A God of light; a God of dark

I'm listening to you now in the hallway, staring at my toes and trying to focus on chipped-polish. It’s no match for the aching sound of your tears. No matter how many books I’ve read on child development or the vast counsel and wisdom handed down from women far more advanced than I on the various stages of motherhood, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this in time for it to pass. You’re a “good sleeper”, an “easy baby” (as if there is such a thing). I have no reason to complain in the company of friends whose little ones cry for hours at bedtime. My heart overflows with gratefulness when I think of this indiscriminate blessing. However, as your teeth wage a ruthless war against your gums, the challenge has heightened and I feel myself being tested. 

The preciousness of your pleas pouring through the cracks in the door behind me is crushing to my spirit. While there was a time you would wail in segments with your earnestness to grab hold of my attention rising and falling, depending on the day’s events, this is new. It seems as though you are acutely aware of your surroundings at every moment. Just as my arms wrap you up and my feet begin toward your room, your tiny body tenses. I feel your heart rate quicken and limbs begin to squirm without purpose. You smother my face with slobbery kisses and babble loudly, reciting every vowel you know. You do this as though you’ve done something wrong to deserve punishment and now need only to earn enough “points” to keep me near. I ache as I praise your efforts and snuggle you in closer, knowing the nursery door is only a few feet ahead. And the night must come. Even Superman needs his sleep. It is essential that you know the sun will rise and fall each day, requiring much; necessitating rest. You need to grow. This is non-negotiable, however often I dream of it being otherwise. And I must help you.

You can’t see this, not yet. You can’t see how your daddy has prepped your room, turning on the nightlight, humidifier, and pulling the shades to help your eyes rest. You can’t hear the soft music over your own vocal chords and you’re unable to recognize the clean sheets pulled tightly around your mattress to keep you safe and warm. He's even made sure your favorite stuffed animals are at your side, reminding you that this is still home where you belong. No, all you see is darkness. All you comprehend is silence.

So as I lower you into bed and the room begins to dim, your crying turns to shrieking. And then your shrieking takes the form of a silent sob, which periodically comes up for air and fuel, and only so as to launch into another outpour of lamentation. As the door closes and you feel me leave, your weeping reaches its summit: a bellow of hopelessness I won’t ever be able to rightly define, decants from your throat. I quietly beg for you to stop and begin to feel the heavy flow of my own tears; those familiar streams. It’s a wonder they haven’t permanently stained my cheeks. I won't leave the hallway, not until I hear your heavy breathing slow, giving way to sleep.

If you could only know what I know ... If you could only trust that the darkness doesn’t mean that I am absent. If you could look into my eyes long enough, listen to my whispers in your ear, reminding you that I am constantly present and never going to leave you alone. If you could just remember how each morning I faithfully rush to your side, sweeping you up and filling the house with our giggles. If you could just realize that with the absence of light and distraction, you will learn to grow, learn to rest. If you could only comprehend how I ache for you, weep when you weep, and loathe the sound of your pain with every fiber of my being. If you could just see me now, pressing my face against the other side of your nursery door, praying for your safety, your health, your dreams. Have I not conveyed the depth of my love for you? Can you not hear my heart begging yours to know that I am still here, still for you, still wanting you? 

…Have I not earned your TRUST?

Oh God, how naive I've been. 

Are you still outside the door of my room? How long have you been crying? How long have you been waiting for me to trust in the faithfulness of your morning; the necessity of this night? Forgive me, I didn't notice you there...teaching me to know you in the darkness and rest in anticipation of the light.

“I will never leave you, nor forsake you.” 

Deuteronomy 31:6

I Am Yours and You are Mine

As foreseen, my son has been my constant reminder of the love of God. Relaying the following story to a friend two weeks ago I was encouraged to share again here, however redundant this theme may be.:}

Recently the university I’m earning my Masters with put on a talent show for current and prospective students. I took Afton along with me for the first few performances in order to catch-up with my old Admissions team. The room was packed and Afton was immediately snatched up by a number of doters. Grateful for the break in constant parenting duties, I let him ride the wave of welcoming arms, keeping an eye on him from a distance as he moved around the room. He finally made his way back to my own circle, settling on the lap of a friend two seats away. It was past his bedtime and with all the chaos encircling us he wasn't acting like his normal, smiley self. Instead he maintained a sort of dazed expression, his mouth agape and eyes glazed. Friends of ours, familiar with his unremitting giggles and grins, took turns trying to unearth a smile. He slowly moved on from each expression without reacting in the slightest to their charades … until at last, his eyes met mine.

That’s when it happened. His whole countenance changed. He unreservedly transformed from this slack-jawed, wandering, uneasy boy, to the happiest baby anyone had ever seen! The top of his head down to the tip of his toes, smiled -- it seemed as though every part of him was grinning. He may as well have shouted to the rooftops, "That's the one I was looking for!"

Everyone at the table gave a unanimous "awwww" and I beamed with pride. My usual, smiling-at-anyone-and-everyone-baby (who made me doubt as to whether I was really any different to him from joe-shmoe at the grocery store) set me apart in that room like never before.

When I arrived home I just began to weep, feeling humbled and prodigiously honored to belong to this boy. And in the midst of my joy-filled-tears, Jesus said to my heart, "You know, this is how it will be ... when I come to get you and bring you home. A sea of unfamiliar-faces will stand between us. It will be when everything seems empty and lost and you realize more than ever that you truly don’t belong where you are; when you’re tired and looking for a sign of ‘home’... You will look up and see me searching. And when I see YOU, I will smile from my head down to my toes. And everyone will know that I am yours and you are mine."

John 1:12-13 

Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God- children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God.