This morning I walked into the Multnomah County Courthouse, removed my metal earrings, put my purse through a conveyor belt and became for the morning Juror Number 8439.
By 8 am, the jury room filled with people. Young adults, middle aged and elderly. White, black, Latino. Men and women.
We each wore a plastic tag around our neck, stating Juror status, and we waited. I sat next to a kind-faced woman named Joyce, about my mom’s age, who read the paper and worked a Sudoku in pen.
CNN played quietly on the TV while people checked phones, read books, leafed through magazines. Few people spoke to one another.
During one of our morning breaks, I walked across the street to see for myself the Occupy Portland movement.
A tent city stretched across two blocks contained in two small parks. Blue tarps hung from alder trees, shielding the inhabitants from rain. Signs in block letters blared “Wake up America!” and “Banks got bailed. We got sold out!” and “Revolt: Just Do It.”
Garbage cans overflowed with trash. The smell of urine hung thick in the air. From inside tents, people coughed deep and hacking. Intimidating men in military boots threw insults at police across the street. Men who appeared homeless spoke quietly on the sidewalk.
Amidst the tent city, one name called out among the angry signs.
Along a tent’s back, someone (the inhabitant, presumably) had written “ROY DAVIS” and underneath in smaller letters, “End the death penalty.”
Now, I don’t know the story here, but what I can testify to is what happened in my heart when I read the name “ROY DAVIS,” with the “Juror” tag dangling from my own neck.
My seeing slowed.
In that moment, regardless of my politics or opinion of the tent city, the display of anarchy, the filth or the movement, I saw one person’s name.
I don’t know who you are Roy Davis, but He knows your name.
God knows each name. Each veteran, each mentally ill person walking through the encampment, each banker on Wall Street, each person faced with charges against them in that courthouse, each mother or father who’s lost a child to addiction or death, each juror in Room 130.
He knows my name. He knows yours.
Whether we call out with hands performing good works or heads hung low in defeat, whether with rage or grumbling, whether in whispers or signs covered in big letters, we all say the same thing:
“See me. Care about me. Tell me that who I am and what I have to say means something. Know me.”
He does.
As I write, the words of an old familiar song rush. A song I first knew when words strung together from the mouth of a shining-faced woman named Grace.
“He Knows My Name”
I have a maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hand
Chorus
He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And hears me when I call
I have a Father
He calls me his own
He’ll never leave me
No matter where I go
Chorus
He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And hears me when I call
(Paul Baloche, 2004)
I stop again for a moment and receive the gift. It is simple. It is everything.
No matter how each one in this struggling world cries out today, He hears. No matter, the names we give ourselves, He knows the name that is true.
To the one who calls herself Ashamed and Naked, He calls her Clothed with the Beautiful Robes of Christ. To the one who calls himself Failure, He calls him More than a Conqueror. To the girl who struggles to find a name that fits — what with all the names being thrown like knives — He calls her Beloved.
He sees beyond facial tatoos that scream, “Don’t touch me!” He sees past impressive tasks done that call out, “See me. I’m important.”
He sees each one. He knows each name.
He calls you Light. Love. God’s Workmanship.
Called as you are, as we all are, by Grace.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
I love the song you mentioned in this post, I’ve got it stuck in my head now, which most of the time completely irritates me; today I’m so grateful for the constant reminder that He knows me completely. Thank you for sharing another beautiful post!! Xoxo
I sung this song all day today too. A little duo we are. So thankful for His knowing and for His knowing that I needed a sister like you.
What a gift of sight you’ve been given! I was born (and still am) weak-eyed; you dear girl were given clear-sightedness. When you see, you see with open-heart; you plow for deeper meaning – you Work at understanding that sometimes evades; and then (thank God) you put words to what you’ve been shown. Your sharing helps us see what we may have missed. You’ve always “taken your time” with things Ashley. It’s not your way to rush. Your way is to look and study deeply. The fruit of that practice is borne in these pages, and I am one so deeply grateful! (your mama)
Mama, your loving words made me cry today. Thank you for teaching me to see.
I am thinking of when Maiya B. did sign language to that song! Makes me teary! And I totally relate to how you are feeling. I find myself watching situations, both personal and political, and thinking about how much God loves each person and what He wants for them, which is so much more important than any human’s opinion. :)
Oh, Maiya…yes, what a sweet picture! I’m so thankful you could relate to my experience, Holly. It felt especially intense for me yesterday, and I am so grateful that God’s love and not my opinions “rule the day.”
Your ability to observe and immediately find the nexus between the observed and the spiritual truly amazes me. Your pallet of gifts are on full display and I am blessed by your depth of feeling and caring. I am grateful to be your father, Love, Papa
Papa, thank you for those observations. I so appreciate you in all these ways you “see me.” I am deeply grateful for you.
Love the way you observed your day not many would think to go across the street and come back with a positive feeling. You are one who always looks for the positive and love that. I feel honored to be your mother-in-law. xoxo Mom
I feel honored to be your daughter-in-law. Thank you for those precious words of encouragement. They bless me, as do you. Love you.
And I am so grateful He does.
A few weeks ago I printed up the lyrics to this song so I could memorize them and sing them to my kids when I tuck them in at night.
The words are such needed reminders of truth. For every single one of us.
Bless you, birthday girl, and thank you for sharing with me! I am amazed at how God weaves things together — I love that. Thank YOU for that reminder today. xoxo
Getting to hear your thoughts/insights each day is a blessing. Thanks, Ashley.
Thank you, Sue!
Humbling perspective my friend. I’ve been so humbled by the contradictions of what I call love and the LOVE of God lately. What does it really mean to cover another with love, to protect each other, a reminder of how deeply I need Jesus.
Thank you for sharing and being vulnerable
Tiff, what good questions you raise. So right — love in the face of perfect Love is indeed humbling. Thanks so much for your thoughtful comments and for coming to visit. xoxo
Ashley- I am so glad Jenni connected me to your writing! Wow- You have wonderful reflections here- taking a current event (literally this hour with the deadline of Occupy Portland) and find meaning there. . . . Thanks for the email and it IS amazing how much we have in common! Let’s keep in touch- cornelia
Thanks for your comments, Cornelia! I really look forward to being in touch.