sleep

It’s unexpected. That the plight (already resolved) of a wild baby animal should hold my thoughts captive for two days was not something I would have thought possible.

But, there it is.

Friday, being sunny, was mowing day. The rainy weather of the last couple of weeks here in northwest Arkansas made it inescapable for me. So, I did what had to be done.

The storms have dropped myriad small branches from the oaks and maples that dot the property, so that was the first item of business. Pick up the limbs. The Lovely Lady assisted me, wandering over the half-acre plot of weeds and grass in an undisciplined manner, bending occasionally to lift up the errant twigs and switches.

She avers that she had passed through the same area herself just minutes before I did. I’m sure she did. Camouflage is a wondrous thing.

As I leaned under the shade of the chestnut tree to snag a dead branch, I started back. A little fawn lay there, white speckles on a field of brown, its black nose nestled between tiny front hooves.

I took the flexible branch I had just picked up and tapped the beautiful tiny deer on the haunches. Eyes open, it moved its head and front leg an inch or so, but no more. It didn’t even seem to be aware of me.

Oh, no! It must be injured. Or sick. The thought took hold, and sadness grabbed my spirit.

I tried to think what to do. Perhaps a wild animal rescue organization could help. Maybe animal services for the city.

I stood for at least two or three minutes, just watching the fawn. Wait! I was missing something.

What about the mother? Surely, there was a doe around somewhere. Why would it abandon its baby?

I looked around, but saw no other wildlife. There was no doe to be seen.

Abandoned.

The poor baby must be a hopeless case, and the mama knew it.

I knew I would have to do something. I could call someone to come and help. But before I did that, I did one other thing. Just to be sure.

Taking the flexible branch I held in my hand, I reached down and tapped the poor baby solidly. Not enough to hurt it, but sufficient that it would definitely feel it.

Oh! The squeal that came from its open mouth would have awakened the dead! I jumped back.

The fawn leapt to its tiny feet clumsily, terror written in its beautiful brown eyes.

Two things happened in quick succession. The tiny thing dashed across the neighbor’s yard, running into the chain link fence on the other side. But, before it could get even that far, a smallish, light brown doe appeared in the field behind me.

Not abandoned!

Watched over.

Within seconds, the sweet fawn was reunited with its mother, trotting back into the trees that line the back of the meadow that abuts our property.

I said that my thoughts have occupied me for the two days since. I’m conflicted. Two things strike me about the event.

The first is my unhappiness at being the thing that terrified the sweet baby. That squeal fills my memory, playing again and again in my head.

It’s almost like the feeling I had the morning years ago in the music store as I showed a sweet young girl the various instruments she had learned about from listening to a recording of Peter and the Wolf.

I demonstrated the different instruments that signified well-loved creatures and people in the story. Then proudly, I told her I was a French horn player, only to see the shock and worry jump to her eyes as she digested the reality that I was the wolf.

No! I am not the wolf. I am not the villain!. I’m the good guy—the one who wants to help, who wants to fix things.

But, imagine being that little fawn and waking up with a monster standing over you, holding a stick.

You went to sleep, knowing your mom was watching over you. In safety and comfort, you lay down and, trusting the one you had always found to be trustworthy, you slept.

“In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.”
(Psalm 4:8, NLT)

And yet, there is that monster…

I’m not going to dwell on that. It’s a reality that I live with, the knowledge that I’m not the good guy.

Not yet.

Even now, He is making me in His Image spiritually, just as He did physically in the beginning.

“And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.” (2 Corinthians 3:18b, NLT)

But, that second thing my brain is considering—sleeping in peace and being watched over—that has been working, not only in my brain, but in my heart for the last couple of days.

I watched that doe materialize instantly as the fawn screamed its prayer to the sky, and there was no mistaking the meaning.

We can sleep in peace.

The monsters, even the well-meaning ones, who think they know better than our Creator, who believe we are gods ourselves, cannot harm us as we rest in Him.

