You trace my journeys and my resting-places
And are acquainted with all my ways.
—Psalm 139:2 

Sometimes it makes me smile to imagine that God is acquainted with all my ways. God knows that I sing to my border collie. And God knows that I love the aroma of newly turned earth in the spring. God knows I am a Texan through and through and that I love being bilingual.

And God knows that my way through illness is an odd journey. No one besides me and God knows what this body feels like from the inside out. No one besides me and God knows the subtle signs of trouble which can be addressed or ignored (to my peril). No one besides me and God is acquainted with my inner conversation about the various daily decisions that might support my healing (or not).

One of our struggles is the deepening realization that God in Christ is far more intimate with us than we ever dreamed. It easier to reject a God I can hold at arm’s length. It is easier to walk away from that false “Old Man in the Sky” or “The Great Accountant” or “The God Who Sends Us to Hell.”

What if all of that is false? What if every one of those images is nothing more than a puff of wind, a bit of smoke, a passing illusion? What if this God who knows me intimately, knows this illness, is indeed acquainted with all my ways, and cherishes the singularity of my life as God’s own creation? What if it truly is all about a love that we can barely imagine?

Gentle Christ, You know me through and through and in that knowing You offer love and delight, mercy and wisdom. As I walk with this illness, may I remember that You know well each detail, each aspect, each moment of my life, and that you encircle me with your presence. Amen.

Practice: <listen>

Reference Note: All  psalms are taken from the psalter in The Book of Common Prayer, 1979.