A Late Night With Natalie

It's now nearing 1:30 a.m. The events of the evening have followed a similar pattern:

Natalie woke up around 10:30 p.m. Michelle went in to comfort her, and then we determined to let her fall back to sleep by herself. We waited and waited and waited and waited. Michelle grew increasingly frustrated.

By midnight we thought Natalie might be asleep again. We turned off all the lights and crept into bed, only to have Natalie, moments later, erupt with a new round of cries. The cries seem so much more pronounced when you're in the same room.

Michelle gets near frenzied by this point, abandoning all hopes for the following day and giving way to everything we'd spent the last hour and a half trying to accomplish. She brings Natalie into bed to try to nurse her down, which fails. Natalie continues to squirm and Michelle seems less and less able to deal with it. We have neighbors above and below and on the other side of our bedroom. Can we really just let her cry it out at midnight? And then what about when she's up again at 2 a.m.? At 4 a.m.? And even forgetting the neighbors, we're in a 2 bedroom apartment. Where are we supposed to go while she's crying herself back to sleep? All of these thoughts only seem to add to the desperation.

At last Michelle doesn't know what to do. She says prayers don't help, they make her depressed. She can't handle it. She won't handle it. And all of my own prayers throughout the evening touching this exact situation have again lead me to the same desperate circumstance.

I take Natalie out of the room, and Emily immediately starts crying between coughs from an adjacent room. I'm then trying to deal with Natalie and Emily -- who feels sick and wants to sleep in our bed. I get Emily a drink and try to comfort her while holding Natalie. Emily then goes back to sleep, and I'm stuck [while still feeling sick myself] with Natalie, who shows no sign of wanting to sleep -- though gratefully she does sit peacefully in my arms.

She then spits up all over the couch, and I have no spit rag. And the truth is I start to feel spent.

At length I offered a vocal prayer to God while I'm holding Natalie [who is awake still.] I try pouring out my frustrations and fears, my difficulties, and the difficulties of everyone else in this house. I wonder why Natalie is still awake tonight and what I'm supposed to do about. I wonder what He can and will do about it. I wonder why He doesn't seem as near, and why it is my prayers lately in these desperate hours feel so forced and dry. And as the answers aren't readily apparent, the prayers are offered with less feeling and with less hope.

And then I turn on the computer to read the latest Ensign message from President Monson, ironically on prayer. As he describes it, the great answer is simply to pray, and to be more constant and earnest in our prayers.

This is not helping. Not tonight. Not the last 5 nights. Not when I'm already in earnest and wanting to know why the Heavens seem silent as Michelle and I try to cope with Natalie's sleeping habits in a two bedroom apartment.

Throughout, though, at every instance when I'm tempted to complain or feel forsaken, a thought tries to wedge its way in: do I expect to be delivered simply for the asking? Do I expect prayers, even desperate prayers, to spare me difficulty? Is He not sustaining me even now? Is it not a great blessing that she'll sit contented on my lap? Has He not already allowed for the fact that, when Michelle can no longer handle things, He has given me strength sufficient that I can? And has He not still provided everything I have needed and more?

And then I remember Neil L. Anderson's thought: faith is not just a feeling, it's a decision. I feel inclined to choose faith, and as I ponder that thought while continuing President Monson's message, I find my little girl asleep. At least for now.