Do You Know Me?

You say you know me, but do you?

You say you’re my “friend.”

You keep using that word, but I don’t think you understand.

Follower… kind of… sometimes.

You can’t see me sitting here, I know. You see my “highlight reel.” You see what I “like.” You see some of my “comments.” You know, I agree and disagree with your opinions. You see the theology you think I hold or don’t… from what you can gather.

But we can’t really see each other. We can’t really know each other if you don’t pursue understanding, if you don’t listen for my “why,” and if you don’t, set down your own rosy-colored glasses to see things the way I’d like to show you.

I have thoughts and feelings.

I am a person.

I’m more than the words you read on your screen.

I move into the intricate details of others’ lives you know nothing about.

I’ve seen things you know nothing about.

I’ve met the broken crying in the middle of the night.

I’ve gone face to face with addiction.

I’ve wrestled and contended with people for promises.

I’ve seen children abused, my words twisted and misused.

So many refuse to know my heart but claim they do. These people who, by association, use my name to drop just to get what they want, but there’s no real history.

You claim to know me, but do you?

Traditionally, acquaintance is “close enough.”

Culturally, this distance is appropriate “enough.”

After all, my words are public, my history published, reviewed, read, and checked off… and you think you know me.

I have things to say. I have thoughts and plans.

But you wouldn’t ever know it stopping where you do.

Me over here. You over there.

Black and white words are fixed on the screen, dividing us. You’re content with your assumptions. You’re content with just enough of me.

Maybe I’m “too much” for you? You’ll never know if you stay over there.

There’s more to me. So much more than you’re seeing.

We could build a history together. We could start today. I could clear out my schedule and let you in close. You can trust me.

My character doesn’t change. It’s the same yesterday, today, and will be the same tomorrow. But you could also search me forever and never know all of me.

If you really wanted to.

The screen on my side’s already been torn down, cracked, shattered. The cost has already been paid. If you’d just open the door.

Or I could just keep waiting, hoping you will eventually move from being satisfied with your principles and understanding to a perfect micromanaged world you already understand.

But I wish you’d pursue my presence more than just the principles you think you’re gleaning from the text.

I’m freedom, I’m truth, and I’m Profound Love, your Maker, your Guide, your Redeemer… if you’d have me.

Or you could stay content with those black-and-white words and never know me experientially.

You say you know me, but do I know you?