When the Bathroom is Your Bedroom

It's the middle of the night and I'm jarred awake by night terror screams...not the usual screams of an interrupted sleep cycle coming from my 10month old who has been forced into time zone transitions and can't cope with the unpredictable schedule. No, this time they're coming from the bathroom, echoing off the tiled floors and ringing through to my ears at a volume that I just can't tune out. Their coming from Lucy, and judging by the view on the video monitor, I predict they will just turn into further midnight wails when I go in to console her. I bring in a bottle of milk, not because my nearly 3year old still drinks from a bottle, but because I figure that maybe the rocking in Mama's arms and sucking from the "baby cup" will bring her to a place of peace and rest where she can fall back asleep.

Pleasantly surprised that my tactic worked, I notice that the pitch-dark bathroom is not as pitch dark as I had originally thought (which is why we chose the bathroom to be her "bedroom" for the week, so that the morning light would not shine through at the crack of dawn, and so that she wouldn't recognize nearly so much how "out of her normal environment" she actually was). Cradling in my arms my 
 now-slumbering child, indeed I could outline her very face, that of an angel sent to awaken me on this very night. Sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, taking in every breath of hers, noticing how she really had not needed the milk to settle her spirits, but rather just Mama's arms to cradle her and be "the familiar" on this first night transitioning to a new place.

A full day's worth of driving, from the desert of Arizona to the desert of California. Leaving behind family, embracing new friends. Saying last goodbyes, and embracing hugs that will soon be last goodbyes. The pace of our life for the last 3 weeks, and the new pace of our life as we transition to Africa. 

"Mama, is Lucy in Africa yet?"she asked me last week.

 "Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet." 

 "Soon? Lucy go soon?" 

 "Yes, soon we will go to Africa." 

"Mommy, Daddy, Olive, Lucy, and friends?" 

"Well, Mommy, Daddy, Olive, and Lucy- yes. But not these friends. God has new friends waiting for us there." 

"Bye-bye friends! Lucy goes to Africa!" she eagerly announces...

I wish it was that easy for me. And yet, when she awakes in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar place, with fears and unspoken anxieties swimming through her little head, I'm glad that it is easy for me...to jump out of bed, wrap my arms around her, and be Jesus to my three year old daughter.
 A rescuer swooping in to calm the storm. Gladly I will be that for her, just as He gladly is for me. Stepping into the unknown of life in another culture, with new "norms" that I know nothing about, a language that is incomprehensible to me, and a way of living that is completely foreign...yes, the night will be dark and the unfamiliar overwhelming. I will be like a 3 year old sleeping in a strange bathroom. She knows that it is really not her bedroom, the place that is supposed to be for solace and rest and stability. But for right now, in this season (which for her she doesn't know how long this season will last), this is her bedroom. Not knowing why, but just knowing that it is what is.  When I soon become like my 3year old and just can't make sense of it all, I will call out, and surely He will answer.  

Surely the Rescuer will come. 

He will wrap His arms around me, and the dark will not seem so dark. Dimly lit, I will trace His face, feel His arms, know His voice, and return to rest. 

This is Life 

(in the bathroom).