It’s the strangest, sweetest thing. It happens in the dark hours every single night. And even though it’s been his routine for the months he’s been in my life, it still catches me by surprise each time it happens.
When he wakes up hungry and cold and looking for his Mama in the middle of the night, he doesn’t cry or scream for me. He just starts babbling to himself in the crib. And no matter how long it takes me to rouse myself from the warmth of my bed and stumble to his crib, he still rarely ever cries. He just babbles and gurgles and giggles and waits for me.
It’s as if he has perfect confidence that I will come. And so the waiting – it doesn’t seem to bother him. It catches me off guard each time, because his behavior is so different from his two older brothers, who tested the full spectrum of their lung capacity when they woke hungry and needed me.
But not this one. He waits. And babbles. And trusts. And when he sees my head peek over the edge of the crib in the faint glow of the nightlight, he kicks his legs and flails his arms and lets out a squeal. As if to say “I knew you’d come for me.”
And as I pick him up and change his diaper and sit down in the rocker and bring his head to my chest, still he doesn’t cry.
He knows he’ll be taken care of. He knows his belly will be full. He knows his body will be warm. He trusts in me.
And I want to become more like him.
“And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek you.”
— Psalm 9:10