Days before Thanksgiving, I ran a quick errand to Target for supplies. As I surveyed the shelf, trying to determine which Greek yogurt to purchase for my recipe, a young family joined me in the yogurt aisle. When their little girl pointed excitedly to a particular product, the father with equal enthusiasm reached for one and asked, “This one?” The little girl shook her head no. The mother erupted and harshly corrected the father. “No, not that one! Dannon.” She grabbed the Dannon yogurt from the shelf and then turned to the father and asked him, “Don’t you even know her?”

I felt the sting of her words probably just as much as the father. I wanted to try to reverse the hurt I felt for the father as he snapped his hand back from the shelf. The beaming smile he’d had moments ago, as he tried to please his daughter, disappeared as he stepped away from the refrigerator case. I looked away, not wanting to add embarrassment to the moment, but as they left the aisle, I glanced back at them. His head hung in silent shame as he fell in behind the mother who pushed the cart.

Weeks later, I woke in the night and found myself tossing and turning, trying to go back to sleep, but instead, worrying. Complex family matters had robbed me of sleep as well as concerns with my volunteer ministry. I’d been writing legislative bills for months for the upcoming legislature and working on getting sponsors. The work group we’d been collaborating with started falling apart as politics and personal biases overshadowed actual goals. How were we going to hold it all together?

It was then, lying in the dark as sleep evaded me, that those words came to mind again. “Don't you even know Me?” It wasn’t the harsh admonishment of the mother in Target, but rather a quiet loving nudge from my Father. As each worry entered my mind, like a steady wave gently touching my toes, I heard the question being repeated: “Don't you even know Me?” “Don’t you even know Me?” “Don’t you even know Me?”

I wrestled with my thoughts, clinging to the desire to hold onto them and then, like the tide gently rolling back to the sea, I let go of each worry because, yes, I knew Him. He was the God who took us, a childless couple and gave us five children and six grandchildren. He, after seasons of grief, brought incredible joy; saved a dying marriage and gave it new life; and brought all these years in child welfare reform to this season where we were poised for some true change.

He was the God who sent His son to be born in a manger and ultimately die, because there was no other way for His children to get to heaven.

I was reminded indeed; I did know Him. Knowing Him made all the difference in whether I was going to lie awake fretting, or put my worries to rest.

In busy seasons like Christmas, we often ask each other questions like: Do you have your shopping done? Who is coming for the holidays? Are you ready for Christmas? Perhaps the best question to ask is: Do you know Him? By knowing Him, our worries don’t have to be so large, our pain so intense, and our outlook so bleak. He is the Savior of the world, and by knowing Him, we can rest in His care and purpose.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 (NIV).