Fit For Battle

I wanted to rest.

Actually I needed to rest but she wasn’t having it.

The shards of broken sleep pierced through my ability to be kind. I didn’t want to be understanding. I didn’t want to be up and sitting in the livingroom at 3 o’clock in the morning after two hours of popping up and down hoping that maybe this time she would drift off to sleep, getting in and out of my bed trying to convince her to stay in hers.

But you can add the concept of time to the list of things stolen from her.

I unplugged our granny cam and gently closed the door of our room in the hopes that maybe at least one of us would get a few hours of uninterrupted rest knowing the Farmer would let me nap later in the day if I needed too.

You want to know what the worst part was? She’d fallen asleep in her chair.

After all the struggle of getting her out of bed and settled into her wheelchair, out into the kitchen where she gave little smiles and one word responses while we waited for the coffee to brew, back out of the wheelchair and into her cozy chair with her favorite blanket tucked around her and…

Her frail gray haired head tilted to the side and she was once again sound asleep.

And I was sitting here at the keyboard because I had basically been up since 1:30 in the morning and as I went ahead and sipped on my coffee I had a confrontation with myself.

Being sleep deprived is hard. It really does slice through my capacity and willingness to be nice; it removes whatever desire there is to gentle my words or to be gracious.

And I know what you’re thinking. I can hear you because I heard myself.

It is completely understandable to be irritable when you just need to close your eyes and go to sleep only someone won’t let you. The reason really doesn’t matter either. Mentally we break down under a lack of sleep. Emotionally too, I guess. There is a solid reason sleep deprivation is a weapon of torture.

All of that is true. I’m certainly not advocating for a suck it up Buttercup attitude or thinking I can just muscle my way through it. Because I couldn’t. This wasn’t our first sleepless rodeo as they say or words to that effect.

But as I sat there in the dimly bright* glow of the lamp I was once again reminded that I have two ways I could deal with this.

I could whimper about my very real need for sleep and justify my inhospitable attitude and brusque words and manner and absolutely no one would blame me.

Or

I could see my very real need to die to myself in this moment; to seize yet another opportunity given me on this hard hard road to conquer the natural man and choose instead to gentle my heart and mind, to choose to be kind in a situation where it would be easier not to but will be better for having done so.

In a blinding flash of clarity I realized I needed to stop being so understanding of myself; of giving myself so much grace that I completely overlooked a very genuine and productive moment of actually practicing grace.

So I went to the kitchen and refreshed my cup of coffee and sat quietly by the one who really just did not want to be alone anymore and contemplated giving myself less grace so that I had more to give away.

And maybe later I would take a nap. But if not I thought, I hoped, this clash with myself had taught me that I could choose a better way to handle it.

*dimly bright ~ all light, no matter how dim, is bright in the wee hours of the morning

This was originally written back in October before they realised the type of dementia we were dealing with. Thankfully her sleep habits are better these days although rarely do we go to bed and wake up the next morning without at least one call in the night for Mary, Rita, Laura or whatever name puzzle piece her mind has grabbed hold of to call out. Sometimes I hear her before she manages to climb up and over the bed rail and sometimes I find her standing in the kitchen, completely dressed and utterly confused as to why the house is dark and she’s standing in the kitchen completely dressed and ready for a day that doesn’t need to start for another six hours.

And the opportunities to practice grace towards others is ever present. The temptation to extend too much to myself is also always there. It takes work to be on guard against the temptation to over grace myself and under grace those around me. A wise and gentle Father reminds me in his word though that he has not only prepared me for such a fight and equipped me for just such a battle but that his right hand supports me. And for that reason I am grateful for these moments of practice.

For it is you who light my lamp;
    the Lord my God lightens my darkness.
For by you I can run against a troop,
    and by my God I can leap over a wall.
This God—his way is perfect;
    the word of the Lord proves true;
    he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him.

For who is God, but the Lord?
    And who is a rock, except our God?—
the God who equipped me with strength
    and made my way blameless.
He made my feet like the feet of a deer
    and set me secure on the heights.
He trains my hands for war,
    so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.
You have given me the shield of your salvation,
    and your right hand supported me,
    and your gentleness made me great.
~Psalm 18:28-35