"Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary, and His understanding no one can fathom."
This verse came to my mind and heart this morning as I was making our bed. Lately Claire hasn't been sleeping through the night. When she was a baby, that interrupted sleep was something I anticipated as I laid my head down on my pillow every night. And on the off chance that she would sleep all the night through, or even for just a longer stretch of time, I'd wake up rejoicing at that blessed extra sleep. We're now in a season of life where late night feedings and diaper changes aren't what wake us up. It's a four year old not able to fall asleep or having a leg/ankle/neck/head ache. It's a sip of water or someone needing to go to the bathroom. Or it's someone not making it to the bathroom and a change of clothes + bedding calling me from my warm, cozy slumber. Sometimes it's even as simple as covers being kicked off and needing to be re-tucked in. It's almost a guarantee each night that one of the kids will need tending to in some way. And lately Claire has been tip-toeing her way down the hallway to sleep in our bed. She's not the most comfortable snuggle companion. Far, far from it. But when I try to take her back to her own bed, she screams and cries her protests enough to wake up the rest of the family. It's simpler to just let her sleep in our bed and accept the constant back kicking, head butting, and forfeit a good night of sleep than to let her wail. There has been a time or two where I'm fed up enough to take her back in her bed, re-tuck her in, kiss her good-night, and walk away. Her protests don't usually last for long, but sometimes I think my state of being so tired makes me think that her way will be easiest. It's not.
All of that to say, a good nights sleep in the last 9 years has been a rare and precious blessing to wake up to. This morning I woke up feeling that feeling like I had slept so incredibly good that waking up made me just a little heartbroken. Rest is important, so very important. As a mama, I find myself exhausted in so many different forms that it's hard to accept that I can't keep everything in a perfect balance without something or someone being forgotten. That's hard to admit. When I have a day that wears on me emotionally, mentally, physically, and/or spiritually, I know I have nothing good to give back to the ones I love the most. I need time to rest my mind, heart, body, and spirit throughout each day and sometimes it's hard to find the time to do so.
My heavenly Father doesn't grow tired or weary. I remember those words and am filled with so much comfort. He will never tire of my questions like I do when Lucy asks every day what we're going to do after we take the boys to school and then what are we going to do and then what are we going to do and on and on. I love that girl fiercely, but sometimes she makes me feel like I'm a cruise ship director. We don't have a detailed itinerary, my dear. My Father will never weary of my songs of praise when my heart is troubled like I tire of hearing my boys belt out that Gagnam Style song. (Worst ever.) He won't ever get sick of hearing my prayers of a broken heart when someone has hurt my feelings (or worse, when someone hurts the ones I love) like I get sick of hearing our children tattling over who has wronged who.
Being a mama is such a hard job. But it's also such a rewarding privilege that I don't take lightly. When I grow tired, there is almost always something that the kids will say or do that blesses my heart and I know is God's way of saying, "Lighten up. Even in your imperfections, there is good happening here. Keep striving for the good, learn from the lows, and keep on loving those babies."
And I will strive to every day, Father. Baggy eyes and all.