It is 11:42 pm. It may as well be 3 am. That is how tired I am. However, at the moment, I am letting my teeny tiny baby cry in her crib. Why? Because she is well and fed and dry and sleepy. We have cuddled and patted and snuggled and she has eaten and eaten and eaten....and eaten. So, she is crying. A few cries...then long periods of silence with eyes closed. Then crying again...a few mad screams that sound like a pterodactyl...then a few snubs and sniffs...and then silence.
She is fine. I am not. I am sitting in the living room hoping this will distract me from the one sound that I am conditioned and instinctively built to respond to. Everything in my body wants to run to her and promise to hold her all night long for the rest of her life...no matter what her husband will one day say.
But, she would never learn to sleep. Sleep. It seems so simple, yet it is one of the first tasks that babies must learn: how to sooth themselves to sleep. Sure, there is nothing wrong with rocking, nursing, patting, bouncing or even driving your baby to sleep....but whatever tool you use to help them will be the thing they learn to depend on.
I wonder where my Jesus sits when I am crying it out sometimes...those moments where I must learn how to walk through the next step He calls me to...the times when it is painful. While I am whining and complaining or asking Him to fix "it", is He waiting patiently- urging me to trust Him- reminding me that He knows best?
I am reminded of Lucy's question of Aslan in "Prince Caspian". After all the loss in Narnia, Lucy finally sees Aslan again. She immediately asks him why he has not come roaring in to save the day like he did last time. Yes, Lucy. I agree. I find myself asking that as well.
However, even in my doubts and fears and fits it is still evident that He has never failed me. Ever. He has walked with me through fire and death. He has walked me through mistrust, anger and resentment. He has never failed me. When He decides to let me cry it out, it is with the love, compassion and wisdom of a Father....of a mother who listens intently at the nursery door.
It is 11:56. 14 minutes of snubby little cries....I had decided to go in at 12....no need. I knew best. And so does HE.
