Grain Photograph © Bas van den Eijkhof, used with permission