But for some reason I couldn't fall asleep that night. I was restless and frustrated.
I rolled out of bed, flipped on my phone light, and opened my Bible.
I usually read through a book in the Old Testament and a book in the New Testament, and was working my way through Jeremiah and had just finished Ephesians that morning. I decided to start with Philippians that night.
I read the first chapter, but kept going back and rereading verse nine and ten:
And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless
until the day of Christ.
I spent the next hour meditating on that verse and what it meant to have love that abounds in knowledge and depth of insight.
Still couldn't fall asleep.
The next few hours I spent praying. Praying over my husband, my child, my family and church. Praying to be a better wife, a better mother, a better friend.
Though I couldn't fall asleep, I began to thank God for this special time to solely focus on Him in the stillness of the night. I began to think that maybe this, this worshipping in the dark, was maybe the reason I couldn't fall asleep. The Father knew that I needed this.
I had just climbed back in bed around 1 AM, when I heard the baby crying over the monitor.
We had been working for months to get her to sleep in her own room. And yes, she is over a year old.(gasp!)
Don't judge, mmkay? She's got a double dose of stubbornness so every night has been a battle.
If you've never had a child who is a terrible sleeper, you just won't understand. (No need to share tips, tricks, or methods--I think we've tried every possible suggestion, read every book and article, and have smiled through more well-intentioned lectures on sleep training than I care to count.)
And side note, since the night of this particular story, she has been sleeping through the night in her own room for weeks now, so no need to clutch your pearls in horror anymore ;)
I went in her room to check on that stubborn, crying baby, hoping against all odds that she would just sooth herself back to sleep.
Nope. Standing in the crib, crying like her life depended on it, was my wide awake little girl.
For the next hour and a half, I tried every trick in the book to get her back to sleep. She would have no part of it.
I could feel my exhaustion get the better of me. I began to feel frustrated. That peace I had felt hours earlier during that time of communion with the Father, was slipping away fast.
The next several hours were a blur. I tried my hardest to keep the baby quiet in our tiny apartment, so my husband, who would be leaving for the hospital at five in the morning, could sleep.
The crying was grating on my nerves, the constant flailing of little arms, legs, and feet were driving me crazy.
Somewhere between three and four, I cracked.
I didn't think I could do it anymore. I hadn't slept through the night in over a year and I sure hadn't gotten a wink of sleep this night. Day after day and night after night of holding it together and spending myself for my family had caught up with me. Physically and emotionally, I was frayed.
I sat on the couch sobbing, while holding a jabbering, completely wide awake baby. I lashed out at my husband who came to check on us and ask why I wasn't in bed. I was exhausted and done with this whole difficult night.
I wished I hadn't prayed to be a more patient mother. Apparently, God decided it was as good a night as any to stretch me and teach me a lesson in exactly that.
(So you know, don't pray for something you're not willing to be tested in. Lesson learned.)
Finally, sometime after the sun had risen and my husband had left for work, both baby and I fell asleep for a few blessed hours.
When I woke, I was ready to begin again.
This mothering thing? It is the most difficult, yet most rewarding job I've had.
But, until that night I had only thought of it as my job. Not as a ministry.
Some are called to minister in the church, in their jobs, in their community. And often, I've thought I must be missing something. Must be missing out on some ministry opportunity.
But the morning after that crazy, tear-filled, exhausting night, I realized that this is the ministry God has given me for the time being.
Maybe that abounding love that I had pondered on, was what this was all about. That knowledge and deep insight to discern what is best? Maybe this was best. His best for my life.
For years, of course, I have heard preached that a parent's first mission is to their kids. To raise them to love Jesus more than anything and to put Him first above all else.
And yes, I knew that, but after being questioned time and time again, why I choose to stay home with my child or if I'm ever going back to work in the ministry; and after particularly difficult times when I've felt like I'm failing as a mother, I wondered if maybe I heard God wrong. Maybe I am missing out on some important mission He has called me to.
But today, I stand fully confident that though He might have a different calling for others, my calling and ministry is this: to nurture and grow my little one to love the Lord. To daily give her to Jesus and lean on Him to impart the wisdom that I need to mother her heart. To, despite the difficult and exhausting times, despite what others may think, discern what is best for our family as I try to raise my sweet babe to know the Father.
Because, raising up a new generation for His kingdom, is indeed a ministry.
Children are not a distraction from more important work, they are the most important work.
-C.S. Lewis
