More than sentries long for the dawn

Back in March, I spent a couple of days with my Joel in the hospital as he battled pneumonia and croup brought on by a nasty parainfluenza virus. The time I spent with him in the ER yesterday felt all too familiar, listening to him wheeze and wishing for another set of arms to help contain him so that he wouldn’t kick off his pulse oximeter for the 843rd time. I was grateful that both of us were able to sleep in our own beds last night.

Two months ago, the first night Joel was in the hospital, he was given an IV dose of steroids to decrease the inflammation in his airway. The steroids made him agitated and restless. He would settle in to sleep on my chest for short stretches of time before startling awake, flailing. I would pop up off the cot they had provided for me, aching arms full of boy and wires, and shush and rock and sway him back into an uneasy sleep. I remember wanting--more than almost anything else--for morning to come. Sleep or no sleep, situations always seem better with a little sunlight.

On the second night, although less agitated, Joel was still off kilter in his new surroundings, choosing to play in his hospital bed rather than sleep. I was exhausted to the point of feeling nauseous--simultaneously feeling grateful for a slap-happy sick baby instead of a fussy, suffering one and feeling frustrated, trying to will the child to close his eyes so I could get some sleep--any sleep. The night itself seemed to press in on me. I finally had Joel quiet up against my chest as I lay semi-awkwardly on my cot when the door to the room opened and in walked my mom. “Hand me that baby so you can close your eyes.” I did.

It was in the early morning hours following one of those nights that I stumbled onto Psalm 130:6.

“I long for the Lord more than sentries long for the dawn, yes more than sentries long for the dawn.”

Many Bible verses speak to me with words that offer hope through God’s promises, but this one was different. This one had the “Hey, this person gets me!” feeling that I too often seek in other places. After one night spent watching over my Joel and another night being watched over by my own sweet momma, it was easy to draw a parallel between sentries and mothers. And my spirit seemed to leap with the recognition of the fact that my desire to be wrapped in the presence of Jesus ran even deeper than my desire to leave those difficult nights behind me.

That verse has continued to resonate with me over the past couple of months, making me remember other hard nights and moments (especially mom moments) in broad daylight that still felt like pressing darkness. I remember the bitterness in those moments, but I am incredibly grateful for a God who didn’t leave me hopeless and continues to call me to depend upon his love--no matter the time, day, season, or circumstance.

As darkness settled around us and the chill of night pressed in, she cried and struggled, and I couldn't soothe her. We paced until my legs were numb. Both of us were a mess of tears, falling through the minutes that clunked by--slowly, heavily, painfully. I stared at my reflection in the black glassy windows, waiting for the first signs of dawn.

I prayed for rest, prayed for patience, prayed for relief in my aching everything.

I pleaded for help.

I pleaded for morning.

Jesus, fix my heart on all you’ve promised,

Lift my eyes to meet your gaze,

Be my hope and my perspective,

Steer me to morning. Lord, be my morning.

Stand as daybreak in my spirit.

As a mother, as a watchman looking after little souls,

I long for you more than sentries long for the dawn.

Yanked awake by squawks of protest...again, I found her in her crib. She nursed and nuzzled until she drifted off content, and I held the fullness of her weight in a tiny cuddled ball.  In spite of the stillness, I sat awake. I resented the restless moments that passed, whittling down my chance to sleep.

I prayed for rest, prayed for patience, prayed for relief in my aching everything.

I pleaded for help.

I pleaded for morning.

Jesus, fix my heart on all you’ve promised,

Lift my eyes to meet your gaze,

Be my hope and my perspective,

Steer me to morning. Lord, be my morning.

Stand as daybreak in my spirit.

As a mother, as a watchman looking after little souls,

I long for you more than sentries long for the dawn.

His feverish head and hot tears burrowed into my neck as he flailed in the dark.

Headlights from passing traffic traced yellow lines across the hospital wall.

I fought to calm him, contain him, keep him from pulling out tubes and wires.

My head pounded. My exhausted eyes stung.

I prayed for rest, prayed for patience, prayed for relief in my aching everything.

I pleaded for help.

I pleaded for morning.

Jesus, fix my heart on all you’ve promised,

Lift my eyes to meet your gaze,

Be my hope and my perspective,

Steer me to morning. Lord, be my morning.

Stand as daybreak in my spirit.

As a mother, as a watchman looking after little souls,

I long for you more than sentries long for the dawn.

Even in the sunshine, it somehow still felt like suffocating night.

I was overtired, overwhelmed and unable to see beyond my own failures.

The kids were ill-tempered and defiant and needed more from me than I had to give.

I started to get it--to really understand why some mothers fall to pieces.

I prayed for rest, prayed for patience, prayed for relief in my aching everything.

I pleaded for help.

I pleaded for morning.

Jesus, fix my heart on all you’ve promised,

Lift my eyes to meet your gaze,

Be my hope and my perspective,

Steer me to morning. Lord, be my morning.

Stand as daybreak in my spirit.

As a mother, as a watchman looking after little souls,

I long for you more than sentries long for the dawn.