Listening

It's 5 a.m.  I hadn't planned to be at the computer this early.  In the morning dark. 

At 12:05, I had buried my face under the covers and cuddled next to a suitcase.  Dennis packing for Dallas.

At 3:50, I awoke to NPR music.  Loud.  Hadn't heard it for 20 minutes.

"Are you awake?" I groaned.

"No, but I'm getting up anyway."

At 4:15, Dennis woke me up again to kiss me goodbye.  After locating my face under the pillow.

At 4:20, I heard Gracee crying for her mom.  I stumbled downstairs to her room and found her buried under shreds of Kleenex.  She'd had a bad dream.  Probably about being attacked by a giant box of Kleenex.  She said shredding had helped her fall asleep.  I picked the Kleenex out of her hair, tucked her in, and restarted her music.  David Meece.

How she sleeps with music that peppy. 

At 4:30, I staggered back to bed and began to doze to the strains of "God's Promises are Rainbows in the Night" streaming through the monitor.

At 4:45, Gracee called again.  She was still scared.  Her stomach hurt.  She had to go to the bathroom.  And then Rose Dog had to go out.  I got everyone settled and fell back into bed.  Wide awake now.  Sort of.  With a slight headache.  I prayed a bit.

So now here I sit wrapped in my fluffy white bathrobe.  The one the tea baptized the other night when I dozed off on the sofa.  Smelling of bleach and Tranquil Mint lotion from Bath and Body Works. 

Listening to "Seventy Times Seven."

Listening to the dog snore.

Listening to the heater blowing on my feet.

Listening for Him.

Copyright © 2009 by Sandra Heska King