Some thoughts rolled around in my head at 2 AM, as I lay curled up next to my miserable toddler:
It is humbling...
to have to wake your sleeping husband and whisper through tears that you can't deal with the wide-awake, screaming newborn anymore.
It is comforting...
to experience the truth of the promise that God gives grace to the humble--grace in this instance coming in the specific form of a patient, understanding, sensitive, gentle, strong, selfless husband who immediately hugged me and took over.
It is frustrating...
to listen to your child scream and have no idea what is wrong because he can't or won't tell you where it hurts or why he's upset--and to feel helpless because you can't fix it.
It is reassuring...
to know that my Heavenly Father never experiences that frustration or helplessness--that His ears are attentive to His children's cries, that He knows exactly why I am upset even when *I* don't know, and that He has the power *and* the wisdom *and* the love to do what's best for me, always.
It is difficult...
to persevere in breastfeeding when you're in so much pain.
It is hope-giving...
to remember that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us...that this light momentary affliction is preparing for [me] an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison...and that Jesus endured far, far more excruciating pain to provide me with eternal life and joy.
And then, as I lay in the dark practicing gratitude for these truths, some song lyrics came to mind as a benediction (a friend sang this song at our wedding, actually):
Two kids and a dream
With kids that can scream
Too much it might seem
When it is two a.m.
When I am weak, unable to speak
Still I will call You by name
Oh, Shepherd, Savior, Pasture-Maker
Hold on to my hand...
And You say, "I AM."
(Nichole Nordeman, "I Am")