Too Tired to Feel Grateful

He knows our frame, and He gives His beloved sleep

"That doesn't count at 2 a.m."

I said it at a baby dedication, standing in front of new moms and dads, right after reading the psalm that calls children a reward from the Lord. Anybody who has held a newborn through the night knows both halves of that are true. The gift is real, and so is what the gift sounds like at two in the morning.

If you're in that season, you probably expected to feel closer to God than ever. You prayed for this child. Maybe you waited years. Now the baby is here, and instead of overflowing gratitude you feel numb, foggy, and strangely far from Him. And underneath the exhaustion is a quieter guilt: What kind of Christian isn't thankful for this?

"In Everything Give Thanks"

That guilt usually has a verse attached to it.

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

Read it at 3 a.m. with spit-up on your shoulder and it sounds like a test you're failing. Always. Without ceasing. In everything. If gratitude is God's will and you can't feel any, then you must be out of His will.

But slow down and look at where Paul puts the whole thing. It's the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. He isn't describing a mood you manufacture in order to stay close to God. He's describing a life lived inside Someone, and you're in Christ whether you slept six hours or forty minutes. Paul also says in everything, not for everything, and he never says feel. Giving thanks is something you say to Someone who's near. It can be four tired words whispered over a crib, and it counts just as much as a song.

The Room at 5:40

He's in the rocking chair by the window, the one his mother-in-law insisted they'd need. The nightlight beside the crib is still on, though the sky outside has gone from black to gray. His daughter finally stopped crying twenty minutes ago, and he's afraid to stand up because the last two times he did, she woke the second her back touched the mattress. His phone is on the floor out of reach. He tried to pray around four and lost the sentence halfway through.

Here's what he hasn't noticed. She hasn't thanked him once. She can't. She's taken everything he's had all night and given back nothing but the weight of her head against his chest, and he hasn't loved her one ounce less for it. He isn't keeping track of her gratitude. He's just holding her.

I've said from the pulpit that you'll endure long nights with a child who keeps you awake, and you'll do it because you value them. Nobody in that rocking chair would call it devotion, and he'd probably call it Tuesday, but that's what love looks like when it has nothing left to give except staying put, and he's doing it without a single feeling of spiritual victory.

As a Father Pities His Children

David saw that picture three thousand years ago:

As a father pities his children, So the Lord pities those who fear Him. For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust. (Psalm 103:13-14)

He knows our frame. God isn't surprised that a body running on broken sleep can't produce warm spiritual feelings on command. He made the frame. He knows exactly how much it holds. The same tenderness that man feels toward the little girl on his chest is the tenderness the Father feels toward him, and it's resting on what Jesus did, which is why it doesn't rise and fall with how present he feels at 5:40 in the morning.

When Elijah was so worn out he wanted to quit, God didn't send him a lecture. He sent an angel with bread and water, let him sleep, then woke him to eat again, because the journey is too great for you (1 Kings 19:7). The first ministry God gave His exhausted prophet was a meal and a nap.

He Gives His Beloved Sleep

The psalm I read at that dedication has another line right before the one about children:

It is vain for you to rise up early, To sit up late, To eat the bread of sorrows; For so He gives His beloved sleep. (Psalm 127:2)

I preached on that verse years ago, and I told our church the Hebrew carries the idea that God gives to His beloved even in their sleep. He's working while you're out cold on the couch with the bottle still in your hand. Your nearness to Him isn't something you're holding up through the night by staying spiritually alert.

Some mornings the only prayer you'll manage is thank You for her, said without much feeling while you wait to see if she'll stay asleep. Say that one. He hears it as the real thing, because it is.

And if the fog doesn't lift as the nights get longer, or the numbness starts to feel darker than tired, tell your doctor and tell someone who loves you. Asking for help in that season is one more way of letting yourself be carried.

The sky is light now. He leans his head back against the chair, closes his eyes for a minute, and lets the One who gives His beloved sleep hold them both.