I bent over the open fridge door, straining to see the top shelf. It was Sunday, my husband was home, and I needed to come up with something for lunch. The kids like peanut butter and honey sandwiches. I don't mind them. Tim usually doesn't care for them much. He prefers leftovers.
I grabbed the bread bag off the top shelf and untwisted the tie. Tim brushed by me on his way through the kitchen.
"No," he said.
My hands stilled. "What?"
"That question you were gonna ask. Just no."
What the -? "What question was I gonna ask?"
"You'll see." He grinned and headed back to the bedroom to change clothes.
What in the world is he talking about? I'm not going to ask him a question. I grabbed the peanut butter and put my husband's ridiculousness out of my mind. Honey next. How many slices of bread do I need for the kids? Oh, maybe Tim wants one. "Tim, did you want... a... sandwich... Oh." My voice trailed off mid-sentence as I realized I just asked the question he had already given me an answer to.
We both burst into laughter, but underneath the hilarity, it felt good. It felt right that my husband knows me so well that he'll know what I'm gonna say sometimes before I even say it.
That intimate knowledge covers a lot of stuff. Not just the good, but the bad and the ugly too. I don't hide from him. He knows all of me.
Kinda like that Creator God, you know? The one that "created my inmost being; [He] knit me together in my mother’s womb." (Psalm 139:13). It feels good to be known. To be known like that. I'm never going to surprise God. He'll never be shocked at what I come up with next. I'm glad I can be exactly who He made me to be, quirks, hangups, dorky-ness, stubborness, fetish for mayonnaise, the whole sha-bang.
Thanks, God. I really like that about You. :)