And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
That verse means even more to me now.
Now that I've spent some fair amount of time going through my children's hair, searching for nearly invisible little nits.
Meditating on their follicles, strand by strand.
The irony of our recent lice situation is that, for the most part, the kids have found the extraction process rather bonding. And I suppose I have too.
It feels good to them to have my hands combing through their hair. They enjoy the undivided attention. They enjoy the feel of oil and conditioners being massaged into their scalps. And as I peer at each strand of hair through my magnifying lamp, they peer back up at me through the glass, chatting, looking at my face, asking me questions, all while I work to remove the pests from their heads.
And then it hits me.
That's how Abba knows me, knows the hair count of my head.
Sin comes to infest my life, quietly. I don't really see anything at first, just that occasional tickle of the conscience, that little itch of the soul. But sin is a prolific reproducer and before long, many strands of my life have a nit of rebellion, a nit of pride, a nit of self-indulgence attached to them. I can try to treat it myself, slathering a bottle of self-help onto my mind. But when I comb back through to the roots of my heart, the progeny of sin remains, ready to burst forth in my complacence.
And then my Abba sits me down. He anoints my head with the oil of His Holy Spirit, smothering those clinging trespasses, conditioning the dry places in my heart. He combs out the tangles of fear and doubt, deftly going through each strand of my life, the tresses that cover the surface as well as the fibers that lay underneath. And when I come under His merciful ministrations, as He cleanses the particles of peccancy, I find myself chatting more with Him, basking in the presence of His attention. As I peer back through the magnifying glass that exposes all my shortcomings, I see His face, His holiness glorified, enlarged in contrast to minutiae of my self.
He knows the very hairs of my head. Because He has been willing to come comb through the nits of sin. Strand by strand.
All to make me clean.