Faithfulness

in the midst of sleeplessness

The crying starts from the crib and continues into the night, even within our arms as we nestle into the rocking chair. No amount of comfort seems to help this baby boy. As the protesting continues, we hear a door creak open, pitter patter footsteps from across the hall, and two little eyes peering into the night.

Two tired parents. Make that exhausted— sleep deprived.

Two tiny children— fully awake.

Sleep deprivation has its way of stealing any joy that lingers from the day before. It brings out the worst in us (at least in my household). Words easily fly, accusations made, because our brains are half on. As if it’s really anyones fault that the baby is up and the two sound machines weren’t enough to block out the noise from across the hall.

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Dusty wrote me a letter once in high school. I can picture it perfectly, written in black ink, scribbled on lined paper, folded in three. A love letter. And what better age to swoon over that?

It’s high up in the attic now, tucked into a wooden box with other mementos, homemade gifts, and a shiny locket I wore for many years. But one line is seared into my brain.

I can’t wait to have a little Kendra and Dusty running around the house one day.

In that one line, I romanticized a dreamy, dare I say perfect, life.

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Dreamy and perfect aren’t really the words I would choose to describe life with two small children. Overwhelming and full feel like better fits right now.

By the end of the night— by the middle of the night— I’m like a spool of yarn, unraveled by the tasks and responsibilities of the day. Stretched thin by my inability to ever be and do enough.

When sleep deprivation hits and the tiny people don’t want to sleep, the sparkle and joy from the day so easily fades and floats away.

Then I look at these two, who perfectly resemble that scribbled line.

For her— it’s the curls and the amount of words and spark, oh my.

For him— so far it’s the cheeks, the eyes, the olive tone to his soft skin.

How easy is it for me to forgot His faithfulness? How easy is it to forget about the desperate prayers I prayed, that were answered so beautifully?

But He has been faithful.

The belly laughs, the snuggles, the wonder and curiosity.

The gracious opportunity, the light that shines, the friendship given.

When I look back at my story, I see, He is faithful.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Sleepless."

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