4AM, I couldn’t sleep, woke and been up since one. I slept downstairs as Bridgette packed, bedroom organized and laid out for the ten day trip in which I’ll remain behind—right or wrong—on the self and professional guilt that the fieldwork is not done and, another body short on the farm and having not begun to hay, the belief I should stay behind: be a producer and provider.
The guilt doesn’t leave, just changes from and toward where it is felt. Honest, I don’t want to stay, but a body short there’s a lot of work that won’t get done that will hurt us come the winter.
I tell myself I’m right, but—honest—I’m not sure. Our oldest two are sophomores now. We have only a few more summers left as a whole family beneath one roof. Then life will scatter and spread and we’ll find new roles and balance in the ways our lives are changed.
I’m not afraid of change, but with change there always comes uncertainty.
I woke at one and rose to lie and be beside my wife. I couldn’t sleep. She could. Not wanting to disturb, I rose and left.
I made coffee. I scrolled—little good to see, but found a quote:
“The enemy rarely starts with the home…He starts with the parent.
Because the one who carries the weight often sets the atmosphere. When a parent is discouraged, exhausted, or spiritually drained, the entire household will feel it.
That’s why your prayers matter. Cover your family. Speak life over your children. Invite God’s peace into your home everyday.”
So that’s what I’m doing. I came to the porch. I looked on the stars beyond shadow of maple’s spread in our front yard. 3AM, coffee and cigar, I pray in a quiet, wordless way I believe God understands.
When we lack the words but deeply feel, maybe that’s when God hears our prayers best.
I love them. I’ll miss them. Wordless, uncertain, drained, and a little sad, I pray for the peace as passage said.
The crickets sing in a high-string tone. Frogs speak in lower and broken cadence. It’s not quite peace, but it’s better than nothing.
Writing becomes extension of the prayer. I don’t know what else to do. It’s only I awake.
Sleepless, restless, something not sitting right on soul, I pray not letting darkness and night win. Crickets, frogs, and stars—I know I’m not alone.
