Things That Go Sniff in the Night

The night was quiet.  Brian was watching a basketball game on TV and I was sitting here, as I am now, working on a post for my blog.  Suddenly, a whimper cut through the stillness of the upstairs.  I sat for a moment, ears trained to distinguish which of my children was in distress by simply listening to the tone of the sleepy cries.  "Owen," I whispered with a sigh, putting the laptop down on the coffee table.

Owen.  The little blonde boy who occupies many of my daytime moments.  The little one who looks up with blue eyes through unbelievably long eyelashes, often stained with tears, and asks repeatedly if I'll play a game...read a book...find a green crayon...build a tower.  Owen.  The child who still would rather I feed him his dinner so he won't have to put the yucky foods to his own lips.  My boy who is so sensitive to tastes and feels and smells.  The little one who can't sit still until I cut the offending tags from his shirt and who can identify anything I am cooking by smell-- even something so smell-less as peas. 

This Owen who requires so much of time during the day is now asking of my time in the late night, too.  But my mother's heart is drawn to him.  I tiptoe into his room, careful not to step on a stray toy or kick the Lego box as I make my way to his bed.  In the dark, I can see the fresh tears drip down his babysoft cheeks and fall on to the comforter below.  "Owen," I say.  "What's wrong?"  I get no answer beyond another sniff.  "Do you need to use the bathroom?"  Still no answer, but I gently lift him onto the floor and lead him to the potty.  No words escape his lips, but I know my son and I know, with only his whimpers, what he needs.  I lift him onto the toilet and wait until he is done, then walk him back to bed and tuck him in.  Still no words have left his mouth, but tears no longer leave his eyes so I sense all is well again. 

It is in these routine mothering moments in the quiet of the night that the Spirit pricks my heart, showing me how like my children I am. 

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

And in those moments, I thank my Father for those times when all I have is a whimper, a groan, a sniff of pain, and yet HE still knows my voice and HE knows what I need and HE gently lifts me and carries me and makes it all right again.