The wee small hours

It is three o’clock in the morning. I hate being awake in the middle of the night. These deep hours don’t always feel to me to quite belong to God. It feels as if the darkness is allowed to encroach upon one a little more than usual.

It didn’t always used to be this way. When I was younger I remember waking up and feeling cozy. I had a sense of who I was, what I was about, that all was as it should be or would at least work out. I would thank God for my bed, dig a little deeper into the covers and fall back to sleep.

Now when I wake up I screw up my eyes and try really hard not to think. My thoughts feel like a cloud of fear hovering just above my head. For a few seconds I think, “Just go back to sleep, everything is all right- you are safe, your family is safe.” But if I do not the battle begins with images of horrible things that have happened or are currently happening. School children attacked with meat cleavers in China, terrorist attacks, serial murder cases, kidnappings, sexual exploitations of young children, earthquakes, animal cruelty.

Then the “what ifs” make their attack. What if my children are kidnapped? What if my son has to go to war? What if my daughter’s heart is broken beyond repair? How can I protect them when I feel so weak? What if I get sick? What if I die? What if Eric dies? What if my children die?

If I allow the “what ifs” to take over, like I did tonight, I might as well get up. Only the routine of everyday things like dishes in the sink, the dog going outside and the hum of home electronics can make these demons retreat.

When I was younger I was fearless. I lived in dangerous neighborhoods, offered rides to strangers. I walked the streets at night- and slept well. Was I truly brave, or merely stupid? One does after all; feel invincible in one’s 20s.

It seems to me that maybe real bravery is knowing exactly what truly awful things the world is capable of throwing at you and going forth anyway. Choosing to believe that you are not alone, no matter how alone you feel.

I know that God is in the middle of all this somewhere. I don’t doubt that. But I truly don’t know where. At 3 AM I can’t feel Him, and praying doesn’t stop the bombardment of fear that pummels me into a pathetic mess. I have been looking for Him in the middle of the night for a long time. And I wonder how real my faith is if I can believe during the day and be so lost at night.

Something that wearies me about Christianity is all the “someday” stuff. Jesus will come back someday. All will be made right. Someday.

I don’t know. I guess I am not brave. I want life to be safe, to feel safe. Now. I want my children to have magical childhoods. I want anything that threatens them to be cast into hell. Now. I want assurance that all is well. Right now.

Is that so wrong? Maybe I just need more sleep.