Our Father watches over us. Even as he does the sparrows—and the fawns, He stands guard.

And He is faithful. Every morning, His mercies are renewed to us.

Every morning.

Strength for today.

Bright hope for tomorrow.

It’s time for sleep.

Rest.

“Have peace now… until the morning! Heed no nightly noises! For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight and starlight and the wind off the hill-top. Good night!”
(Goldberry in The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien)

“You can go to bed without fear;
    you will lie down and sleep soundly.
You need not be afraid of sudden disaster
    or the destruction that comes upon the wicked,
for the Lord is your security.
    He will keep your foot from being caught in a trap.”
(Proverbs 3:24-26, NLT)

It happens every morning. I’m sure it does; I just don’t see it often.

Missed opportunities. They used to haunt me. Really. I’d try to get to every music concert, every church meeting, every coffee get-together—you name it; if it was happening and I could be present, I was there.

Driven by guilt. And maybe a little bit of obsession.

Perhaps, I should finish the first thought before I get on my little soapbox, huh? I’ll do that.

The shadow stood at my bedside in the dark room this morning. 7:05, the clock read. 7:05!

The shadow spoke.

“The sunrise is spectacular this morning!”

Other than a quick hug and a mumbled “goodbye, I love you,” that was it. I was alone on the queen-size bed in the darkness. Back to sleep. Life goes on as usual.

That’s not what happened. I rolled over, hugging her pillow close. But, I didn’t go back to sleep.

Sunrise! It happens every morning; so what’s the big deal? Sleep is better—especially when my head didn’t hit the pillow until 2:30 this morning.

The thoughts ran through my non-sleeping brain.

I got up.

A few minutes later, I was standing at the upstairs window, looking out over the rooftops in the neighborhood.

Wow! This happens every day?

Every day?

“Awake, O sleeper,
rise up from the dead,
and Christ will give you light.”

I snapped a photo or two to save the moment in my memory. I sent one of them to the Lovely Lady. Some things need to be shared.

She sent me back a photo of the gecko under her desk this morning. I guess she felt that some things need to be shared, too.

But, I’m wondering about the bigger picture now. What about all the other things I’m missing out on? While I’m sleeping. And when I’m awake, too.

I remember when my oldest grandson was an infant and he refused to go to sleep in his crib. My son-in-law introduced me to the term we’ve all become familiar with as he described the phenomenon.

“FOMO. He’s afraid we’re going to do something while he’s asleep and he can’t stand to not be part of it.”

Fear of missing out.

We laughed. We still do.

But, it’s true. We want to be included in whatever’s happening. And sometimes, we feel guilty when we don’t participate in all of it.

Why are we so driven by that guilt?

I want to blame my church upbringing, citing those verses in Ephesians I heard so often growing up.

So be careful how you live. Don’t live like fools, but like those who are wise. Make the most of every opportunity in these evil days. Don’t act thoughtlessly, but understand what the Lord wants you to do.
(Ephesians 5:15-17, NLT)

I want to blame my guilt on that. But, words are just words until we understand them. The Word of God is the same. His Spirit gives clarity as we study them and then live them out.

Yes, we make the most of every opportunity. But we don’t act thoughtlessly.

Trying to be involved in every good activity is acting thoughtlessly. And, being consumed by guilt when we don’t show up for all of them is harmful. To us and others around us.

I’m going to miss out on a few sunrises. And, concerts. And, coffee breaks.

But occasionally, I’m going to stumble out of bed, climbing the wooden stairs in my bare feet to stand at the window in awe and gratitude for another day and a beautiful re-creation of the dawn.

Just, maybe not tomorrow morning.

Morning has broken
like the first morning,
blackbird has spoken
like the first bird.
Praise for the singing!
Praise for the morning!
Praise for them, springing
fresh from the Word!
(From Morning Has Broken by Eleanor Farjeon, 1931)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Sleep In Peace

Missed Opportunities