I have a love-hate relationship with the night. I love it because I can see the stars, and I can feel tiny amidst the huge huge universe. My imagination is always better in the night time. I think that’s a win. But I hate it because I can never sleep and time seems to slow down overnight just in order to make the whole experience more painful. Of course this isn’t true, but it feels true. When I was younger I was afraid of the dark, but these days I live in the inner city, right next door to a hospital, so even when the lights are out its not dark. But I’m still afraid of bad dreams, of waking up more times than I can recall during the night, and of waking up more tired than I was when I went to sleep.
When I lived in Mexico City (2009 – and a whole other story), one of my favourite things was siesta time. I’d come home from language school, and have a rest for a couple of hours. Maybe sleep. Maybe read. It was so good. I think I was consistently on edge from living in a mega city. I was always stressed and tired and always ready for a sleep. Since I’ve been back, siestas have become my enemy. My GP has forbidden me from sleeping in the daytime. She says it doesn’t help my night time sleeping issues. I probably agree, but I’ll tell you, it’s *very* hard to not sleep in the afternoon when sleep is elusive during normal sleeping hours.
So today I caved. Two weeks of bad sleep mixed with a fair bit of life mess finally caught up with me. I slept for maybe 45 minutes. I woke up tired and groggy – siestas always leave me feeling like that. I’m still tired now, but my brain has decided to go into overdrive replaying all the days events over again…and over again…and over again…and over again… Not cool.
It’s nights like this I wish I was fearless. I wish I didn’t care about safety so I could go for a walk without fears of being kidnapped. Very occasionally I want to go for a run. I know I’m tired when that happens cause I hate running. Sometimes I go and sit on the roof. Maybe I’ll go up there soon.
This verse has always has a special place in my heart:
Weeping may tarry for the night,
but joy comes with the morning. Ps 30:5.
So often this has been my experience. Like a small child, when I am overtired, I cry. In the night everything feels hopeless, but the morning brings such joy. I long for the morning. I’m always a little less crazy in the morning. A little less liable to totally lose it because I can’t sleep. But it is more than the morning that brings me joy. Yes, at 2am, the thing I am most looking forward to is the sunrise, but there is something even better than the sunrise.
My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning. Ps 130:6.
I am waiting for Jesus to return. This is the long game. Right now I wait for sleep. For my brain to turn off. For my weary body to relax just enough. But I know that I am waiting for Jesus to come back. To take me to be with him in eternal rest. To a place where I won’t have sore eyes from not enough sleep. Where my mind will be full of glorious thoughts, and not plagued by fear and doubt. Where I can rest. Rest. REST. Oh yes.
Bring. It. On.