I haven't blogged much recently, because my little man Beckett has not been giving me much time to myself before evening exhaustion sets in. In other words, he's not a good napper these days. A month ago I was singing a different tune. For an amazing couple of weeks during his two double-hour napping sessions, I installed a drip system in our garden, planted some fall vegetables, mopped our floors (including a thorough scrub of our kitchen floor), blogged... and I can't remember what else. Now I'm lucky if I have an hour and a half to eat, get dinner prep started, and maybe clean a thing or two. In fact, I began this post as Beckett was napping. He has since awakened, and I'm working on it, determined, while he plays on his floor mat.
Beckett's lack of napping has brought on a few different responses in me. Sometimes he goes to sleep fine and just wakes up quickly. Then I feel a little disappointed not to get more done, but happy he's slept, and happy to see him.
Other times, he fights me, screaming and crying and trying to arch his back out of my arms, as I try to put him down for a nap. These times bring out a lot of my frustration, and even anger. It doesn't make any sense to me, as he dozes and rubs his eyes and ears, why he would resist sleeping. Is he in pain? He doesn't seem so... Does he have a wet diaper? I checked... Is he hungry? No, he just ate. Is he stubborn? I have no idea if that's possible in a child his age... I run out of options, and just have to debate between two responses. Do I try to get him to take a nap, or do I just let him go, sleepless, and deal with the craziness that ensues? On days like yesterday, I try to wait him out, bounce him around, and lull him to sleep. I lay down with him, thinking I'd just take a nap with him, since often that will get him to sleep. Nothing worked. After an hour, I gave up in frustration, putting him in his crib with his mobile going for a few minutes. But by then, I was angry. It's not logical, I know. I don't accuse him of ill will or anything. But if you have had any human, even a tiny one, screaming in your face for give or take thirty minutes, you will understand that sometimes the visceral response is difficult to quell. Add a little exhaustion, and for me, it's a recipe for evil things rising up in my throat.
Later, when the storm has passed, I feel ashamed. How could I feel so enraged at my little darling? How could I ever even imagine venting frustration at him, when I wish and pray every day for his protection and good?
And where is God in all this, as I pray for patience and compassion and gentleness with my son? The perfectionist in me (damn it, it's still here after all) wishes that in every instance, Jesus would give me more strength.... so that I don't sound so angry when I tell Beckett, "Stop it," as he kicks and screams and flails his arms. So that I never move him roughly or have to fear that I've held him too tightly as I try to contain his flailing. So that I never have the urge to shake him that makes me have to leave him crying in his crib for a few minutes. So that I never fail to be the mom I wish to be, ever loving and patient. But that isn't what God does every time. Sometimes that is how it is, and Jesus stands in the room with me as my child seems possessed, and gives me soothing words and deep breaths and the ability to wait.
But sometimes, like yesterday, I feel like I'm alone, and I'm too tired, and I don't do what I wish I would do. And last night in a deep conversation with a friend, I think I could see what Jesus is doing then. Maybe he did give me more strength, and I failed anyway. But for sure, afterward, he was giving me grace. Because what does grace mean, if it can't make things right after we have failed in concrete and specific ways? I've believed and heard all my life that God is gracious, and I guess I don't have as much trouble believing in the side of grace that helps us live well and truly and lovingly. But I have a harder time leaning into the side of grace that only shows when I fail utterly, and feel myself to be a sick and selfish creature still. But what is that verse... "He knows that we are but dust..." And so today, each day, is the beginning of a new story for me, and for my little one. Because I have to trust that when I fail Beckett, God's grace will be there for him, too.
