Sleepless Nights = ...Stubble?

In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
for he grants sleep to^[a] those he loves.

 

~  Psalm 127:2

 

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost

 

 

Dear Mini,

 

Honey, let’s talk about the importance of sleep.

 

It’s necessary, even beneficial – but you can get too much of a good thing.  Like kisses.  Or vitamins. 

 

I strongly endorse the sustaining power of all three, but overindulgence always bears consequences.  Like lethargy and wasted time.  Or beard burn.  Or expensive pee.

 

If you end up with wiring similar to mine and your daddy’s, then sawing too many logs won’t be a problem for you.  You’re predisposed to be what my mom calls “tightly wound”, like a clock that runs a leeeeeetle too fast.  There’s always something present to occupy our minds, as well as ten thousand reasons to do something other than rest our addled brains.  The satisfaction of accomplishment – and sometimes the sheer panic associated with letting things slip just a little – can be such a harsh taskmistress.   

 

“Mow the lawn!” 

“This project will never get done unless you take charge of it!”

“The floor’s not clean enough!”

“You owe this person your time!”

“Pry that dead armadillo out of your car grill!  It’s been there for HOW many weeks?!”

 

…and on and on she goes. 

 

Your daddy and I were discussing this on our way back from church this past Sunday.  He knew he had endless hours of blood, spit and toil he owed to our new flooring he committed to doing himself in order to save us money.  I knew I should’ve been dishing up beans and cornbread at home instead of giving in to the allure of another cheese-smothered burrito from El Parian.  On top of all this hovered the threat of snowballing chores, activities to organize, and eight peeved little pygmy goats who don’t understand that the feed store isn’t open on Sunday.

 

But then it started to rain.

 

“Let’s turn in when we get home,” I proposed.   He didn’t object.

 

And that’s exactly what we should’ve done.  We were staring at each other like two bloated goldfish by the time our heads hit the pillow.  At that point, there was no way in the world that anything worth doing would have been done well.

 

I’m thankful that God has designed us with the ability to grow drop-dead tired. 

 

If he didn’t, I probably would’ve, um, dropped dead.

 

Or ended up looking like a female Hugh Laurie.