When I was about eight years old, a woman walked up to me on my way home from school and asked me if I knew a man named Jesus.  It was a bright, spring day…with flowers blooming all around us.  I remember the bottom of my pant legs being all wet and dirty from having dragged my feet through too many puddles.  I remember the sun starting to feel warmer and for the first time in months, I had my coat crumpled up in a ball in the my backpack instead of wrapped around me trying to keep the cold out.

For three blocks, this lady walked alongside me telling me about this friend of hers; his life…his family…his nice smile.  I had my thumbs tucked in the straps of my bag while every now and then, I would look up at her both puzzled and curious.  She spoke to me in the most of gentle of voices but with the most passionate of excitement.  Though she could tell that I had never her met her friend…I could tell that she really wanted me to.

I was very well versed as a child in regards to strangers and I knew not to speak to them.  My Mother had taught me well.  And yet, it never occurred to me to proceed with caution when this woman follow me home with tales of a man who – for all I knew – could have been her neighbor.  Nor did my Mother seem overly fazed when this same woman showed up at our house the next afternoon with two Bibles in her hand.  One of which is sitting on my bookshelf as I type this.

She left my life as quickly as she came into it…vanishing around the corner of our street, never to be seen again.  I don’t think of her all that often but the truth was…I didn’t know her friend, Jesus.  I had never even heard of him.  But he sounded like a really great man…like someone that I wanted to meet.

Decades later, I was sitting in a coffee shop late one summer day.  The setting sun was rushing in through windows giving everything in its path a warm glow.  At the table next to me sat two teenage girls wearing flip flops and sun dresses.  Their nails were painted with bright colours and they kept chewing on the ends of their straws as they talked.  They had been discussing with giddy laughter this boy that they knew.  This boy that they adored.  This boy that made their hearts skip a beat.

It wasn’t until much later in the evening that I realized they were talking about Jesus.  This Jewish carpenter that loved and forgave and taught and sacrificed.  The same Jesus that I had once heard about on my way home from school.

These two teenager girls were so in love with God that they hardly knew what to do with themselves.  They were smitten with Jesus the way most girls are smitten with teenage heart throbs.  They radiated joy…faith…peace.  They read His words with gratitude…they shared His words with confidence…and they believed His words with every fiber of their being.  It was one of the most beautiful things that I’ve ever seen.

And that’s when part of me wanted to pull my chair up and sit right next to them.  I wanted to join in the conversation and hear more about this boy that made them blush…this boy that filled their hearts with so much love that they could barely contain it.  He sounded like a really great boy…like someone that I wanted to meet.

I don’t really experience God like that.  I felt God on the streets of Italy…in the skies over Australia…on the shores of Hawaii.  I felt God on the day my children were born and sometimes in the dark hours when I’m awake with them.  But I don’t often experience God while doing the dishes or driving during rush hour. I don’t stop people on the street to talk about Him and I don’t get lost in His words over coffee with girlfriends.  I just don’t know God that way…I’ve never met Him that way.  And I always just assumed that it was because that’s how God wanted my relationship with Him to be and not because that’s how I had created it to be.

A couple of weeks ago,  I read a book that stated our most basic understanding of God tends to be formed around our most basic understanding of our Fathers.  As I read the words…I needed to put them down.  As they spread like wild fire in my mind…I needed something to extinguish them.  These words both comforted and terrified me all at the same time.  I found comfort because this explains so much of my relationship with God up until now and I felt terrified because…I don’t actually have a relationship with my Father anymore.

My Father and I have a complicated history.  We’ve shared beautiful seasons of our lives together and have many memories to choose from…but at the end of the day…we couldn’t make it work.  It’s been years since we’ve spoken and while I certainly wish that things could be different…I am able to accept the necessary condition of our relationship as a by-product for the happiness we both deserve.

I don’t – however – accept this as an option for my relationship with God.

As I paced around my house with these words lingering in the other room…my mind began to scramble with the implications.  My mind began to panic with the possibilities.  It then struck me like a ton of bricks; the difference between this relationship and any other…was me.  While I share the responsibility for the rise and fall of other relationships in my life, when it comes to God…I’m only as close to Him as I choose to be.

With the weight of this new reality feeling heavy on my shoulders, I mournfully began to backtrack through my steps.  I attended church…I went to Bible study…I participated in communion…I shared in God’s love for other people.  But right there…amongst the very words that I was hiding from…was my problem…

What I needed…was to know God.  What I didn’t need…was to know more about God.

I knew a lot about my Father.  I knew that he loved beautiful things.  I knew that he thrived as a citizen of the world.  I knew that he loved home and the friends that he shared it with.  I knew that he was brilliant and creative and diverse.  I knew that he enjoyed fine food and good wine.

I knew that I loved him and I knew that I wanted to be loved by him.

I also know a lot about my God.  I know that He loves his children deeply and like a parent, struggles watching us make our mistakes.  I know that He hurts when He sees them drift.  I know that He forgives them and cherishes them and relishes in them.  I know that He cares about the little things as much as the big things.  I know that He desires our world to be a better place.

I know that I love Him and I know that I want to be loved by Him.

And this always seemed like enough to me.  That knowing about Him was enough for this relationship.  For any relationship.  I see clearly now that knowing about someone isn’t a relationship at all.  I believe that this eluded me for so long because – when it comes to human relationships – I can’t control how much a person is willing to let me know them.  I can’t force a person to open up…to humble themselves…to trust.  And in turn, frailty follows.  But in my relationship with God, the only person that needs to surrender themselves…is me.  By not knowing God; by not knowing the depths of His character…the infinity of His love…the true sense of His compassion…means that I have missed the most fundamental part of what God wants us to understand…

Knowing about God means understanding that He loves His children…He forgives His children…He adores His children…He will never fail His children…He will hold His children in the palm of His hand and walk with them through this life…in the good and in the bad.  Knowing about God means knowing that none of us are ever alone.

But truly knowing God means understanding that He loves me…He forgives me…He adores me…He will never fail me…He will hold me in the palm of His hand and walk with me through this life…in the good and in the bad.

Knowing God means knowing that I am never alone.

I don’t know my Father and it’s not likely anymore that I ever will.  I don’t know what he fundamentally values…I don’t know his insecurities…I don’t know his fears.  I only know about him.  And I have to be okay with that.

But I’m realizing that – thankfully – it doesn’t have to be this way with my Heavenly Father.  I’m realizing that – anytime I want – I can sit with Him…I can talk with Him…and I can know Him.  I’m realizing that every single day from here on in can be better than any day thus far…because I get to truly know God.  And, as a result, I get to know myself through Him.

This is huge.  This is soul shaking.  This is game changing.

Because this means that my God hasn’t just been teaching me to love other people…it means He’s been teaching me that – I too – am loved.  It means that I am the very essence of what he’s been trying to help me learn.  As challenging as its been.

Through random encounters on the way home from school and giddy teenagers at Starbucks.  On the streets of Italy…over the skies of Australia…on the shores of Hawaii.  On the day my children were born and in the dark hours when I’m awake with them at night.

It turns out that – all this time – Jesus was actually trying to meet me…