Wrestling: A Letter to the Little Man

 Dear Little Man,

One great thing about recording the first year of your life on a blog means that it can't burn up in a fire somewhere or have a gallon of milk spilled on it.  I'm pretty sure that when you are able to read you will still be able to find these writings.

When you do, you will see that it was because of you that I finally sat down and typed.  It was because of your sweet, little, baby belly so full of bubbles as an 8 week old that through a sleep deprived stupor I began to hammer out my story...our story.

Since that late summer evening we have been through a roller coaster in the sleep department.  Sleep, or lack there of, I should say, has been a running theme for your whole little life so far.

I can't even begin to tell you how many prayers I have prayed for your sleep.  Countless.  I can't begin to tell you how many times your daddy and I have been up and down holding you, calming you, shhhing you, rocking you, even crying with you...in the late hours of the night and the wee hours of the morning.

To be fair, I must say that there have been a few times, probably a number we could count on one hand, that you slept fairly well.  There was even one night that you slept from 7pm to 6am!!! (I seriously cried happy tears...but as you get older you will realize that is not surprising.) However, out of the almost 10 months you have been with us there is no arguing that sleep has been something you struggle with, something that keeps us wrestling.


For a long time I wrestled with you.  I tried everything.  Then one day I realized that there might be more to this.  That night I said to God, "Fine.  If I am gonna be awake anyway we may as well do something productive!"  (Or something along those lines...)  I began to pray. But this time my prayers were different.  I stilled prayed for you but I began to really pray for you and for your sister.  For your futures.  For your friendships.  For your hearts.  For your future spouses and their hearts.  I prayed for your protection but I also prayed for adventure and full life.  I began to use the phrase "Kingdom Builders."  And, as I held your not-so-tiny frame in my arms I prayed that both of you would know the love of you Savior.  That you would know it in a real, deep, know it in your bones kind of way.   I prayed for hearts full of compassion.  Hearts that would be moved by the things that move God.

I'm not gonna lie...I was still tired.  But my attitude changed.  It was a good tired.  And I was finding myself looking forward to my moments with you in the big blue chair.  My pint-sized pray partner lying in my arms was my posture and it was so...good.

That's the big blue chair in the background.  Our "prayer closet," if you will:).

Last night I went in when you awoke with the same expectations....rock you and pray.  But you would not be rocked.  You would not be soothed.  I heard a still, small voice say, "It is time."  I pushed it away and continued to wrestle you and hoped that you would give in and rest in my arms.

You wouldn't.

I heard the voice again in the deep places of my heart...the places that only leave a faint echo in your ears.  Being that the house was so still, I was sure this time that this was it.

I laid you down in your crib and for the next two hours I rubbed your back, your belly, your legs, your hands.  And I continuously said "Shhhh" softly, amidst my breathing.  You would push my hands away and then claw them back.  You would push yourself up to sitting and I would gently lay you back down.

You screamed.  Over and over again.  Your breathing was quick.  You choked a few times on all that saliva.

I cried too.  And as we wrestled three things kept playing through my mind.

1) Psalm 91...You will not fear the terror of the night....over and over again I prayed this for both of us.

2) A sermon a dear friend of mine gave this last year about parenting.  She used the analogy of a canoe on a river.  Some parents pack up their kids and send them on down the river...good luck to you.  Some parents stand on the shore and cheer them on...you can do it!  Then there are some parents that get in that canoe with them.  They say things like. "I know this is hard.  You will get through this and I will be with you."

If you were going to stay awake all night, so was I.  I knew it was time to help you learn.  I knew it would be difficult.  I knew I couldn't do it for you but I wasn't going to leave you alone to figure out for yourself.

So, for the first of many times to come.  I got in that canoe with you.

Then, after that...

3) Jacob.  As my mind faded in and out of those two thoughts a third one entered.  Jacob.  He wrestled with God one night.  You can read about it in the book of Genesis.  He wrestled until the sun was coming up.  He would not give up until he received the blessing.

As that story came to life in my head and images began to form it was like my heart finally began to understand.

That is what this was all about.  It was through you, my sweet boy, that God was teaching me that if I want to pray big, outlandish, impossible prayers I needed to learn how to wrestle.

As you threw your body and fought, and oh, did you fight, I saw the manifestation of what God was teaching me in you.  And then it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, this lesson was not just for me...but for both of us.

Little Man, I don't know what you are going to be when you grow up.  But, I do know that this first year of your life, the sleepless nights are not in vain.  The seeds sown in this time are nestled in a rich soil.  I believe they will return a harvest greater than we can even imagine.

And, one day, we will look back and thank God for this wrestling match we've been fighting because the blessing will be worth it.

I love you my sweet boy.  I will not stop praying for you and your sister.  I will get back in that canoe tonight.   I will wrestle with my God.

Oh those eyes. The cut on your cheek was from the fight last night.  A reminder.