Laps in the kitchen

I know God hears me as I pace the kitchen at 3:00 in the morning, my newborn son nestled against my chest in the stretchy knit of a baby wrap. It’s become our new routine, me groggy from a few weeks that have felt like one never-ending day, He faithful and encouraging.

I feel His presence wrap around me like the sling in which my sweet baby has found peace. It’s not lost on me that like this baby so desperately needs to be settled down after a period of fussing and crying, I so desperately need these late night hours with God to be soothed by the one who loves me unconditionally.

As baby and I circle the kitchen island for the seventeenth time, He’s here. He’s with me while I silently exclaim my simultaneous gratitude, exhaustion, praise, and worry. I know He hears me while I mumble worship songs as lullabies, hushed so as not to wake the rest of the house.

It’s become the only stillness in my day in a time when honestly I’m just trying to survive…

my C-section recovery, the wound still raw and sore

our first born still grappling with how rocked his little world has become

my husband still scrambling to support me when more often than not he’s unsure how

and this tiny, precious, little miracle, still adjusting to life outside the warm embrace of the womb…

Nothing is figured out. Nothing is cohesive. Nothing seems certain. Nothing, that is, apart from my date with God at 3:00 AM.

He settles me down and walks me around, hushing and swaying in a soothing rhythm. He’s reminding me that though sleeplessness is circumstantial, His faithfulness is forever. And in hearing Him, we walk on.

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