Thoughtful Thursday: What God Taught Me About Sleep

I could probably write several posts about our experience the past few weeks with switching Sweet Girl into her "big girl" bed. And the journey is not even over. But, for your sake and mine, I think I will just write this one and share with you an important lesson I've learned, and hope to keep with me.

We are now going into our third week of this, each week having it's own difficulties. What I learned during the first week, probably the hardest so far, is what I want to share today. I'm not going to go into details, just some background information you need to understand how my lesson came about. Basically that is that we were all up at all hours of the night, every night.

Sleep is very important to me. When Sweet Girl was younger, I'd add up how many hours I got (or didn't get). I'd do the same for her. I'd analyze. "If she sleeps x more hours then that's y for her and z for me." Fortunately, this time, I was able to refrain. That was helpful, but it didn't completely keep me agonizing about the lack of sleep and dread the coming day with all its activities and challenges. As hard as it was to get Sweet Girl back to sleep, I then had to get in bed and put myself back to sleep. And instead of drifting back off, I'd lay awake - alert and anxious - and pray and pray to be able to fall asleep.

When morning came, I'd beg for grace and strength for the day. And you know what? I got it. Not only did I not feel exhausted, crabby or frustrated, but neither did Sweet Girl - at least it seemed. She was her normal, perky self (most of the time) and I was a joyful, grace-filled version of myself (most of the time). All week little things had helped me try to keep things in perspective. Things like:  "At least she's healthy." and "Christ rose from the dead, He can surely get a tired, pregnant mama through the day."

Finally on Sunday morning, after putting her back to sleep, once again, around 6:00 (you know, when the sun is rising and birds are chirping), I tried to go back to sleep. By now I had noticed that no matter how hard the nights were, the days were fairly normal and enjoyable. So as I began my rounds of, "Lord, help me get a couple more hours!", a thought came to me: "If God is giving you strength through the day, why worry about how much sleep you get?" I realized that all my frustration from Sweet Girl's lack of peaceful sleep is from my desire to get the sleep I think I need. Yet God had proven to me all week that I don't need sleep. I need Him.

All week I had been praying for sleep, which in my mind was strength, when instead God was choosing to strengthen me in a different way. While I was praying for the miracle of her (and me) sleeping through the night, he was giving me a different miracle of grace and joy during the days.

In Matthew chapter 8, Jesus performs many miracles, then sleeps through storm on a boat. His disciples panic (um, that would be me!), and He stops the storm. Then when He heals two demon possessed men by letting the demons go into pigs, the people ask Him to leave. That would be me again. I didn't want God's strength, I wanted the security of a good night's sleep. But that is no security. Only God's grace and love is secure. I accept that now, and I pray I can apply it to all parts of my life.


What I learned can be summarized in this quote, one I try to remind myself of often:

"Do not pray for easy lives; pray to be strong people.

Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers; pray for powers equal to your tasks.

Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle, but you shall be a miracle."

~ Phillips

Another Pause for the Blog

Due to transitioning Sweet Girl to her big bed, I will not be posting this week. I anticipated it taking time to help her fall asleep, but after a short half hour nap today, I realize now it might be more than just that. To make things simpler for me, I'm just going to take a break for the week. Who knows what the nights will be like, and I've learned over and over that Sweet Girl needs lots of time to adjust. If I free up myself to help her, then I have more patience. So, hopefully, I'll see you all back here next Monday!

Surgery

So my Sweet Girl had surgery. And lived... and I did too! Except for a few episodes of panic, on both of our parts, it went very smoothly. It began with an early morning, leaving the house at 7 am. I was as cool as a cucumber, thanks to God bestowing me His peace and grace for the day. I was not the least bit nervous - I knew were in good hands. The hospital is great, we liked the doctor, and I was confident that they were all in even better and bigger Hands.

It wasn't until we went to the recovery room that it felt hard. Walking into the only part we had seen that truly looked like a hospital, one of those big rooms with lots of beds and curtains (like the ones in the war movies and all the wounded soldiers)... walking into there and hearing my daughter's frantic wailing. I rushed over as fast as I could shoving my coat into Coach's arms. The nurse was holding her, but she would not be consoled. She was in a hospital gown (and not the cute one she was wearing on her way to surgery), wires were taped to various parts, monitoring her, IV in her hand... and she was sobbing. And for the first time that day, I wanted to cry. She did not stop crying when I held her. She only stopped when she dozed off as I rocked her and hummed. She was out of it. She had just "popped up" before we made it there. And she was aware enough to be scared, but not aware enough to know everything was now okay.

