sleep.

I don’t think I’ve slept for 8 solid, consecutive hours in a very long time…probably not since before we were married.

At first, the sleeplessness was just a result of newness and excitement. It was just part of being newly married. I remember Charlie and I would wake up at 4:30, stare at each other and giggle – sleepovers with your best friend under the marital covenant are still really, really awesome.

Then, it was just a result of stress. When you have a stressful job, you tend to have some sleepless nights…especially when you are on edge, preparing yourself for the “what-if” of an unexpected phone call from a student overseas who missed their connecting flight, or who lost their entire group after a taxi ride in an unfamiliar city.

But then, it was because my other half couldn’t sleep. Pain, moaning, getting up, discomfort…and it didn’t even stop when he decided to make his bed in the living room. And it wasn’t that I woke up because I was annoyed. Thankfully, it wasn’t ever really that. It was because he was hurting, and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. There have been more than a few nights were I would fall asleep rubbing his back, trying to soothe him back to sleep.

These nights have become a part of our routine. All too suddenly, it wasn’t unexpected anymore to only get a few hours of sleep, if that. (Maybe this is a good thing, because it definitely could be preparing us for parenthood, God willing.)

Last night was a little different. I’d like to share it with you, if you don’t mind. We stayed the night with some dear, God-sent friends of ours (you know, the kind of friends where distance doesn’t really matter, and every conversation is a continuation of the last – the rich, deep, Heaven-ward kind of friendship) – we had to be at the Gastroenterologist office in Flower Mound the next morning.  So, Charlie took the recliner (unfortunately, that’s the best thing for him to sleep on), and I took the couch.

Charlie had been stirring all night, but then at around 3:00, it became physically unbearable to sleep through his pain (for both of us). I sat up, and he came and sat by me. I started rubbing his back, and praying fervently for healing, rest, peace – the only thing I know to do when he is in pain. Oh, how helpless I feel – how little I can do! We don’t say much at first. There isn’t much we can say. We just know.

And then, those hot, painful tears start forming and dropping (sidenote: this has also become a very familiar part of my daily routine these last few weeks). I start silently questioning, as if I can fight and win this battle against a God who isn’t seemingly present, doesn’t obviously care, and won’t for whatever reason hear my cry (and everyone else who has been praying) to heal my husband.

I just don’t understand. My faith felt so small in this moment. Why won’t You do something? Why can’t he feel relief, just for one night? How can this be a part of your will? How does this reflect Your goodness? Are you even listening? Is my cry not righteous enough for you to turn a listening ear?

And then, unbeknownst to me, these questions started coming out of my mouth…verbally. My husband (God, bless this man – he is so faithful to You and so quick to encourage with Your word) ever so gently and quietly responded,

He has done more than enough. He has saved me.

Those words gripped my heart and choked me speechless. What an astounding truth.

This man

who has felt constant pain for the past few months
who has not had consecutive, non-medically-induced sleep since months ago

can still see truth, and cling to it.

Oh, how forgetful I am. How quick I am to be bitter and angry, and question God’s goodness. How easy it is for me to cling to anger, like a little girl who didn’t get to have the candy she picked out. How selfish am I, to consider my ways higher than His. How ignorant.

Sometimes, I have a tendency to listen to myself, rather than talk to myself. I have a tendency to not question the things that pass through my mind. I have a tendency to not test them against the Word. I have a tendency to just listen, and go along with what they say. That, my friends, is a dangerous game to play.

But this morning, at 3:30 AM, I stopped listening.

I started reassuring myself of God’s truth, of His promises. His character. His faithfulness. His goodness. He is Father. He is a good, good Father. He is here. He is present. He listens.

Gosh, sometimes these things sound so foreign running through my head. Is he really present? Does he really listen? YES.

And as the promises of God’s truth ran through my head at 3:30 AM, the room became quiet. The groans from my husband faded. The rustling of trying to find some smidge of comfort ceased.

Are you in pain?

No.

Are you asleep?

Quiet.

He fell asleep. He slept for a glorious 2 hours. And as I lay there, silently, I thanked God over and over for that small ounce of hope, that still, small encouragement to my faith in who He is.

And I slept.

And he slept.

Peacefully.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I don’t know if there will be surgery. I don’t know what is going to happen. But just as it was this morning (and again in the doctor’s office), God’s word is true. His promises are unfailing, unfaltering.

He is good.
His ways are good.
He is present.
He listens.
He loves.