The dogs woke me up at 1:45 last night (The clock said 2:45, but my body has not yet adjusted to the time change) and I found myself wide awake, listening to my husband’s exhausted breathing next to me, too tired to “get out bed and do something different for 15 minutes until you are ready to try to sleep again” which is one of the pieces of advice we give our clients who can’t sleep (reasoning that the more frustrated you get in your bed, the more you associate your bed with frustration and not with sleep.), but not tired enough to fall asleep. I felt the customary nausea I experience when I wake up late at night, and between that, my headache, and thoughts of exhaustion in the morning, I was feeling pretty miserable. So, finally I positioned my trashcan right next to the bed in case I threw up, and leaned back and took the time to pray for people in my life I care about. I prayed for my husband, for whom his 60-hour work week has been taking a toll, and for my friends at work who were hurting and in need of healing, and for my clients and my grandmother who recently had a stroke. I wondered if anyone who I prayed for was up right then, hurting and desperately in need of prayer and comfort, and I hoped that the reason I was up (I am not typically an insomniac, I usually sleep very well) was out of a greater purpose to help heal the people in my life whom I love. Eventually I drifted off to sleep and dreamt troubling dreams about tragedies and news people who wouldn’t leave me alone and claimed my house had to be bulldozed in order for the world to be saved.
After nights like this one, it is so nice to know that no matter how dark it gets, the morning always comes.