A few weeks ago, I was putting together a photo collage of my granddaughter Juliette to post on facebook for her fourteenth birthday. As this picture popped up on my screen, I was first drawn to Jules’ image. All our grandchildren loved their Papa’s toys, and it was always a treat when he took them for a motorcycle ride. It was a perfect choice to add to my collection.

But for some reason, I became fixated on the image of Tim. I enlarged the picture and slowly absorbed every inch. I noticed how his thumb was resting on the “start” button. How focused he was on what he’s doing, and not on the photo being taken. And doggone it, there had to be one of those blasted cigarettes dangling from his lips.

The picture made me realize how well I knew every inch of that man. The way he pushed his sunglasses on the top of his head. How that vein in the crease of his elbow always protruded. And all those lines on his face – I could map each one. Then I laughed out loud remembering how much I loved the tiny little white hairs that covered his earlobes.

On and on I went marveling at how intimately I knew Tim. And how there’s not just emotional or sexual intimacy, but physical intimacy as well. And how grateful I am to have experienced all those levels with him.

“You have searched me Lord, and you know me,” the Psalmist says. “My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place…”

Oh, how many times have I read that without fully grasping its meaning? How easily I brush aside the reality that God does know how many hairs are on my head. How interesting that an ordinary picture of Tim could provide such a vivid image of how well God knows me.

I will never get over the loss of Tim. And maybe I’m not supposed to. For I believe, God did not create us for temporal relationships, but for ones that never end. And in that eternity, we were to know and be known by all. Including our God.