Notes from the edge of despair

Me? Hyperbolic?

I obviously have to start this with the disclaimer that my problems are tiny and I am a big baby. I can immediately call to mind at least 10 people who I know personally who are suffering through legitimate life altering trials, so please know that I am very cognisant of my wimpy-ness in the face of minor struggle. I am praying for those whose difficulties are far more significant than mine.

WITH THAT SAID - baby sleep. Or rather, toddler sleep. It is pushing me to the limits of my patience, and in fact, beyond, because I have been very grumpy and shouty to everyone in my family lately. But on the flip side, it has given me some breakthroughs in prayer, when I’ve been begging Jesus to please, PLEASE, let the 18 month old sleep later than 4.40am and take a nap longer than 45 mins. How long must your servant suffer, O Lord?

The thing that has been extra galling about this toddler’s sleep reticence is that he was a pretty good sleeper as a baby, until around the time he turned 1. Usually people will tell you that their sleep should get better as they get older, but that has categorically not been the case with this child. Furthermore, his older siblings were pretty reliable sleepers by this age - of course there were hiccups and frustrations along the way, but they basically slept through the night and took decent naps during their toddler years.

So anyway, when we faced hiccups when this baby was a little younger, I would tell myself, “it will get better! Because that’s how this goes, right? It’s hard, and then it gets easier. I deserve some good sleep soon.” As I say, the toddler’s sleep started to go south around the time he turned 1, and he’s now pushing 19 months, but it’s gotten decidedly worse in the past few weeks. After I cried a few times and whined to my friends (hi Katie, Ellie, Laura… sorry), I thought I would pray about it. I did have enough self-awareness to realise that maybe the problem is me, since, whilst frustrating, this wasn’t really a reason to slide into existential despair. And after all, it’s not like the 2 and under crowd are exactly known for their considerate sleep habits, so why did I feel like this is so very unfair?

The reason, I realised, is that I have subconsciously bought into the notion that after we go through a period of struggle, we deserve a reward. We deserve a break, a pay-off. We deserve ease and comfort. Whilst this is a totally natural and human way to feel, it is antithetical to the Christian, and especially Catholic, view of suffering. Nowhere are we told that God will let us go through some hard times, and then he’ll reward us with an all-expenses-paid spa break and a big slice of cake. Nay, we are warned again and again about putting our hopes in earthly rewards, and told quite firmly to put our hopes, rather, in Heaven (e.g. 1 John 2:15-17, Colossians 3:2, John 16:33).

Maybe this is sounding super obvious, but I think it is easy to slip into feeling like we are owed some kind of recompense when things have been hard, and then when we don’t get it, our struggles are compounded by the sense that it’s not fair. Again: I am not saying I have conquered this tendency, I am simply saying that I have noticed it. I am as inclined as anyone - more so than many, I’m sure - to feel like God is being really mean and inconsiderate when he doesn’t give me what I want. But expecting our “reward” in this life only leads to further disappointment, resentment, anger, sorrow, or whichever negative feeling you care to name.

This realisation left me feeling a little bleak. Is there no reason to expect comfort or tranquility in this life? It all feels a little Puritanical. What can I hope for? Is it wrong to hope that a time might come when waking up at 6a.m. could be normal, rather than a luxury? That I could go to bed later than 9.30pm without worrying that I’ll be totally exhausted the next day?

The distinction I arrived at is between hoping for, and hoping in. It is perfectly ok to hope for relief from a difficult situation, or a good outcome in some scenario, or even something “frivolous” like a parking space. But the problem comes when we put our hope in the realisation of our desires; when we think that joy, peace, or contentment will be ours if only [xyz] happened. Our hope must remain in God as the only enduring source of joy, peace, and contentment.

As our parish priest pointed out in his homily last Sunday, even when God does grant us miracles, like restoring sight to a blind man, we will not experience enduring peace as a result unless the answered prayer leads us into deeper communion with God. How many times has God answered my prayers, only for me to forget - or even fail to notice - that he did so? How many times have I insisted that if God could grant me this one thing, it would transform my life and then I would find it easier to love and serve him? God has answered my prayers, from tiny things to the fundamentals of my life, and yet it’s never enough. It’s never enough because the details of my life are not, themselves, the fulfilment of my deepest desires, but invitations to a more intimate relationship with the author of life itself.

So, yes, please God, I would love an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Truly. But if that’s not going to happen, keep me seeking the peace and joy and love that only you can offer, and placing my hope in you. (Really would like the sleep, too, though.)