Have mercy upon me, O LORD; for I am weak.
I am weary with a different sort of night waking. The tears are not mine, but my teething, stuffy-nosed daughter’s, who also needs consolation. She needs milk, she needs warmth, she needs soothing, she needs to know there is someone there in the dark. She needs me.
You, Lord, need no slumber or sleep, but oh I need mine! My enemies are not clad in bronze, breathing murderous threats. I could murder my morning coffee, but my fight is against a different set of powers. Yes, I am poor in spirit, weak in flesh.
Nevertheless, your mercies abound, not only for the warrior-king, but for the servant-mother. It can be tempting to see these little ones as the enemy, thieves of sleep and sanity. But you whisper, the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. This blessed beatitude is for the poor in spirit. So then, we together are perfectly poised to receive it.
You, Lord, receive the prayer of the sleepless night. You hear our crying, and come padding down the darkened hallway to assure us of your presence. Your mercies are new, even before the morning. Yes, hour after midnight hour, we find our rest in you.
S. D. G.