I've been afraid of the night for almost as long as I've been alive.  There was a two week period in high school where I barely slept, I just watched the red clock, thought the overgrown thoughts, counted down the minutes until day.  In college I slept with my books and my noise maker and my perfect conditions: the sheets tight, the room dark, the mouth-breathing roommates silenced.  The first time he heard my white noise, witnessed my ritual nesting, heard my demands of him and his sleep sounds, he stared at the machine and then me, the machine and then me, and then he rolled his eyes and his body to the wall.

Throw a baby in the mix and night and I meet again, sometimes hourly.  My friend told me to channel my inner zombie No lights, no talking, no thinking, don't even open your eyes if you don't have to.  Make a clear path to baby and a clear path to the bathroom and grunt at most.  That didn't work for me.  My mind doesn't rest at night no matter how hard I zombie.  Instead, I found myself reading about the dangers of teething gel, of baby tylenol, of crying it out and sleeping in a separate room and SIDS.  I pulled out all of my old weapons:  chanting Paul's words Be anxious about nothing, but in everything through prayer give thanks, prayer itself, 90's worship choruses.  I tried counting out of order, tried online shopping, tried lesson planning.

Nights are just the worst and I'll tell you why: my anxiety that is kept well at bay during the day grows exponentially in the dark.  I question everything about myself.  I move into this scary, self deprecating space and now that there is a small life there too, it is even more chilling.  If I let myself, I can easily turn myself into a failure of a wife, a failure of an educator, a failure of a woman and a Christ follower and then, a failure of a mother.  And even though I know I'm irrational at best during the night, even though I know my hormones are not my own right now and that my emotions are a cruel master and that the power of Him in me is greater than all of my failing, my heart still races.  My stomach still churns.  My shoulders tighten, my neck stiffens, and then it is morning and I am clutching my coffee, I am stumbling to the copier, trying to stay a step ahead of brilliant little minds, missing my little man like crazy.  I am writing a blog full of too many series and too much pity and I am still in bed at noon on my off days.

I just wanted to let you know I'm here.  Struggling in a big way with an old battle and maybe you are here, too.  Maybe you are almost as silly and desperate as I am.  Maybe then, you need to be reminded with me that life itself is a season, that life with Him is a season full of grace and renewing and blessed redemption.  Solidarity my friends-- and this: there is always space to grow and because of this, there is always space to hope.  This in itself is reason enough to fight on, air out, beg forgiveness and pray.