Wynken, Blynken, and Butterbean

Wynken, Blynken and Butterbean one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe

Sailed on a river of crystal light

Into a sea of dew...

(my apologies to Eugene Fields for hi-jacking his lovely poem)

Is there anything more wonderful than rocking a baby to sleep? 

To slow down, stop everything and rock back and forth, back and forth, resting your cheek against the top of that soft little head?

I think not.

The stress from the day seems to melt all the way down your arms and out of your fingertips as you stroke the silky skin of one tiny dimpled arm.  You softly hum songs you haven't thought about in an age.  Her breathing slows as a grin spreads across your face while you watch those two heavy little eyelids fight a losing battle to stay open.  They droop down and down until finally, they are closed.

She is asleep. 

The busy little body that is working hard to get her behind up in the air and figure out how to crawl is now limp in your arms.  The tiny little rosebud mouth is slack, and you wonder with quiet awe at the beauty of the creation resting against your breast, thinking how could anyone ever doubt there is a God?

Peace settles deep...into the very marrow of your bones and you know you should lay her down but you just want one more minute...

Because there is nothing as sacred as the type of trust it takes to fall asleep in the arms of another.

I'm guessing that's how God feels when we stop struggling and rest in His arms, cheek pressed against His chest, listening to His heartbeat.  When we stop our endless talking, slow our anxious thoughts and allow our burdens to be eased from our shoulders onto His.

We wake, we begin to stir, but He whispers, "No.  Rest."

"Just one more minute...one more..."