Known Altogether

I have a text of Scripture taped to the sun visor in my car. It is a well-known one: "Before a word is on my tongue, you, O LORD, know it altogether" (Psalm 139:4). This morning, as on many mornings, as I was on my hour-long commute, with the car on cruise and the radio off, the import of those words struck me again.

You see, my head is a pretty noisy place. There is always something to think about, always something to notice, to wonder at, always a new path to explore. Some of those paths lead nowhere at all, but provide several hours of delightful wandering. Sometimes, I can grab hold of an idea that forms a logical path that leads to ideas that can be explained and shared. Sometimes, there is no discernible path, only a flash of insight that defies all explanation but that explains everything.

Living with that noise in my head means that I love my long lonely commutes, and that my radio is often off. I value the gift of silence. Noise, or even sound, sometimes feels like a physical barrier that imprisons me. It presses in on me, binds me tight like a straitjacket. The expectation of conversation can sometimes feel overwhelming. Silence sets me free. Silence is standing in the middle of a wide-open field, or on the top of a cliff, with an unobstructed view. In silence, my mind can soar, and I feel free.

So, this morning, in the silence, with my mind soaring, thinking I don't-even-know-what-all, my eyes fell on this text. "Before a word is on my tongue, you, O LORD, know it altogether." And in that moment, in that moment when all moments coalesce in one perfect, heart-stopping breath, I felt known. I felt seen. And I felt loved.

Known by a God who knows all those tangled, noisy thoughts better than I know them myself. Seen by a God who does not require me to translate my thoughts into spoken word. Loved by a God who is comfortable in the silence, who is quite willing to sit in the silence with me, and who does not find it odd.

"You have the gift of silence. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion."

And in that moment, for a moment, the noise in my head stopped, too.

And all was silent.

Known. Seen. Loved. Altogether.

And I breathed in peace.