Camping has a way of making you sleep well at night. I mean really well. Especially if you’re a kid. Once, when our grandson Caleb was with us, his “batteries” ran so low, he was unable to finish buttoning his pajamas before slumping over on the couch, out cold.
Recently, Caleb paid a visit to our camper again, along with his three-year-old sister, Lucy. It was bedtime, and the spunky little girl was winding down in a hurry. So we quickly flopped down the camper’s couch, made the bed and tossed her in it.
I usually end up bunking on the couch with Lucy because Caleb has less allergy issues when sleeping higher up in the bedroom with Grandma.
After the light shut off, Lucy immediately plopped her head on my chest, closed her eyes and fell asleep. I think it took less than sixty seconds. And what could be lovelier?
But I confess I felt a bit guilty when noting that after thirty minutes, I’d grown tired of being in the same position. Frankly, her head was heavy and sweaty. A part of me wanted to rearrange Lucy’s pose and and place her head on her pillow. Another part of me went down a different thought path. I asked…
Over the course of my life, exactly how many nights will I be privileged to spend with a three-year old? How many times will I go to sleep with a little blonde head on my chest? Through the entire span of my remaining days, how many times will I be able to curl up with a little tyke like Lucy? Answer: Few. Very few. So I stayed there, her head on my chest, for a long, long time.
In a strange way, the scene reminds me of the brevity of life. In Psalms 139:16 David says to God, “You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”
I don’t know how many days are numbered in your book, let alone how many I have left. But I do know that simple things—like a three-year old’s head on my chest—are not to be treated lightly.