More Than The Watchmen Wait

On Sleepless Nights

As anyone with a newborn will tell you, sleeplessness is something new parents have little choice but to grow well-acquainted with.

When our firstborn came along, my nights and days blurred together, barely separated by little sleeps here and there. Those first few days, it was probably adrenaline that got me through. At about week three, the baby seemed to rouse from her newborn slumber, spending more hours awake and feeding more frequently. I was becoming increasingly exhausted.

It was around then that I discovered the secret that put an end to my sleeplessness.

One night, feeling like I should try out a more relaxing feeding position, I googled ‘how to breastfeed lying down’ and followed the instructions. It was definitely relaxing. Too relaxing. I jerked awake hours later, appalled that I had accidentally fallen asleep with the baby in my bed. My heart dropped. It was only when I could see her little body still rising and falling steadily that I let out a big sigh of relief.

I remember thanking God profusely that He had looked after my baby in the night, when I had failed. The warnings given out by hospitals and friends about the dangers of co-sleeping with your baby had been imprinted into my brain. How could I have been so careless?

To my shame, that was not the last time this accidentally-falling-asleep-while-feeding-the-baby thing happened. But after about the third and fourth time it recurred—and still God was gracious and my baby made it to the morning, alive and well—I noticed that… I was sleeping!

Maybe… just maybe, this co-sleeping thing wasn’t such a terrible idea, after all.

When baby number two came, I told the midwife that I was planning on co-sleeping. She made me sign a ‘waiver’ form, relieving the hospital of all responsibilities if something terrible were to happen. I hesitated for a moment, but eventually signed the form.

With baby three and four? I asked for the waiver as soon as I was wheeled from the delivery suite.

Thanks to co-sleeping, my hazy newborn days weren’t plagued with sleep deprivation. I could enjoy sweet, precious cuddles and feel rested in the morning. It really worked for us, and it was a real blessing. (Though, as a side point, I’m not at all endorsing co-sleeping in particular. It has its downsides, too! And I’m a big believer in ‘you should do what works for you and your family.’)

I was thrilled to have come across a ‘solution’ to my problem of sleeplessness during those days.

But that’s only one type of sleeplessness I was familiar with.

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If I knew you in real life, you’d probably heard me say that I found early marriage to be more challenging than parenthood. You can read a bit of the story here. Otherwise, you can talk to me in real life. A note of warning: I tend to overshare! 

I’d tell you that my early twenties was wrought with relational strains. I’d tell you that, despite being married to the most loving, compassionate and gracious man, I’d frequently find myself on the bathroom floor (or the kitchen floor, to change it up a bit at times), with silent tears streaming down my face. Feeling worthless, hopeless, and alone. It was distress like I’d never experienced before. I felt abandoned by the God I knew. Looking back now, I’d echo David’s words about walking through “the valley of the shadow of death” (Ps 23) to describe those moments.

In the dead of the night, while everyone was asleep, confusion and pain would swirl around in my chest and choke me from within. I wrestled with questions of identity, guilt, and shame. The ache was so acute, it was almost physical. The darkness, only pierced by harrowing moonlit shadows, and the utter silence, were clear reminders that no one was coming to get me out of my misery.

I waited for sleep to come and offer some relief, but it never did. I waited for the pain to mean something—for it to be acknowledged somehow. I waited for a silver-bullet solution—like co-sleeping had been for my other type of sleeplessness. But no such thing arrived.

I waited and waited. The more I waited, the more I saw that waiting seems to be an inescapable part of human experience.

*

We all wait for something.

We wait for holidays, for graduation, for dating, for marriage, for a baby, for the baby’s nap time, for the baby to grow up, for the kids to start school, for the school holidays, for school to start back up, for change, for results, for a job, for business to take off, for a reunion, for an answer, for healing, for a particular email (ever refreshed a webpage every couple of minutes in anticipation?), for a loved one to change, for that day you’ve finally saved enough money to buy your first home, for retirement… and the list goes on.

Sometimes, we wait for something that we are certain will come. Other times, we can’t be sure if the thing we long for will ever eventuate. 

Sitting on that bathroom floor, I so longed to be rid of the anxieties and insecurities that afflicted me. I wanted to be emotionally healed and mentally well. But I didn’t know if this was something that would ever happen. No wonder I felt so hopeless.

I should have been waiting for something else, something greater–the LORD himself.

The Psalmist sings,

“I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,

    and in his word I put my hope.

I wait for the Lord

    more than watchmen wait for the morning,

    more than watchmen wait for the morning.” (Ps 130:5-6)

This should have been my song during those long and lonely nights.

What would it mean for me to ‘wait for the LORD?’

The object of our waiting, the object of our hope, is the thing we fill into the following gaps:

“When I finally ________, then I’ll feel good/relieved/happy/content.”

If I get/achieve/receive ________, then I can finally enjoy life/relax/breathe.

We live our day-to-day constantly placing our hope in things that will never truly quench our yearnings. Sure, these things may provide temporary comfort or relief. But at best, one day soon, they will pass. We will come out the other side of the wait still lacking. At worst, they will outright fail to achieve what they promised, leaving us more desperate than we were to begin with. 

As the Psalmist declares, only the LORD is worthy for “my whole being” to wait upon. Only his Word is worthy of my hope. He is the only One that will never lack, pass or fail. 

Putting our hope in the LORD is recognising that it is only when we fill the gap above with ‘the LORD himself’ that our ‘strivings cease’—a favourite phrase of mine from the well-known hymn, In Christ Alone.

Let us not forget all his “benefits” (Ps 103): the depths of his unfailing love, the wonder of his grace, the vastness of his wisdom. He is kind, forgiving, compassionate and gentle. When we meditate on such wondrous things, something strange happens to whatever it is we wait and long for: it pales in comparison.

*

These days, I no longer find myself on the bathroom floor (which is probably the only reason this post is so easy to share). God had done more than I could ever have prayed for or imagined. I have experienced healing and change—something only the grace of God can accomplish. But I don’t know what lies ahead. Is the next valley of the shadow of death just around the corner?

I know the God who does know, though. He’s the one who wrote it all down before any of my days came to be (Ps 139:16). He—who is beyond time himself—is already there in the morning. He never slumbers nor sleeps (Ps 121:4), so he will be there the next time I call out in the dead of night. He observes when I sit and when I rise, when I lay and when I wake (Ps 139), he is utterly trustworthy and with him “is unfailing love” (Ps 130:7).

When I find myself again, crying out “out of the depths” (Ps 130:1), let my soul remember to wait for the LORD—more than watchmen wait for the morning (v6).

More than watchmen wait for the morning.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Sleepless."