I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands
I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go
He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call
I like that song, I like it along. But I thought of something the other day that made me like it even more.
I attend a church that is semi-large. For much of my life, I was the preacher’s kid, so everybody knew me. People all over the state of Florida still know me because of who my parents are. One of the things I love about my church is that I’m NOT the “PK” at my church. But sometimes, in a larger church, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. Most of the time I love that! But, every now and then I get in a funky mood where I start to wonder if I missed church, if people would even miss me. It’s usually when I’m in a feeling sorry for myself kind of mood. My logical mind knows that my church attendance and the stuff I do at my church matter to God, not to the people at my church. I know that, but still, every now and then I get “in the flesh” and turn into a whiny baby.
A while ago, something kind of strange happened and when I was getting out of my car and my pastor saw me! He called me and asked me if everything was OK. This situation wasn’t caused by him, it had nothing to do with him, but he was worried that I might be upset. He said “Sandi, are you all right” and he apologized for this thing, EVEN though it wasn’t his fault! It was right before AWANA started so I talked to him, and then went on through my night. Later that night, when I got home, I started thinking about the whole thing and I got a little verklempt! I was shocked that my pastor, who has so many other things to worry about, KNEW that I might be upset. I was touched that he CARED that I might be upset. And to be perfectly honest, I was amazed most of all that he called me by name. I wasn’t just Bobby Jimmerson’s daughter; I wasn’t Robyn or Patti’s sister, I wasn’t Ken, Josh or Makiah’s aunt. I wasn’t the teacher in Room 18, wasn’t just the AWANA lady or the Junior Church person. He knew, asked about and cared about ME!
Then it hit me – and I got even more verklempt. How much more amazing is it that God knows my name? He has even more things to be concerned about than my pastor. The things that matter to me, matter to Him. When I’m upset, He knows – and He cares. It says even the hairs of our head are numbered. He knows how many stars there are, and He calls them all by name. But He still knows MY name. My hopes, my dreams, my wishes, my wants, my hurts – they all matter to Him.
I love my pastor, and I’m so glad that through him, I was reminded of the great love of my God.