Waiting for Sleep

Waiting.  I am waiting.  It has been a long day.  I have worked.  Worked, talked, played and read; I have lived a full day.  I should be resting.  Resting the appropriate rest of someone who is satisfied with what God has given him in yet another day.

 But instead I wait.  Sit up at night, with the audio of the Just Pete Podcast filling the time.  The cat wanders through the room, looking at me, seemingly wondering why I am not yet asleep.

 Why do I wait?  Why can I not be satisfied to close the book on another journey from morning to evening?  Because there are preparations.  Meaningful preparations for meaningful celebrations.  But my preparations are clandestine.  Big, double secret preparations.  And one of my children is still awake.  Like Cindy Lou Who, she stirs in her bed, languishes in her wakefulness, oblivious to her father’s holding pattern.

So I am waiting.  It has been a long day.  I have worked.  Worked, talked, played and read; I have lived a full day.  I should be resting.  Resting the appropriate rest of someone who is satisfied with what God has given him in yet another day.