He. Knows.

I’ve been thinking about how much He knows.

The path around the pond is invisible if you don’t know it, covered thickly in leaves. As I sat beside the pond, leaves fell, and acorns fell, and I saw millions — literally millions — of things, though I did not consciously notice all of them.

If He knows my rising up and my sitting down, if He scrutinizes my path — and He does — He knew each leaf, each acorn that I crushed under my boots this morning. He knew how they got there, how they grew, how they were changed by my passing feet.

And if He understands my thought from afar — not even I understand my thought — He understood each of the millions of things that came within my line of vision to be processed by my thoughts, to form the image that I saw.

He numbers the stars, the hairs on my head.

He knows when a sparrow falls, and if He knows that He must also know when sparrows do not fall. He must know when they fly, how each feather on each wing moves, catches the wind. He must know each twig around which tiny sparrow feet cling.

And if He knows each twig, He knows the trees on which they grow, the angles of the branches, the texture of the bark, the paths by which the sap flows from deep-reaching roots to tender tree-top. He knows each leaf, from its emergence in knobbly bud to the day it flutters, butterfly-like, to earth. He knows the pattern of veins in each leaf, though no two are alike, knows how their corners curl, knows each spot and imperfection, and each perfection.

leaf

Not of all leaves in general, but of each specific leaf, of the specific leaf I turned between thumb and forefinger, the specific leaf whose lines I traced with my eyes this morning. He knew its brown and its green tinges, knew how one part disintegrated, leaving an area of delicate web-work. He knew all that before I saw it, before I picked it up. And He knows where it is now, whether it remains where I dropped it on the dusty deck-boards, whether it was blown away, covered by other leaves.

He knows.

This is too-high knowledge, too-wonderful, unattainable.

I cannot think of anything He does not know. I cannot think anything He does not know.

And I could trace out details, go with a magnifying glass along the path and examine each leaf, each mark in the dirt. I could speculate until my mind was exhausted, imagine until my imagination was used up, but never outstrip His knowledge.

It makes me feel small, insignificant.

And yet, and yet, He knows me. He cares to know me, to name me, to set His love on me, to die for me.

He declares me precious.

 

©2013 by Stacy Nott

 

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