"to know You..."

"To know You,
is to want to know You more..."

Sometimes a song brings me back to a moment when the scene shifted so completely that I could never see the world, or hear a word,  in the same way again. Casting Crowns'  "To Know You"  did that for me this morning.

It was over three decades ago. I was ready. I was taking the step I'd been yearning for since high school. I was taking primary class in Christian Science. I was eager to discover more of what it meant to heal as Jesus healed.

But I was also nervous. I knew that I could only take this course once. I wanted so badly to understand what I was being taught. But by the end of the second day's class I felt like I was in a mental fog. I knew I was intellectualizing it all, but I didn't know how to get out of my head.

It occurred to me that it was still early in the class, and that if I quit now, I could possibly retake the course when I was more ready -- whatever that meant. I called the teacher and explained how I was feeling. He encouraged me to be very still that night and listen for direction. Either way, he told me I should come to the next morning's session -- whether it was to continue, or to say goodbye to my fellow classmates.

The next morning I felt even more confused about what I needed to do. I walked to the hotel where our class was being held with a heavy heart. There was nothing I wanted more than to contribute to the world as a healer, but I also wanted to be able to do that work effectively. I knew that understanding the fundamentals of Christian Science being taught in the class was vital to doing that work honestly and with integrity.

As I sat in class that morning, my heart was as hungry as I'd every felt it. I listened to every word as if it were my last meal. But by lunchtime, I was still feeling detached. My heart sank low. Just as were were gathering our books and materials, our teacher stopped for a moment and returned to addressing us. We had spent the morning talking about man as the reflection of God. And man reflecting God.

I was sure we'd plumbed the depths of that concept in Sunday School as a child. We'd stood in front of mirrors and talked about how the image in the mirror, could do nothing that the original in front of the mirror did. We'd often talked about how man reflects, with accuracy and precision, everything that is true about God, and included in His nature.

It was all so familiar. I'd gotten it as a child. I'd felt like crying all morning. But as I was putting my books into my satchel, I heard our teacher say -- in the most casual way, "Did you ever think of the word "reflect" as a verb -- meaning to "ponder deeply." It was like a lightning bolt passed through me.

In an instant, a dozen sentences from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures flooded my heart. For example:

"Reflecting God’s government, man is self-governed."

Man reflects infinity, and this reflection is the true idea of God.

Man is not absorbed in Deity, and man cannot lose his individuality, for he reflects eternal Life; nor is he an isolated, solitary idea, for he represents infinite Mind, the sum of all substance."

I felt like time stood still. Reflection wasn't just a noun -- it was a verb. It was something I did. In a moment I could see that to ponder the nature and character of God -- was everything. It was the "work" of a healer. I was the reflection -- the deep pondering of God. And I reflected -- deeply pondered God. That was who I was. That was what I was. It was all I was. I was -- and am -- my consciousness of God.

Everything came alive for me. I knew what I loved most in the world. To be still and know that [my] I am -- my consciousness of being -- was, is, and always would be defined by my consciousness of God. I had a way of being in the world.  I could stop anytime, anywhere -- connect with this deep sense of being -- and know my purpose intimately.  This reflection -- like that of the little girl in the photo above -- allows for the deepest conversation with the Divine.  In it, we see and know, as we are known.

I walked to lunch in a daze that day. I was on fire. I couldn't wait to get to the restaurant with my classmates, put my bag down, excuse myself, find a quiet corner and ponder God -- deeply. I still can't wait to do that wherever I am. It is still everything for me -- decades later.

I am God's reflection -- I am what God is deeply pondering. And I reflect God. I deeply ponder Him. This is the most intimate space in my life. It is where I find my oneness with my first love -- divine Love. This is where I cease to think about God, and am living in conversation with Him.  Everything springs from this. Everything. It is my life. It is my purpose, It is what is eternal, and enduring, and fills my being. It is what I bring to the table of family, church, community, parenting.

In that moment, that moment when our teacher asked us if we'd ever thought of "to reflect" as a verb, my life changed -- forever. It is a moment I will never forget.

I could sit here and write about how that moment has radiated and grown in me over the past three decades. But I will let this be enough tonight.

Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"The Divine Being must be reflected by man, — else man is not the image and likeness of the patient, tender, and true, the One “altogether lovely;” but to understand God is the work of eternity, and demands absolute consecration of thought, energy, and desire."

This is our great opportunity and it is an eternal joy. To understand God. To ponder God -- deeply. To listen to the heartbeat of the Divine within us -- to be at one with God's deep pondering of His own name and nature as our identity.

On the very first page of Science and Health, Eddy assures us:"

"The prayer that reforms the sinner and heals the sick, is an absolute faith that all things are possible to God, a spiritual understanding of Him, an unsolved Love."

Ah, the work of eternity.  19th Century pastor and author, A.W. Tower once wrote:

"What comes into our minds
when we think about God
is the most important thing
about us."

I believe this with all my heart.

offered with Love,

Kate