The Children’s Hour

My husband calls it the ritual.

Ever since my son could babble we’ve ended the day with a story. The tradition started with a a picture book based on Psalms, a gift from a friend. Every poem memorized. Cover worn and pages battered.

Now my son’s stories are biographies, mysteries, or historical fiction. But before I share a book with Bug, his sisters squeeze close to hear and see the favorite from years ago. Familiar words inspired by David soak into their hearts. Eventually the pages must close.

Sweet Pea rides on my back. I fall onto her bed and pretend she is my pillow. Her favorite pink blanket turns her into a squeezable teddy bear, and I don’t want to leave. Laughter precedes little hands pushing me off the bed.

I trek back to the living room to grab Sunshine. She is never tired. She never wants to go to bed, but she obeys. Sometimes she even lets me carry her. Precious Faith, her doll, is tucked in first. Then I throw blankets created by grandmother and aunt upon a wiggly 5-year-old.

Please cuddle me.

How can I resist even if cuddle time means chat time to Sunshine? She usually asks questions. Tonight she made statements.

Mom, the Bible ends, but God’s love doesn’t. It goes on and on. It’s like your love, Mom.

Oh, my Sunshine, how I wish my love was like his; his love is so much greater than my own.

Our night time ritual lasts at least an hour. Two stories, three conversations, three prayers, three glasses of water, two trips to the bathroom. Patience often stretched, I grumble trying to end the process quickly. Cuddling next to a little one, I realize hearts need time to unfold.

If we get home late, children plop in bed with a quick hug and cover and kiss. They beg for a story. They crave the peaceful moment. I do too. For it is then, I realize anew the love the Father has for me. He is looking for my heart. Listening to my prayers.

Still and quiet is the night,
Not a fear alarms.
Still and quiet now am I
In my mother’s arms.
Not to worry, not to fret,
Even though I’m small.
God is up in heaven
Watching over all.

(Poem from When Stars Come Out, Bedtime Psalms for Little Ones)