Invisible Hand

I am standing there, quiet as the proverbial church mouse, my body carefully positioned just up and to her right so that she cannot see me as I standing over her crib. Though I'm not so vain as to think that I am even worth waking up for (my special skill, as we've determined over the past few months, is boring our daughter to sleep), I want to remain out of her field of vision so that she does not see or sense any presence of 'other' in the room.

She is in that terrible baby 'half sleep'- not quite able to rise up to full consciousness, but stubbornly resisting the lulling tug of sleep. She is grunting and twisting, arching her back to her left, as if straining to retrieve something she left back there, just past her shoulder. It is a curious dance: arch. Contract. Left leg kick. Once, twice, grunt. A quick jerk and she is again flat on her back, letting out a whimper, and then the dance begins again.

And I am standing there, hovering over her crib, my index finger holding the tiny pink pacifier in place for her. Without it, she will whimper more, then howl, and then fully wake herself up. Despite her current spastic dance, this is calm compared to how she would be without it.

And so, I stand there. Unseen, unknown. In her half-conscious state she is not aware that I am there, nor that I have been there for 10 minutes, holding it firmly in place as she wags her head from side to side, as she arches her back like a driver checking traffic before switching lanes.

I stand there holding it in place for 10 minutes. I do this because I know that she is tired. That she needs more sleep. That she has already only slept for a few minutes, and needs more, but something in her sleep-cycle betrayed her and she became fitful. And so I become the 'man behind the curtain', quietly attending to needs she does not even know she has.

Perhaps it is of small comfort, as she moves about like a spastic animal- arms and legs moving and shooting out in aimless fashion. The whimpers, grunts, and arching of the back tells me that she is fighting both sleep and wakefulness, and I don't imagine that is pleasant for her. But the pacifier helps soothe, and soon she exhausts herself, falling into a deep slumber. And as I gently ease the pressure off the pacifier and delicately pluck it from her mouth, I think about God.

And how long He's been holding the pacifier for me. Unknown, unseen, even un-asked, standing just up and to the right of MY crib, out of MY sight, soothing me and giving me peace even when I did not know I needed it.

How often does He act on our behalf, and we don't even know it? A thousand mercies dispensed without our awareness, standing beside us but not letting His presence be known? Knowing that even as He gives, I will never be aware of it, just as my daughter will never be aware that I stood beside her crib, issuing comfort and ministering to her needs in complete anonymity?

Sorry if this post sounds an awful lot like 'Footprints', that poem of sorts that reveals that when we cannot walk, God carries us. Though it hangs in the foyer or bathroom of many a home, I have always found it to be rather treacly and indulgent. I DO believe that God walks beside us. And that there are times when He may carry us. But it's also been my experience that He sometimes also drops us on our ass and lets us fumble, crawl or curl up into a ball and whimper.

But that doesn't mean that He isn't still standing behind us, out of sight, still tendering mercy while we sit in pouting self-pity.

Right now it feels like we're thrashing, our family, living a life that is somewhere between sleep and wakefulness while we wait to see what the future brings. Arching our back to look over our shoulder to see what new losses, setbacks and tragedies might be bearing down on us. We're exhausted, living in this empty no-man's-land, and yet despite the tough times there IS still joy (I need only look at my daughter), laughter, and safety nets in the form of family.

It is hard to count those blessings when you're fighting, struggling, worrying and straining. When you don't know how far the dollar will stretch or how long your winter coat will last. But I believe God has been there with us, all along, His finger on the pacifier without our ever knowing what He's doing, protecting us from dangers we don't even know are there.

I believe it. Lord, help thou my unbelief.