The midnight watch

Jesus seems to enjoy meeting with me in the late night hours these days. The 2am-4am hours have been our time this week. To be fair, He wasn’t the one who woke me up tonight. That was a teething toddler needing a few snuggles…and a dose of tylenol…to get back to sleep. But as I laid back down in bed it quickly became clear that sleep would evade me. Verses, quotes, experiences kept running through my mind, calling me to come and process. Lest you think I’m super spiritual, know that my first response was, no thanks, Lord, I’d rather sleep. It took me about an hour to finally give up and head downstairs with bible and journal in hand.

I’d always read the Gospel accounts of Jesus getting up early and withdrawing to the hillside to be with the Father and been awed at the spiritual discipline of Jesus. I mean He is the Son of God after all, so that discipline should come as no surprise. But me? I’ve always really liked sleep. And goodness knows I need it to function. Jesus, being fully human, needed sleep as well. But I think this week I’m beginning to understand that it wasn’t necessarily discipline that drove Him to the hills. He needed His father’s presence and guidance more than He needed sleep. He was walking a road that could not be traveled without that intimate communion. And with days full of people and needs and requests and the everyday mundane that takes so much of our energy, that was the only time He could get that. And I know that as a mother of a toddler, these quiet night hours are some of the few during the day that I can truly sit and listen well. And right now I’m more desperate for some time with my Lord than for sleep.

But once again, lest you attribute too great of a spirituality to me, I’ll let you in on a secret. I survive partly on monkey night night times. After lunch, before Eliana goes down for a nap, when I most feel the effects of the sleep forgone in the night, I put Curious George on for Eliana so I can curl up on the couch and close my eyes for a brief respite. Yup, working on a mother of the year award here. Ellie knows the drill though. As soon as George hits the screen and she sees me head for the couch, she tells me “night night.” If she’s in a particularly sweet mood, she’ll even come over and give me a kiss goodnight. And so I steal a bit of rest. Not the deep sleep of night, but the half sleep of a mom that is tracking the sounds of a toddler as she rests. This tracking is for the most part successful, although there was one day where I opened my eyes to discover my daughter buck naked in front of her play kitchen. I had stripped her down to her diaper to avoid a change of clothes after lunch, and in my weariness failed to dress her before monkey night night time. I usually muster the energy to dress her now.

And here is the irony of these days for me. Never have I been more acutely aware that I stand on holy ground. But the world keeps spinning. A lot of the time, death comes (perhaps graciously?) like a thief in the night. And grieving comes and is expected and is immediate. There are processes in place that do in a sense stop the turning of the world. A stop of work, a stop of some of the mundane routines, time to gather with those we love, a funeral to process and grieve. Eventually the world must start turning again, and that turn is painful, but we know we must go on. Instead of a thief in the night, I feel like I’m watching death’s long slow approach from a distance. And in the meantime, I must live. The dishwasher must be unloaded, the dinner must be prepared, the toddler’s bottom must be wiped, work must be completed. There are moments when this all feels so wrong. Like the world shouldn’t keep turning. But then there are moments where the need to get up and do and live is such grace.

And so I’m stumbling along, trying to learn how to live well with this new tension. Parsing out and processing the tangled emotions of this tension is a daily task. The guilt after a large dose of laughter at the antics of my toddler – the nagging sense of, should this not be a season of tears not laughter? And the battle to accept that laughter as grace. As sweet sounds to fill the ears of the little one inside me (who, by the way, apparently also enjoys the 2-4am hours and currently is flip flopping away inside of me).

Lastly, before I try to return to sleep, thank you for your prayers and sweet words. That sentence appears far too short and trivial to adequately express my gratitude. Please keep it up. And may I ask for your prayers for Eliana as well? For protection over her spirit – as I’m certain she can sense the emotional landscape of our house, but is too young to comprehend what is going on. I am tempted to fear how this will mark her, until I force myself to remember that this road has been lovingly chosen for her as well. Please ask for wisdom on how to parent well in this season. And praise Jesus with me that she is surrounded by a village that loves and treasures and laughs and plays with her.