She woke up and cried, then dozed off again two more times. She finally drank something (which was a requirement to go home) and seemed more herself. But when we tried to put her sleeper on, she refused, cried again and went back to sleep with more rocking and singing. This time, she slept for an hour. Coach and I were playing Scrabble on the iPod, eating some Valentine's truffles. I was halfway through mine when Sweet Girl woke up, looked at the truffle in my free hand and nodded her head eagerly as to say, "Yes, I'll eat that!" Now she was herself again - thank God! I popped that truffle in my mouth and we promised her a banana after we got her sleeper on. She downed that thing - after all, it was the first thing she'd eaten all day.

Since then, she has been herself for the most part. However, she is much more resistant to taking her medicine, terrified of getting her temperature taken, and refuses to take a bath. Fortunately, I think we're pretty much done with the medicine and I think her fever has gone away (it was likely that she would have one). I guess we'll just have to see about the bath thing.

Last night I felt the most scared I did the whole time. Mia still had a fever, a rough cough and raspy breathing after waking up, and it was Friday night with Coach out of town. All day I debated when I should give her medicine, if I should call the doctor... whether I know what I'm doing at all. I felt totally inept at caring for her and terrified that I'll make a wrong decision - and fearful of something worse happening (oh, you know - anything!). Where did all my trust go? Where did my faith in those bigger Hands go? I was not prepared for all these little decisions to come up. I was expecting step-by-step, hour-by-hour instructions. There are none and am left feeling helpless. It's humbling that my faith is so shallow that I only trust when I'm prepared to trust. Rarely do we get warnings before something happens. We must always be trusting, every day, hour, moment. Oh how I beg to have trust in the mornings, and when things come up, but I am still weak and it is hard. I am sure I will have plenty of opportunities to strengthen my trust. I pray I can meet them bravely, and leave the experience stronger. I know this experience has given me growth, and I thank God for it, His guidance, and His strength.

Big Changes for Sweet Girl... and Mama

In the months leading up to the baby's birth, there will be some big changes for my little daughter. After all, she is growing up. I predict they will be harder on me than on her.

The first is weaning. When I first got pregnant, I thought it would be nice to have a three to four month break from nursing before starting at the beginning again. Naturally, the times we nursed whittled down to only before nap and bedtime. I was glad for this because it was starting to be painful. Lately, it has been extremely painful, even though we nurse for only a few minutes at a time. It's always the beginning that is the worst. I felt reluctant to try to stop it because I thought it would be a battle. She always made sure we were going to nurse by signing it and got excited before we'd start. I knew she didn't need it to sleep, but she sure enjoyed it. I enjoyed it too, minus the pain. It was special, very special.

But Saturday when we nursed before her nap, it hurt worse than ever. And with a big thing coming up in a few weeks, I knew I needed to either do it now or wait until that was over. I decided I just could not wait. We nursed for the last time that night.

I wasn't positive that I was ready for it to be the last time, so I didn't know for sure. But I realized just how sad I was that it was ending. I hate "last times." Whenever we moved I would always think, "This is the last time I'll do this here." or "This could be the last time I see this person." It was excruciating. So I thought about it that night and the next morning and decided it would just be best that the "last time" was over. I was aware enough to be able to remember the "last time", but since it was uncertain, it wasn't as awful as if it were definite. And now there will be no dreading of the "last time." It's already happened.

The first time I put her down without nursing, I gave her a cup of milk to drink while I sang to her. She didn't realize it was replacing the nursing and cried a little when I put her in the bed. But she seemed to understand that there would be no nursing, and comforted by me offering to rub her back. Then she proceeded to play happily for twenty minutes before falling asleep. Night time was a little different and she cried a minute after I left. I went back and asked her what was wrong and she asked to nurse. I told her no and reminded her that she had her cup of milk instead of nursing. I offered to hold her more and sing to her and she wanted that. After a little while, she was okay with me laying her down again and then again to played to sleep. I sure don't mind doing extra cuddling, and it helps me accept the change easier too.

