Evidence

My eight month old is not a great sleeper.

On a good night, he wakes up once or twice.  Those nights aren't so bad because he can be a little charming in the middle of the night.  When he realizes that we are there to help him, his smile radiates through the dark. "I missed you, Mama and Daddy!"  he seems to say.

On a not-so-good-night, that sweet baby greeting loses its appeal around wake ups three and four.  And by wake ups five and six, there is nothing charming and dear about him.  Or me.  I am generally just angry.

Every parent knows that tired angry is not good.  Exhausted angry is worse.  It's actually a little scary.

Fortunately, my husband and I have developed an unspoken language that enables us to deal with our irrational, sleep-deprived emotions.  We each have a distinct "rescue-me-from-this-baby" grunt.  When we hear it, it is a non-negotiable call to action.

95% of the time, this system works out well for us.  Unfortunately, last night was one of those nights where we both hit the grunting stage at the same time.  At around 5:30 am, I flipped on the lights and took my infant downstairs to the play zone to preserve his well-being.  As he happily gnawed on a wooden giraffe, I popped open a Vanilla Coke Zero and jumped up and down in the kitchen until I was awake enough to function. 

How, I wondered, was I going to survive this day?  This month?  This year? 

If this sounds dramatic to you, I urge you to take the midnight to 5 a.m. shift at my house for a few nights. 

A couple of groggy hours later, the kids and I were on the way to daycare and work.  I was still on a woe-as-me thought trajectory when we turned off of the main street onto a little cut-through road.

There, in front of us, was a rainbow.  We paused at a railroad crossing, and my two-year-old and I both admired it.  "Whoa!" he exclaimed over and over again.  "A rainbow!"

Chill bumps rose up on my arm as I thought about the meaning of a rainbow: about its message of hope and mercy; about its representation of love; about its visible reminder that God is with us even during the storms.

Some days I can acquire perspective if I am intentional about it, but this was not one of those days.  I believe God heard my grunting and understood what I needed.

Proof.

Thank you, Father, for evidence that you love me and meet me in my trials - both big and small.

  

Sweet sleeping Connor.

Answered Prayer

About a year ago, I was walking my dog and pondering my plight as a non-property owning parent.  It had been a long Saturday, one in which my suddenly speedy one year old ran circles around and around and around the stairs.  We lived in a small rented condo with no yard, and my soon to be second born pressed too heavy on my bladder to make a park outing feasible for any length of time.

As my one year old giggled and galloped around the living room, I had cruelly condemned myself for failing to adequately provide for him.  My husband and I had given ourselves until the third trimester of my second pregnancy to find a suitable home for our little boys, and it was becoming clear that we were not going to meet our goal.  The condo was going to remain home sweet home.

My child, exhausted from his afternoon, was sleeping soundly when I ventured out for a walk.  As my dog and I meandered down the hill, I began to pray --- unsure why this God who professed to love me and my family would lead us into this situation with no back yard.  It wasn't a very good prayer because I interrupted it every few minutes to (1) rehash the life decisions that necessitated the condo; and (2) beat myself up for my lack of gratitude.

Suffocating from these toxic thoughts, I looked up at the night sky.  It was a beautiful, clear night --- one of those where every star in the heavens seemed to be visible.  I admired the starscape:  its vastness, its splendor, its timelessness.  In the stillness, I heard my soul breathe: 

Who owns the stars? 

And who owns the heavens?

Through these umprompted questions, it was suddenly evident how temporary my concept of property was.  Was the earth really mine to own anyway?  My life was so small . . . long after I was gone, whose property would my homestead be?

In that quiet moment, I realized that God was answering the prayer of my heart as opposed to the petitions of my lips.  Although I prayed for a home that I owned with a big backyard and lots of friendly neighbors, what my heart uttered was a plea for edification as a mother.  Please God, I subconsciously murmured, help me give my boys what they need. 

And in his perfect way, he did just that by reminding me of the insignificance of this thing I believed my children required.  My job as a mother, he seemed to say, was to cultivate in my children values of eternal worth. This home ownership hangup was a distractor.

Trust in me, I could hear him whisper to me, around me, over me.

It wasn't the answer I wanted, but it was the message I needed.  Thanks and glory to a God who ministers to my thirsty soul.

Twinkle, Twinkle

On the night before Halloween, my family headed to a fall festival downtown.  As we strolled down the sidewalk, we spotted the first Christmas lights of the season twinkling in front of a neighborhood business. 

I rolled my eyes, dismayed that consumer madness was inching into October.

My two year old hasn't had a chance to become similarly jaded.  He smiled, pointed at the lights and innocently asked, "Is it Christmas in there, Mommy?"

His simple question went straight to my heart.

In recent years, I have begun to dislike the holidays.  My job is busy; my life is busy; my capacity for extra to-do items is low.  The lights, the decor, the presents:  all of these things seem to be more about keeping up with my Facebook friends than anything holy or pure or good.  It all just makes me tired.

And then I hear this question from my two year old, who knows nothing about Pottery Barn Christmas versus K-Mart Christmas.  He just sees lights and knows they indicate that Christmas is going on inside.

His comments reminded me that it isn't bad to celebrate.  It isn't bad to give gifts.  It isn't bad to put out lights.  It's only when those things become disconnected to what is going on inside that they become burdensome and heavy.

I made up my mind to check my focus this holiday season.  It is a time of joy.  It is a time to celebrate giving.  It is a time to celebrate love.  And it is okay to share that message with the world.