It was 1 a.m.
I’m all for cuddling in the daytime but I’m notorious for not being uber-pleasant at 1 a.m. I’ve never been great about sharing my bed with little people,either.
One of our children had a particular habit of waking each night and toddling her way in to our room, but always to daddy’s side of the bed. For good reason.
Daddy’s side of the bed was where you found comfort and warm covers. It was daddy who would get up and fill your sippy cup with juice and snuggle you back into bed, careful not to wake mommy.
Daddy was pleasant at 1 a.m.
I was all about habits and routines and not rotting the enamel off our children’s teeth. Daddy was all about snuggling you while he still could, day or night.
And now it’s rare that someone tries to tiptoe into our bed at night. Most of the feet in this house are too big to sneak in to our room, and the people they carry are no longer little.
There’s really just one little left, and he came in at 1 a.m. last Friday night.
He came to my side of the bed, because he’s new to this and doesn’t realize, or care, about mommy’s lack of nurture when woke from dead-drooling sleep. He came to my side in just his race car undies, and once I realized that there was no vomit or urine involved, I held back the covers and let him wrap his skinny-self around me.
This is not a moment to turn away. This is not time for routine and habit and I don’t turn this child away, because he’s not forming bad habits – he’s learning where to go for comfort.
Comfort from bad dreams and maybe missing memories, or from dreams not yet realized. He was scared and he came with a flashlight, because everyone knows that monsters flee the light.
He came to me, and we went to Jesus.
I prayed a mumbled prayer with a dry mouth and sleep-sealed eyes, but my heart was fully alert.
I prayed Jesus into his dreams. I prayed that my son would fall back to sleep in my arms and dream of Jesus who always rescues and saves, and who is Truth and Comfort.
And then my mind began to wake and I really thought about that, about praying Jesus into my dreams, my sleeping ones and the ones I dream with my eyes open. The dreams I have for my children and my husband, for myself, for everything that’s unspoken and scary.
I began to pray Jesus into my dreams, or rather, pray my dreams into Jesus. Not shoving in His name where it seemed appropriate, not tacking on some platitude or holy word, and not handing Him all my plans and expecting His seal of approval. But seriously examining where I spend my mind-time and looking for Jesus there.
Is Jesus in my dreams?
It’s the mystery of Psalm 37:4, that God gives us the desire of our hearts. Gives us what we desire, or puts His desires in us? Or both?
Delight yourself also in the LORD, And He shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD, Trust also in Him, And He shall bring it to pass. – Psa 37:4-5 NKJV
Delight comes first. It shows up several times in that chapter, and maybe that’s where my focus ought to be. To delight myself in Him and let the dreams take shape, to commit and trust and He shall. I think He’s been saying this over and over to me.
Because if He’s not in my dreams, what good are they?
I’m warming up to 1 a.m. visits.