Sleep (or the lack thereof) and books.

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I’m writing from the comfort of my living room couch, where a sweet baby (who just woke up from her second brief catnap of the day) is smiling at me from her glider. Normally I wouldn’t be blogging while she’s awake, but since there are very few waking hours in the day when she and her older brother are asleep simultaneously, I allow myself to be distracted sometimes if she seems content (and I’m hoping she’ll fall back asleep).

My little 12-hour-a-night sleeper has definitely regressed. I knew it would happen. She wakes up after she goes to bed, she wakes up in the middle of the night, she wakes up early in the morning. Thus, I’m actually more tired now than I was when she was a few weeks old.

Plus there’s the cumulative effect of sleep deprivation, the sense of isolation, the cramped and anxious feeling of not having guaranteed alone time to recharge, and this recent struggle to just barely keep ahead of depression, as if it’s a dog nipping at my heels.

I read a blog post the other day about trying to write while sleep deprived, and the author compared it to driving through fog. That phrase brought to mind vivid reminiscences of our trip to Ohio, which included a scary, middle-of-the-night trek over foggy, curving mountain highways, barely able to see ahead to the next bend.

I told A.J. yesterday that’s how I’ve felt for the past couple of weeks. Through the haze of sleep deprivation and taking care of endless needs, it’s as if I can barely see what’s ahead. I certainly can’t see any practical relief in the near future. I just do what’s there. What’s right in front of me. Over and over again.

God leads me to cry out to Him in times like these. Often that’s after my terrible, selfish attitude is revealed. Clearly I think I have a right to an easy life. And that’s the exact opposite of what His Word tells me.

Not only do my “trials” stem from great blessings (a husband, children, health, a home, the option of not working), but they are so, so small compared to what I might be facing. It’s not a cliché to say that – it’s the truth, and in considering my trials joy, I have to also remember that they are small – that God wants to show me His faithfulness and sufficiency in these little but relentless steps of dying to myself every day.

Meanwhile, I’ve managed to cram in some reading during my almost nonexistent free time. A $5 book light has helped a lot, so I can read before I go to sleep (since Eliza still sleeps in our room). Here are my most recent reads:

Daughter of China, C. Hope Flinchbaugh [reread] *****

This small novel is a glimpse into China’s persecuted church. Mei Lin is a teenage Christian who ends up imprisoned for her faith. Although I would’ve enjoyed more glimpses into the characters’ inner lives rather than just a recounting of events, the story is still a moving and seemingly honest portrayal of believers in a restricted nation. I love the way the believers treasure copies of Scripture and their time of fellowship together. Daughter of China has far more worthwhile content than many other Christian novels.

The Gift of Fear, Gavin de Becker ***

Based on Amy’s summary of de Becker’s book Protecting the Gift, I picked up this book about violence, intuition, and the role fear plays in self-protection. I enjoyed the first part of the book, which discusses how intuition works, and gives indicators of behavior that may lead to a crime. I appreciated de Becker’s explanation that most violence is not random or without warning, and that worry can be a signal of intuition but is often simply an unproductive choice – while fear is a legitimate, involuntary, and useful response to an actual risk. However, because of the disturbing real-life examples used and a couple instances of strong language, I wouldn’t recommend The Gift of Fear.

Remembering You, Tricia Goyer (unfinished)

I found this book in the library’s new release section and read the first five chapters hoping it would be an interesting glimpse into World War II history through a contemporary lens. But I just couldn’t get past the tame romance novel feel, with phrases like, “He… glanced at her with those sexy, dark eyes,” and, “He forced a small smile, but it was still beautiful to her. More beautiful than the Paris skyline beyond.” (I have, though, enjoyed some of Tricia Goyer’s historical novels, like Arms of Deliverance and Dawn of a Thousand Nights.)

That’s all for now… I hope you have a great weekend.