Dear Friends,

When my oldest son was two years old, he used to do this thing. Oftentimes he did this when he was tired, or frustrated, or lonely. He would pull on me and say, “Sing about me?”

And so, I’d lift him onto my lap, hold him close, and sing.

We sang about the oatmeal he had for breakfast, how he had blueberries and said no to the cream.

We sang about the consequence he got an hour ago for refusing to obey.

We sang about how he played with the excavator he got for his birthday, and how kind he was to share it with his baby brother.

We sang about how he had to take a bath after jumping in the sand, and how he screamed because he didn’t want to.

We sang about everything, and he loved every second.

At first this perplexed me. This fussy, upset baby was calmed and quieted by a song about his day. His real, nothing special, ordinary day.

And then it hit me:

We were made for this.

We were made with a desire to be known. In all our real life, nothing special, ordinary selves.

Jesus sings a song — an individual, personal song — to every single one of the 8 billion people breathing oxygen at this moment.

I know when you sit. I know when you rise. I know the words you will say before you say them. Yes, the boring, regular words like when you order your coffee or comfort your baby. I am there when you summit a mountain and feel the exhilaration of a hard-won victory. I am there in the valley where your heart feels like it may very well bleed out entirely.

I know you. I think more thoughts about you every day than there are bits of sand on the seashore. I knew you even before your mother knew you were being formed in her womb. You were my secret, and I was making you beautiful and wonderful.

Yes, Psalm 139 is a song.

He sings, and He sings, and He sings. And if we have ears to hear His song, our anxious, frustrated hearts will calm and quiet as we lean up against Him and listen.

We are known.

— Anna