tangled thoughts

"Mommy, play with my hair," whispers my tousled-hair daughter as she lays on her bed for her afternoon nap. I lay beside her, my body tense with pleading for her to go to sleep, so I can move on to the next thing. I tell her to lay on her side, stop fidgeting and close her eyes. She obeys and waits.

My right fingers reach out and carefully comb their way through her toddler hair, starting at her crown and ending at the nape of her neck. Her breathing soon shadows the rhythmic motion of my caress.


Such a simple request she makes of me, yet I simply cannot join her in her restfulness.

My mind continues at a frantic pace, fretting over tonight's dinner, yesterday's fights and tomorrow's worries. My eyes see peace in my resting daughter, but my heart feels turmoil. My should-haves are at constant war with my could-haves. My self lays bruised on the battlefield, infected with self-doubt and seething with frustration. Why does joy elude me so?

The current bible study I'm taking reminds me that "a truth-filled heart is so unnatural that we must pursue to have it." The following verse seems to written just for me: "Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad in all of our days" (Psalm 90:14).

Today my heart is heavy, but I hear the whisper of the Spirit reminding me to lay on my side, stop fidgeting and close my eyes. And pray. God will straighten out my tangles, caress my heart and soothe my soul. I obey and wait.