11.6 // Sleep

Last night, John Taylor slept six whole hours straight.
I watched him there in total peace, his chubby little fingers up by his pursed lips.
Be still my mama heart!

Now, I typically despise when parents share these kind of achievements on social media or in blogs because (a) to be frank, no one really cares about your kid’s sleep. Parents care about these stretches because we are the ones drifting in and out of sanity for months, alive purely due to surplus amounts of coffee and that mysterious attachment that occurs at birth. That’s it. Sleep is a big deal only if you haven’t had much. Or any. No one else cares.

And (b), if you are like us, the phrase “sleep like a baby” means more like "getting up every two hours to eat, smacking one’s self awake with overactive startle reflexes, and ending up in bed with one’s parents for the entire first twelve months of their existence.”
That kind of sleep I know all too well.
Posts about great baby sleep are salt in the wound for sleepless ones like us— like getting a black eye that’s already marred with dark circles and bags.

So while I wouldn’t typically proclaim this six hour baby miracle, the examen has brought me back to sleep again and again today.

You see, when I woke up foggy this morning, and I realized how long John Taylor slept, I rejoiced! What a good, good, thing— sleep!
Right after I squeezed his chunky cheeks and cheered for his long rest, it occurred to me that somewhere on our developmental journey, we stop celebrating rest and sleep as good.

My heart was convicted by this change of expectation.
Babies and children can sleep.
They are considered “good “ when they sleep and rest and are joyful.
But then we grow older, and we expect ourselves (and perhaps others) to be busy, somber, strained, and tired— if not stressed.

Confession time: Last night, I only slept (maybe) two hours of John’s six hour stretch.
I was working on writing my examen for yesterday, a work I love and am captivated by. I tend to throw myself into these kinds of individual growth goals— like running a certain pace or earning a certain grade or reading so many books (or unloading the dishwasher as efficiently and quickly as possible— anyone else?).

Hard work and full, passionate days are a gift. Dreams and schedules make life rich and exciting.
But practices of reflection, like the examen, reveal the motives for this hard work and lack of sleep. It asks us questions like: Am I staying up late to write this out of conviction or to prove myself as creative or interesting? Am I trying to control how people see me or perceive my life? Am I so fearful of sounding trite or dumb that I mull over each paragraph until far past a healthy bedtime?

No, this isn’t about laziness. This is about trading hustle, hurry, and photoshopped life for presence and peace. A rootedness so deep in Love, that we can lay down, let go of control, and sleep.*

The examen also pries at the sustainability of our lives— including our sleep. Dr. Marilyn Elliot from Asbury Seminary introduced me to this idea. Simply put, could you live the life you are living right now for the next five years? Is your life sustainable?

Now, there are busy seasons and hectic weeks: when family is sick, its finals week, there is a work deadline, holiday travel. But these times of frenzy are not the norm if we long for a Spirit-filled life. Days and weeks and months (maybe even years) without silence and stillness cause us to be calloused to the gentle invitations of God.

Sleep allows us to be present to God’s still small voice within us and around us.
And as embodied persons, sleep is one of the greatest acts of trust.

A dear woman in our church Sunday School class was considering what hope looks like as she ages, coming to grip with faith looks like in her late eighties. She expressed that falling asleep each night for her has been a wonderfully spiritual act of love: “Every evening, when I turn off the light and shut my eyes, I am not sure if I will wake up in my bed or if I will meet Jesus. And that used to upset me. But now I know that either way, it will beautiful. I can sleep and be at peace.”

To fall asleep openhanded to our whole life.
Could this be a mark of sainthood?

I think about how John Taylor sleeps. He closes his eyes in the house, cracks his eyes open briefly in the grocery store, and then wakes up in the backseat of the car rattling down the road at 70mph toward home.
Trust enough to let go and sleep.

And just as I begin to think that kind of behavior is for babies, I remember Jesus asleep in the boat during the storm.
Do you remember?
John even adds that Christ is asleep on a cushion— as if to imply extravagant peace and comfort— in the middle of a torrential storm and the sheer panic of his band of fishermen friends.
And in this image I realize that Jesus is modeling a very basic practice for his embodied children.

True faith requires release even in our bodies.
Perfected trust enables us to rest and sleep— even when things feel chaotic all around us.

And so we return to the examen, allowing the Spirit to illuminate my heart and my loves and my day.

And lately, how I do nothing reveals the state of my soul more than all my doings.
Our ability to sleep and rest is very much a reflection of our soul.

Through the examen, I find myself asking questions about sleep I have never thought of before:
Is my mind racing? — Have I overstuffed my life, my day, my schedule in order to prove that I’m capable or worthy or significant?
Am I tossing and turning? — Do I have unresolved conflict, tension, or pain that is disturbing the peacefulness of rest?
Do I simply lack hours of sleep? — What is fueling my resistance to retire to sleep at night? Is it control? Or the myth of being “high capacity”? The fear of failure? A desperate desire to maintain a certain persona?
Does the stillness rouse intrusive thoughts? — What thoughts come to the surface when all distractions and stimulants finally subside and I am left with just myself?

I look over the list and check off each one.
Yes, fear.
Yes, business to feel worthy.
Yes, worry.

Oh to sleep like a baby: safe, present, still.
(Minus the startle reflexes.)

And as I wrestle my inability to rest well, to even go to sleep at times, I have to ask another important question: What do I actually believe will happen if I go to sleep?
Do I believe that this task left undone will lead to disapproval?
Will I be perceived as lazy? Unmotivated? Uninteresting?
Will I lose that which I’ve worked so hard for?
Will my perceived advantage be stolen by someone who is willing to work until dawn?

This afternoon, I skimmed across Elton Trueblood’s essay on the sower in Mark 4.
And in his commentary, Trueblood highlights a detail I’ve never noticed: the seed grows when the sower is asleep.
He expounds on the detail wonderfully:

… it is a valuable teaching in that it shows that ours is a kind of world in which growth can occur apart from the action of the initiator. Not all is dependent upon the efforts of feeble humanity. God has made the kind of world in which things grow. If his were not so, none of our efforts would suffice. We live in a world which has much of evil, but it is also a world in which we can count on redemption influences because the world is God’s world.
(Confronting Christ, 32)

Falling asleep to this meditation, this truth, over and over and over will certainly change us:
the world is God’s world, the world is God’s world, the world is God’s world.
And as we allow ourselves to believe it, we can let go.
As we begin to see God as the sustainer of the work, we can rest.
As we trust growth, we can work passionately and then let the Spirit do the rest.

John Taylor is now asleep, and any expectations for a six hour stretch are out the window and sent off into this cool November night.
And it is also time to let this writing go, to release into the virtual abyss, and to go to sleep.
For tonight, sleep is (ironically) active faith:
trust in belovedness, in grace despite flaws, in new whispers to reflect on in the morning.

Friends, may we find God faithful and our belief strengthened as we release our work and sleep.

Additional psalms for meditation as we sleep:

Psalm 56: 8 (MSG)
You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn
through the sleepless nights,
Each tear entered in your ledger,
each ache written in your book.

Psalm 4:8 (NIV)
In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, Lord,
make me dwell in safety.

Psalm 131 (NIV) *My personal favorite in this season*
My heart is not proud, Lord,
    my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
    or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
    I am like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child I am content.
Israel, put your hope in the Lord
    both now and forevermore.

*Just as a note: there have been seasons when I have not been able to sleep for reasons other than pride or shame or fear. For reasons pertaining to sickness and having a newborn and other serious transitions. So there is no shame for seasons of sleeplessness or a sickness impairing sleep or occasional times of intense work!