For every depressing thought that keeps me awake at night, forcing me to stare at a ceiling, a clock, or something worse, there’s a still, small Voice that whispers in rebuttal, “You are not alone, and I care.”
In the middle of the night, when rest should be my reward, the day now spent replays once more. Self-doubt and self-pity weigh on me like a heavy blanket, suffocating me with claustrophobic sorrow. But He says, “I am here, let me handle it.”
It won’t be long till the alarm clock follows its instructions, oblivious to my regret. The day will be longer because of my worrying, and it didn’t have to be. Why did I bother setting it?
Arms of mercy were reaching out to hold me. My Father sought to sing a lullaby of grace over me, but I doubted … in the middle of the night.