It's not too often that I wander the house at midnight, blinking my darkness-trained eyes against the brightness of lights turned on to find my way. But last night, I couldn't sleep. It doesn't happen often -- I'd be tempted to say never if today wasn't the day after last night. I do have a cold, but I was not uncomfortable last night. Just not sleepy.
I had been reading a Karen Kingsbury novel before bed, and Tanner and Jade, the two main characters, tumbled with me through the tangles of gentle sleep and wakefulness. So I wanted something else when I finally decided to turn on the light and read for a bit, something that would clear my mind of Jade's green eyes and fix it on Jesus. The Bible was an obvious choice, but for some reason I found myself thinking of Augustine's "Confessions", recently recommended by both of our pastors. (Luke read a bit on Sunday night at youth group, and one phrase has stayed with me: "how barren my heart to Thy tillage.") So, in my half-clad state (one of my diagnoses for sleeplessness was overheating, so I had shed my pajama bottoms), I thumped down the stairs and to the living room. On the devotional shelf, all the way to the left, Augustine's "Confessions" awaited me. I took it to bed and filled my mind with questions and praises put to a God bigger than we can comprehend.
After half an hour, still not sleepy but hoping to sleep, I turned out the light and snuggled in again. I prayed to a God who seemed very near, my need for him more desperate than during the well-lit and planned for hours of the day. And I slept.
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