Heaven and Angels Sing

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I heard that sound. You know the one. The cry. That faint, but distinct sound of a baby waking up. And my heart sank. Please, Lord, not tonight. Please let him fall back to sleep. I’m so tired. I don’t think I can do it. I laid there long enough to hear the nursery door open—Steve had gone in to check on him, but after the crying continued, I realized that I would actually need to get up and go check on them. I was tired. I was angry. I was frustrated. I was the worst version of myself.

Earlier in the evening, Steve and I sat by the fire and discussed goals for our upcoming year. Just that day he started his own counseling practice. We’d spent the past six months looking at office space, setting up the business structure, organizing, and preparing. We talked about 2016 and the new ideas and goals we wanted to set for ourselves, both individually and as a couple. We dreamed about the future— wondered where God would lead our family. We imagined ways that we might combine our love for the church with our passion for accessible mental health services that reach the broken and vulnerable.

In that moment, my faith in God and his goodness felt solid. It was a good night.

And even so, not more than a few hours later, I became a different person. I became a sleep deprived crazy lady. From 11:30pm until 2:00am Ford Layson screamed and squirmed, and cried. We tried everything. Steve rocked him. I bounced him. We fed him and changed him. I diffused essential oils. We even resorted to Tylenol. Eventually, I broke down into tears. All I could think about was the fact that our other two kids would be getting up in a little over four hours. I knew that I was facing my longest workday of the entire week. I needed to be at the church by 7:30am. I had clients scheduled until 6:00 at night. Steve also had clients to see the next day, and both of us would be in fulltime parenting mode until about 8:00 the following night. So even if we could make it through our professional work, we still wouldn’t be able to rest until all three kids were asleep again.

Panic set in. Steve and I were whisper-fighting—Blaming each other. I couldn’t hold Ford anymore. I had to put him down. I collapsed on the couch in complete hopelessness. And then the real fun began—catastrophic thinking—Our life is so hard. This will never end. Everyone else’s life is easier than mine. God, if you really loved me, you’d make this baby go to sleep. Don’t you know how tired I am! (You’re feeling really sorry for me aren’t you?)

Of course there were other thoughts in there too like the passage I read from the book of James earlier in the week: Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

But you know those trials are easier when they’re just in theory. Honestly, I felt embarrassed that my faith wasn’t even strong enough to withstand one sleepless night. I mean, seriously? We’re not talking about persecution. This isn’t the stuff of saints and martyrs—This is motherhood. This is what I prayed for.

In that moment, my faith in God and his goodness felt pathetic. It was a rough night.

I made it to work today. We worshiped together as a staff and sang, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty. Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee… And I let my song rise—my tired, weak, defeated song. And then I remembered that worship isn’t solitary. I lift my voice and it joins with the voices of all the others who worship alongside me. And our collective voices join with the voices of the ones who have gone before us. And all of us worship together, because we really do belong to each other.

And in that moment, my faith is strong.