“Lord, help us sleep tonight so we can be better parents tomorrow for our daughter.”
I’ve prayed this prayer often lately. Not long ago, we had our first child, and sleep has become a challenge. But sleep isn’t the only thing that’s been difficult these days: I long to take a hot shower without having to rush, to read a book without being interrupted, and for some semblance of a routine.
Basically, I want to be in control. And when things don’t go my way, I struggle. I struggle because sleep makes me a better mom, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?
Or does it?
These practicalities — sleep, showers, quiet — certainly aren’t evil in themselves; they’re good gifts from a Father who knows precisely when I need them. They’re gifts I should desire. But I often think these gifts by themselves will make me a better mom — a stronger, happier, more confident mom. For my daughter. For my husband. For God.
But my Heavenly Father knows there’s something better for me in himself, that “better” equals broken. It equals humility. Because brokenness — a vulnerable, desperate heart of dependence on Jesus — is what actually makes me a better mom.