Oh nap time.
I love you and I hate you. I love you on the days that you come easy + early. I hate you on the days that require repeated conversations about expectations. Or the days when you just get started too late.
Today, nap time started early. We had a brief conversation about laying quietly in bed. I didn't add reminders about leaving toys on the floor or keeping hands off of the blinds. I walked away, leaving the door open so they would know I was listening.
I heard a little giggle. I quietly tiptoed down the hall to see what was happening. One brother was playing peek-a-boo with the other - almost silently. Nearly doing exactly the right thing. Except not.
One brother spotted me first and immediately became still and disinterested in the peek-a-boo game. His changed expression caused his brother to glance at the doorway too. He rolled over. Almost at the same time they reached an arm back to pull their covers up. Their bodies were still. No more peeking across the chasm at one another.
Almost instantly I had that familiar sensation that there was a lesson wrapped up in this moment for me.
The boys were doing almost the exact right thing. Except not. They were supposed to be laying quietly in their beds and they sorta were. But the purpose was rest. And as long as they were engaging with one another they were never going to find that rest.
Not until they realized my presence in the doorway did they become still.
So often, I think I am doing the exact-right thing. Almost. Which, I mean, is certainly close enough, right? Um, no.
It is hard for me to be still. I often engage others instead of just allowing myself to be quiet. You too? But when I sense His presence, the stillness washes over me. Rest comes, clarity comes, peace comes. I don't know why I distract myself from the goodness that He has for me in this quiet place. It seems silly when I think about it.
Oh that I would remember that our Father is an ever-present parent, consistently urging me to do the right thing that I might find His rest.