I love to watch my children sleep.
After the battles of the will, the chaos of creativity, the pushing and pulling and learning and laughing, the discipline and the nurture, the tantrums and the tears; I love to watch them crumpled in sleepy surrender. Chaos at rest. Tantrums forgotten.
In those stolen moments, with the crack of light from the hallway spilling into the darkened room, I marvel at them. My heart squeezes with protective longing. I feel the fullness of tender care, the delight in their little bodies. I see limbs splayed and fingers uncurled. The feisty fury of the day gives way to frailty and sweetness.
They have no idea how much we love them, and even less idea how much that love allows us to weather their defiance and dependence. They still live in a world where they think cupboards magically restock themselves and laundry fairies find their missing socks.
When they are awake, we are all energy and independence – five people doing the dance of life around each other, giving and taking and talking and being. But when they sleep, the true nature of things is revealed: children being raised, nurtured, protected, sheltered by us. Dependent on us, though they are only dimly aware of it. Adored by us, though they have no idea how much.
Sometimes, as I lie on my pillow about to yield to sleep myself, I imagine God watching me sleep. I imagine him looking on me after a day filled with my pushing and pulling and learning and laughing, after my own tantrums and tears, now crumpled in sleepy surrender.
I imagine his heart filled with tenderness, seeing my true frailty after my feisty fury is spent. He sees my defiance. He knows my dependence. He knows I live in a world where I am only vaguely aware of all He does to sustain and provide.
During the day, I imagine it’s all me, all the time. But at night, I am a sleeping child; His child being raised, nurtured, protected, sheltered by Him.
Dependent on him, though I am only dimly aware of it. Adored by him, though I have no idea how much.
And so, in the half light of my room, just before my eyes finally close, I smile up to my Daddy. He watches while I am sleeping.
Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps. (Psalm 121:4)
Father-like He tends and spares us, well our feeble frame he knows (From the Hymn “Praise my Soul, the King of Heaven”, based on Psalm 103)
Bronwyn is a South-African born mom of three who now lives in NorCal. She loves her children fiercely, but often confesses that she loves them the most while they are asleep. She blogs about faith, laughter, and the joyful chaos of trying to live for Jesus while doing dishes at bronwyn’s corner.