Tactile Versions of You and Me and Him

My husband's always had this knack for voices and accents and impressions. As a boy, he'd make faces at strangers and watch them closely and I guess it all just adds up to his larger-than-life personality much different than my own. Not long after I met him, I would learn of his bits and some days I'd get my normal boyfriend but a lot of times I'd get Christopher Walken. He would rehearse until the inflection was just right. And as we spent more days together, he'd do people that we both knew and it became this ongoing game of Guesstures, and he shaped his mouth differently and the subtleties were in his fingers and I realized that he could pick up the quirks of a person better than anyone I'd seen before.

I remember one of the first times I ever asked what he loved about me. I stretched my ears out expecting an answer of brevity and would have been happy with it - a combination of my blue eyes or my straight A's. But his response was quick and it clued me in on the nuance of that word and told a story that a stupid resumé or driver's license couldn't tell. He said that he's always known when I'm typing a message on my phone because my nails click the sapphire glass instead of using the pads of my hands like a regular person. He'll be across the room and a hurried rhythm of ticks and who knew that after all this time, he had noticed that. He smiled and said that, "Also, you make this face each time you look in the mirror - at home, in the rearview, wherever. You squint your eyes and tilt your head just barely and it's something you'd never recognize." And it hit me: loving is contingent only upon knowing, because you can't love what you haven't set aside the time to know. Hanging in the balance of observing and knowing lies the certainty of tomorrow and the next day and the day after that until someone's earned the authority to say, "I love that about you."

Ryan does this thing where - if we're watching a movie or a TV show and there's an intense/surprising scene going on - he'll get real wide-eyed and start mouthing the next lines in anticipation. Like, he's following the character's train of thought and like the next ones depend on him. On the edge of his seat so as not to miss a beat. When Schmidt gets riled up on New Girl, for instance - that's a perfect example. I've learned to look over at him as soon as I know it's coming, and I don't even care about missing the action on screen because it's just so rewarding for me to see it and be right again every single time. And the next day. And the day after that. It's fun knowing somebody like that, and it scared me for a long time.

We've watched an entire season of this Netflix series called Abstract. Every episode highlights another creative person who's been wildly successful in the world of photography or drawing or architecture or stage design, and yesterday we learned about the importance of interiors. I used to want to do that when I was a girl. I always thought that if we could make spaces pretty and less boring then why wouldn't we? I'm fascinated by well-made furniture and complimentary colors and candles that enhance our wellbeing and warm light that pleases the subconscious and an ambiance that - for seemingly no reason at all - makes a person better than the way that they came. The designer, Ilsa, explains that the culmination of these things is essential to humanity, dictating the ways in which we think and discover and behave.

I'll share with you one of my favorite excerpts from the feature that outlined my fears in not only being known but mostly in knowing. She verbalizes this process of choosing objects and textures and the ways that they should associate with one another to allow a person to comfortably interact with its space.

She says that "Materials are the thing that tell the truth. [They] are much more compelling and convincing once you see them in context or at least in the character of light that will hit it and, ideally, in association with the other materials that will be with it. Really, it's that combination of materials that speak to each other and create this tactile, warm, and very physical environment. We actually understand materials best by contrast. Our senses are wired in such a way that we understand that rough feels rougher by contrast with smooth. To get the best out of these materials we needed to find its opposite. It was less about the aesthetics or the appearance...it means that when people walk into it, they don't know why they feel the way that they feel, but it's actually all been orchestrated."

. . .

Growing up in church, I heard all the time (from the crowd) this notion that "if God were to really know me, like, know me, there's no way he'd love what he saw." I don't want you to know me because then you'll leave me. Cheaters and bankrupts and moms and teachers and alcoholics and teenagers and rebels from north to south all afraid that exposing themselves will end in a life behind bars that's way worse than prison. Except, it's been hard for me to identify with that narrative. I sympathize, but sometimes it feels lonely over here on this train, because I'm fine with Him knowing me. In fact, I can't stop Him from knowing me, so I lost that war a long time ago. I know he knows I suck. I know that he won't leave. I'm not really scared of him running, deep down. But there's a part of my heart entangled in cobwebs, it's been there awhile, and it says to Him, "but I don't have to know you." Knowing your delicate and feathery nature reminds me of my heavy and calloused one, knowing your generosity makes me know my greed, your self-control, my lack thereof, and I'm just not into that. My roughness compared to His smoothness is contrast enough for me to stiffen my arm and snuff out any association that might weaken my being here. And therein lies the grandest misconception of all.

Being a material in the Kingdom means that, by definition, I'm much more compelling and convincing once I'm seen in the context of the Light that hits me. Sure, my hardness feels harder when held next to silk, but remember, to get the best out of these materials, we must focus on their Opposite. Locking away my pride and meanness and indifference in His chest of humility and kindness and involvement. Subjecting my fragments to each nuance of his completeness and trusting that he'll tear the veil.

"Now we see only a dim likeness of things (squinting through a fog, peering through a mist). It's as if we're seeing them in a mirror. But someday, we'll see clearly. We'll see face to face. What I know now isn't complete, but someday I'll know completely just as He knows me." 1 Corinthians 13:12

Once we notice that our knowing allows other people to know and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that and it ends in the words, "I love this about Him," it's much easier to flaunt our shattered glass. We understand materials best by contrast, so if someone needs my humanness to get acquainted with his Godness, then I think that's a fair trade. We are the ones that tell the truth and I've got to be okay with letting people walk into it, because they might not immediately know why they feel the way that they feel, but it's actually been orchestrated all along.