I lie in bed next to him. He twitches in his sleep— already dreaming, no doubt— while I lie here, tossing and turning. Trying to take deep breaths in and out. Trying to will myself to sleep.
Eventually, I resign myself to the insomnia and use this as an opportunity to pray for all the people on my heart. I pray for the family who lost their mom four months ago. I pray for my growing tween daughters. I pray for my friend who, like me, has a stressed-out cop husband who struggles to find balance between what he does for a living and how that works out in his family life and in his faith walk. I pray for my fellow school mom friends who I chatted and prayed with this morning— they have such different lives than mine. It was good to glimpse into their lives and hearts again today. I pray for my in-laws who will soon be moving. I pray for my friend whose son is in the hospital. I pray for the safety of my home— there was a gas leak nearby this afternoon and I can hear the workers still working on it.
I check the clock: 1am.
Gosh, it’s hot tonight… maybe I should turn the A/C on…?
I drape my leg out of the covers to cool off and come back again to prayer. This time for my twitching man who sleeps peacefully beside me.
It was a rough night for he and I.
A misunderstanding. Insecurities raised their pitiful heads and tried to claw their way into our lives once again. Truth had to battle its way to the surface so that it could give clarity and perspective to the situation. Adrenaline rushed. Hearts beat faster than normal. Words were spoken with caution as we each tried to tentatively wade through the mess that was our conversation.
We’ve lived through so many bad fights in our time. We have now learned a little bit about how to tune into that still small voice inside saying “Hold it… Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t say that yet. Think a bit. Think through what you’re going to say before you say it. Hold on. Remember: respect… kindness… truth in love…”
Even so— tonight was a rough one. We tiptoed around one another’s hearts as we searched for how to say what we were truly feeling… but how to say it with grace and kindness and respect and with a solution in mind.
In the end, there was peace. In the end, I draped my leg across his and let my foot snuggle up to him and tell him I’m still here. I still love you. I still choose you.
But it takes awhile for my body to come down off of the adrenaline of those moments. Our hearts and voices made peace with one another… but my body is now restless.
So here I am: on the couch to write it out. Maybe this will flush it out of my system so I can actually get some rest?
Or… I suppose… even if sleep continues to elude me: I can always find someone else to pray for…
What about you?
What spills out of you when you hear the word “alone”? How do you handle your middle-of-the-night restlessness?
Please feel free to share your comments or your own journey in the comment section below.