Mothers get pretty good at the art.
First, rub little one’s tummy and sing softly. Then drop the song and pat lightly.
Next, when the eyelids begin to droop, just hold hand on tummy. When eyes have been closed for a few minutes, soundlessly lift hand. Then stand perfectly still, like having every intention of standing there all night…always a good time for prayer, talking in my heart to Father God…and when the prayer comes to a close…ever so carefully, imperceptibly slip out of the room, avoiding creaky floorboards, creaky knees, and creaky doors.
And as I heaved a sigh of relief last night when I hit the hallway, Your truth startled me: You never, ever do that to me.
Shalom sleeps in her crib…and I’ve abandoned her. Something incomprehensible to You. You never leave me. Ever. You really do stand there all night…all day…never slipping away.
In the pitch black of any night, storm, or soul wrestle, I can reach out, and I can count on it: You are right there. You are my Faithful Father who never tiptoes away: we’re welded.
So I can rest. Always. Lord, oh, forgive me. I so often think You’ve tiptoed out of the room and will come back for me if I cry out. I forget that You are forever welded to my side. Who can’t rest knowing that? Photo: sleeping Shalom
“Since God assured us,
“I’ll never let you down, never walk off and leave you,”
we can boldly quote,
God is there, ready to help; I’m fearless no matter what.
Who or what can get to me?”
A repost from the archives
