When Faith Tucks Us In
I laid my son down for a nap the other day. He asked me to stay and nap with him. I told him I had a few more things to do before I would come lay down. By the time I came back to the bedroom to nap he had already fallen asleep. I slept for maybe a half an hour. When I woke up he was still sleeping and dangerously close to falling off the edge of the bed. I gently moved him toward the middle of the bed, tucked him in a little tighter, and left the bedroom.
When he woke up he asked, “Mama, why you didn’t nap with me?” I told him I had, but that I woke up before him. I also explained how I moved him away from the edge of the bed while he slept. He responded with, “oh, okay thanks,” but I could see him rolling this idea around in his brain. Wondering how it was possible I was there and he did not know.
This conversation hit me like a metaphor.
We are being cared for. We are being softly guided. We are loved. There is a Mother, or a Father or a Spaghetti Monster, some greater force watching over us; moving us out of (or sometimes through) harm’s way and tucking us in, whether we recognize it or not.
Some of us do. Some of us stop to consider the traffic jam we’re stuck in may have just kept us from the careless driver who ran a red light a few miles up the road. Or that the inconvenience of forgetting our keys on our desk, and going back in the house to grab them, may have been the extra minute necessary to be in the right place at the right time. Or that any of the awful, heartbreaking circumstances we are faced with throughout the course of a life may be clearing the way for the birth of a future brighter than we could have imagined or planned ourselves.
I believe. Granted, there are times in my life when I am “napping.” Times when I haven’t been as receptive to this notion of being cared for, guided by an ever-loving hand. These times of my life are dark, heavy and downright tiring. Yet when I look back there is no denying a presence: a guiding force has pulled me from the edge of the bed numerous times. Tucked me into a safer position, and allowed me to wake up on my own—yet never alone.
Amber Kilpatrick is a perfectly flawed human being who decided that committing to a life of yoga, writing, marriage, child-rearing, music, and spiritual growth would make for a good time. So far, so (really, really) good. You can read more of Amber’s doses of yoga and real life at her website Real Yogi.
Editor: Edith Lazenby
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