5:10 I make a bottle and arm myself with Tylenol. I'll try the Tylenol first. If that doesn't work, go for the milk.
5:25 I'm rocking Andrew in my arms. He jerks a few times, settles comfortably in my shoulder. I pray.
5:40. I try laying Andrew down to no avail. I give in and give him the bottle.
6 a.m. Resolve to begin this day and pray some more.
I admit to feeling jipped. It's Christmas Eve, right? Isn't that supposed to guarantee a little reprieve from the day to day toughness of life? Doesn't God feel I deserve this? And there's that ugly word in our American vocabulary, "deserve." Talk about sending you into a spiritual tail spin.
I realize how much I label "suffering" is more likely "inconvenience." And I'm not so convinced that God's in the business of making sure that my life is as convenient as possible. Are my prayers going anywhere in days like these when my true intent is really, "God, make this day go smoothly," rather than, "God, make me more like Jesus,"?
And then I'm reassured. God hears me, not because I pray right but because of the blood of Jesus.