What started out as a slight feeling of discomfort in my left leg soon began galloping toward becoming a full-on charley horse. The numbing in my right hand had also slowly evolved from an annoying feeling of pins and needles to an excruciating sensation of ice picks and swords. And I had to go to the bathroom. Bad. I started wondering, just how long had I been curled up like a cinnamon bun on the top shelf of my mother's linen closet? It seemed like hours. Wedged uncomfortably above a shelf of mix-matched sheets, I couldn't hear a sound except my bladder crying out for mercy. And then, a serious and sad truth dawned on me: The game of Hide and Go Seek just wasn't that much fun anymore.

It was a moment in my childhood I'll never forget. My two younger brothers and my older sister and I used to have such a blast playing that game. But the older we got, the better our hiding places got. And when you're hiding in the dark for more than 30 minutes, well, the game gets kind of lame. Let's face it: the thrill is in being found.

I don't think I've played Hide and Go Seek since ... until this year. I'm reliving my childhood through my two little girls, who want to play it morning, noon and night. They squeal with delight when I start counting to ten, laughing like wild hyenas all throughout the house as they try to find their hiding place. "Ready or not, here I come!" I'll yell. "Oh where, oh where, can my children be?" I'll add in a completely bewildered tone.

Now, if you've ever played Hide and Go Seek with a 3- and 4-year-old, you'll know just how awful they are at hiding. Pitiful, really. First of all, they giggle and breathe so hard, you could find them blind folded. Secondly, their idea of a really good hiding spot is behind the floor lamp. But I'll pass by them a few times anyway, pretending not to see them, saying, "Oh goodness gracious! I can't find my children! Where could they beeeeeee!" And then I'll spring on them like a wild coyote on a rabbit, and they'll scream and jump and laugh the snot out of their noses.

I know like all children, the older my girls get, the better at hiding they'll become. And I pray for them that, unlike so many on the road to adulthood, my girls will never forget how good it feels to be found.

To be seen and known — I think it's something every person craves in this life. To experience the deepest connection is to be truly found out, and still be loved. The Bible calls it grace. The world calls it tolerance. But the two couldn't be more different. Tolerance sees your sin and embraces it. Grace sees your sin and hands you over to Christ's healing embrace.

Sure, the lure of tolerance is strong. It rationalizes sin and tells you that if it feels good, just keep on doing it. If it makes you happy, follow your heart. The truth is, if people were to really follow their hearts, they would admit that sin has never made anyone happy. On the other hand, as author Donald Miller puts it, in Blue Like Jazz, "Self discipline will never make us feel righteous or clean; accepting God's love will." This is because God has created our hearts to yearn after Him.

J. Budziszewski in his book, Written on the Heart, explains how God has made Himself known to all mankind through general revelation, but that we have obscured that revelation through our own rebellion. He writes, "We hold down the truth — we pretend to ourselves that we do not know what we really do know (see Romans 1:18-19)." He goes on to say that "the very heart on which God has written his law is estranged from itself."

Ultimately, this rebellion leads to shame. And shame causes us to become really good at hiding. I've even seen it in my children, when the younger of my two girls started staying dry every night before her older sister did. Although I've never, ever shamed either of them for having a wet pull-up diaper in the morning, my oldest daughter felt her own shame. And when she saw how much praise I showered on her little sister for staying dry each morning, she felt compelled to "hide."

Suddenly both girls were completely dry — morning after morning. Boy, was I thrilled. I jumped for joy! I shouted to the heavens! I gave them jellybeans for breakfast! I was ecstatic. That is until after a week, their bedroom smelled like the stench of a dirty toilet in a men's college dorm. I looked under my older daughter's bed, and saw over a week's worth of old, smelly, soggy diapers. She had been taking them off in the morning and putting on new ones before I came into the room. I was stunned. This was the first real act of deception from her. But I was mostly grieved that she felt so compelled to hide her "sin" from me.

I remembered the advice my daughters' preschool directors had given us parents. They encouraged us to try not to act so surprised or shocked at our children's sin that they start feeling the need to hide their real selves from us. Deal with the sin, but remind them they are loved. They said the best thing you can do for your children is to say to them, "Hey, don't think you can fool me. I see you. I see that you are not perfect. Give it up. You'll never be perfect. Rest in my love. Rest in the love of Jesus."

It's great advice for how we handle all the relationships in our lives. Whether you're helping a child resist a possible life burdened with trying to be perfect — or helping your friend do so — when we allow each other to make mistakes, and cover them with grace, we allow each other to be seen and known.

While I'd love to admit that I never hide or wear a mask, that wouldn't be true. But God is so good. Sometimes, He surprises me by allowing someone to catch me without my mask — or my make-up. A great example is when a friend pops over to my house unannounced, mid-morning ... and I'm still in my food-stained pajamas and the house is a mess. And there's nothing I can do to hide. In my shame, I'd love to slam the door in her face and go shove things in the closet. But here she is, seeing me — the real me. I've been found out. And interestingly, I feel an odd sense of relief. Being loved without being known feels false. Counterfeit. There's an emptiness in a relationship that lacks the connection of being truly seen and known.

Annie Dillard, one of my favorite authors, writes about this amazing feeling of having the dirtiness of ourselves be seen — and yet be loved anyway — in Teaching a Stone to Talk. She shares, "A high school stage play is more polished than this service we have been rehearsing since the year one. In two thousand years, we have not worked out the kinks. We positively glorify them. Week after week we witness the same miracle: that God, for reasons unfathomable, refrains from blowing our dancing bear act to smithereens. Week after week Christ washes the disciples' dirty feet, handles their very toes, and repeats. It's all right — believe it or not — to be people. Who can believe it?"

But it's true. The living God sees me — He knows my thoughts — and has laid His hand upon me. "Such knowledge of this is too wonderful for me," exclaims the Psalmist in Psalm 139:6. Too wonderful, indeed. I love how J. I. Packer expands on this thought in Knowing God by writing, "There is tremendous relief in knowing that His love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on prior knowledge of the worst about me, so that no discovery now can disillusion Him about me, in the way I am so often disillusioned about myself, and quench His determination to bless me."

But God has searched us and He knows us — and He pursues us with a determined and passionate love. The truth is, if life were a big game of Hide and Go Seek, even your best hiding place could never keep you hidden from the God who created you and loves you. He not only sees you. But he is seeking you. Experience the thrill of being found by Him.