I had tried every remedy I could think of.
From melatonin to other sleep aids, from sleep masks to ear plugs, all of these so-called “solutions” for sleeping trouble resulted for me in more wakeful evenings. For the girl who had never had much trouble with sleep, I was struggling.
And struggling is probably not the most accurate word I could use to describe my sleep-deprived state. The better word is angry.
Yes, I admit it. Angry. Angry that, no matter what I tried, no matter how tired I was, I would lay awake for hours on end, unable to fall asleep. Angry knowing that the next day at work was going to be difficult. Angry that my dear husband was fast asleep next to me.
Angry at the Lord for ordaining a trial that seemed so torturous in the moment, one that made no sense to me at all.
Our bodies run on sleep. Doesn’t God know that?
Doesn’t God see that I have some big projects to complete this week at work and that I simply cannot be a walking zombie to finish them?
Doesn’t he hear my cries for help?
Doesn’t he care?
I had reached my breaking point after about two weeks of interrupted sleep. The tears continued to come, my mind spinning from not understanding why I had to endure such a ridiculous trial. But one thing was certain: I knew that, deep down, my anger was directed toward the Lord. I knew simultaneously that this attitude did not honor him and that it was revealing a deeper condition of my heart.
But what? What was making me so angry over something so small? What was at the root of my anger towards the Lord?… READ MORE