I had the rare occasion to lay down with Max as he fell asleep last night. He has been having some scary dreams and has developed an aversion to sleeping in his own bed. So I told him I would lay with him until he fell asleep. As is usually the case with several of my children, he didn’t lay down and close his eyes and fall asleep, it’s not that easy. He laid down and stared at me. He wouldn’t close his eyes for fear that I would leave his side. Knowing that he needed this rest, I stayed still and closed my eyes hoping he would follow suit. Every time I tried to sneak a peak, his eyes would meet mine and a sweet, groggy smile would envelop his face. As time passed, the opportunity of making eye contact diminished and I was able to just watch his struggle. He was so desperately trying to stay awake to make sure I was still there. He would force his eyes open just long enough to catch the glimpse of my silhouette in the darkness of his room, then relax again and drift off. While in my mind I was saying “just let go, buddy. You need this rest.” When I felt that he was finally asleep, I slowly started to get up and make my way off of his bed. I had just gotten my head off the pillow when I saw him shift and I froze; hoping he would settle and close his eyes again. He pulled his little arm out from under his blankets and wrapped it around my neck. He whispered “No, Mommy. Don’t go away.” He turned his face away from me, laid his head on his pillow and fell asleep; still clinging to my neck.
I laid there in his dark room struck by two things. The first was the similarity of Max’s struggle to allow himself to trust me enough to find rest and the struggle I have been having trusting God completely and allowing Him to give me rest. It was so clear to me that Max was exhausted and just needed to close his eyes and go to sleep. But he was fighting it with everything he had. I could see the fear in his eyes when he opened them that I was not going to be there and I felt his little body relax as he was comforted when our eyes met. I know God calls us to find our rest in Him, but I find myself opening my eyes and saying “but what about the roof that is in desperate need of repair?” He says “Trust me and rest”. I say “what about the college tuition that is coming this fall?” He says “Trust me and rest”. I say “Well, what about our car situation, or Dan’s job, or...?” And again He says “Trust me and rest”. Why do I fight it? God has proven himself over and over in my life and throughout history. He is worthy of my trust. So why do I keep forcing my eyes open to make sure he hasn’t left instead of falling off into blissful rest? I haven’t figured out the answer, yet. I’m not sure that I ever will. Sometimes I wish I could wrap my arm around His neck just to make sure He won’t ever leave. For now, I will cling to His promise to “never leave or forsake me”. God tells us in Matthew 11:29 “Take my yolk upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” That rest is the rest I saw in Max’s face last night when he finally trusted me enough to let go.
The other thing that occurred to me last night was the fact that, as much as I am a believer in children sleeping in their own beds and being able to get themselves to sleep, this was a rare opportunity; one whose frequency is waning. Max is my youngest and at six years old, he is well on his way to complete independence (which is a good thing, something for which we as parents strive), but, at the same time, signals the end of an era in my journey as a mommy. I know there will be more opportunities along the way to love on him, comfort him, disciple him, but to be able to lie next to him and watch as he drifts off to asleep, to be the one who provides the security that allows him to rest; Those opportunities will be few and far between.
I was standing with Max in the kitchen the other day
and I scooped him up in my arms and cradled him like a baby.
I gave him kisses and said
“Max, what’s going to happen when i can’t carry you anymore? I will be so sad.”
He smiled at me and replied, “It’s OK mom, I will carry you.”
