Today, that means when she wakes up after twenty whole minutes of napping, I give her some time to decide whether or not she really means to be awake. She’s fussing quietly and intermittently, which means she isn’t sure yet. I’m on the love seat four feet away from her door, but I wait silently.
In that moment, I again hear the Shepherd’s voice, nudging me to pay attention; there’s something important to learn…
I wonder if she feels insecure right now like I do? She can’t hear me or see me. I’m right here, even though she can’t sense me. She isn’t alone, even if she wonders. She is mine. I’m not talking to her right now because I love her and that’s what is best in this moment. When she really does need me to get her, I will say her name and she will quiet immediately and smile. Because she knows my voice and knows what it means when I call her name.
Oh.
Good point.
Lilly’s fussing slowed down to periodic contented chatter, then stopped. She’s asleep, still four feet away from me. I never left, and she’s calm.
I’m settled, too, and grateful for the patient reassurance of a Heavenly Father who understands my doubts.
***
This article originally appeared at RobinDChapman.com.