The next big thing will come in mid-February. She needs to have a minor, outpatient surgery. Again, it will probably be harder on me because she won't remember a thing! I'll write more about that as it comes up and happens.

The next, will be moving into a toddler bed. I'm sure it will be fun for her; she'll love getting out when she shouldn't! I'm hoping it won't be too much of a challenge, but I'll be sure to share the adventure!

And hopefully the last (for a while) will be the coming of her brother or sister! That will be the biggest adjustment of all, but hopefully the happiest too.

This Morning

It was very hard to get up this morning. I laid in bed an extra fifteen minutes after my alarm before forcing myself out of bed. I've had Sweet Girl's cold since Thursday and though it's better, I still don't feel great. After a my morning reading, I curled up and closed my eyes on the chair. I saw Coach get up, but I couldn't bring myself to get up again. Later when he walked through the living room again, I opened my eyes to talk to him. Then I hopped in the shower before he headed off to work. 

Sweet Girl slept in while I did some cleaning for the day, a little bit of Internet surfing, and debated about waking her up... twice. I walked in her room, pulled open the curtain... but when I went to lean down and rub her back, I just couldn't. There was no reason except that I don't want her up late. I just thought, "Well, maybe she needs this rest. I know she's a lot better from the cold, but maybe she just needs more." So I waited. However, I did leave her door open and turned on some classical music while I cleaned. It did rouse her eventually I think and at 10:30, my sleepyhead was awake. 

We dressed, prayed and nursed. I fixed scrambled eggs and she ate a whole egg's-worth. Then we shared the last muffin of a batch from last week - warm with a generous pat of butter. Just the way we like it. Inside, I felt a warm joy, spending my morning with my Sweet Girl.

Whatever is Pure

"... whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy-meditate on these things." Philippians 4:8b


We were eating our oatmeal together, Sweet Girl and me. There was newspaper crumpled on the table from a package recently opened. I thought I'd take a look at it. It was from Colorado and it's interesting to see what's going on somewhere else. So a picture caught my eye and I started reading. And when I finished, I was disgusted. I did not need to know about that. I wish I hadn't picked it up. That verse popped in my head and I realized what I should have been looking at and paying attention to all the while was right in front of me, and always is - my sweet, pure, innocent daughter... who is always teaching and reminding me of important things. Whether she knows it or not.

Plans

The plan was to leave Monday to visit my best friend who recently had her second child. But when Sweet Girl had a fever on Sunday, Plan B was to leave Tuesday. The fever was still there Monday night, so there was a dilemma of whether to leave Wednesday, or just leave next Monday since I had plans for the weekend. 

All day yesterday I fretted. Which was the better plan? Lord, make it clear to me, I prayed. Nothing, nothing until the evening; I felt we should just leave today. I let my friend know, I packed up the rest of our things and went to bed early. Sweet Girl hadn't had a fever all day. It was a great, normal day. We were set. 

But when she woke up over and over, 5, 10, 20 minutes apart. And felt very warm again, I knew we weren't going to go. And when she threw up all over me, there was no way I'd be able talk myself into it no matter how great she seemed to feel when she woke up. No, it just wasn't going to happen. 

I really don't like my plans getting changed and things not happening how I see them. I'm a planner by nature and when I have something in mind, it takes a while for me to reprogram my brain to accept a different plan. When we were living the baseball life, this was quite a problem until I just planned on not knowing. As long as I knew I wouldn't know I was okay... for the most part. Now that my life is much more predictable, I am back to liking it that way and not being as flexible. 

In my devotional book, Jesus Calling, it recently talked about not planning. I took it half seriously knowing that I had also read that for every minute you plan, you save ten minutes of the future. "Yes, planning is good." I thought. And that is true... to a degree. But when planning becomes my security, and I get frustrated when my plans get changed, then it is not good. Planning is important, but it must be flexible. And it must not become an idle. I must have faith in Christ that if my plans change, then that is okay. It may even be better than what I had planned. I need to remember to ask God to bless me when I make plans, and to guide me as I make decisions about the future. I am always being reminded of how I need to make God a part of every aspect of my life. Every part.