Weeping May Occur

I wrote this when Mosely was but a younger lass, moving from her beloved crib to her big girl bed.

When reading the Bible I often find certain verses that I think apply directly to my own children. Sometimes I chuckle to myself at the verse’s real intention and the intent I jokingly like to apply to it.

"Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge but whoever hates discipline is stupid."

Sometimes I highlight the verse. Sometimes I get out a handy note card and print the verse and stick it to the fridge for all to enjoy and ponder.

Recently I read a verse that I think maybe I should scrawl in permanent marker on my daughter’s wall. "Weeping may occur for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."

Mosely is about to turn two years old - her birthday is just days away. She has been sleeping in a borrowed crib since her birth. The gracious lenders are expecting their own crib dweller shortly and the time has drawn near to return the bed to its original owners. Mosely may be unaware of the politics of her crib’s removal, but she is aware of its present implications to her - no more crib. No more familiar resting place, home of her favorite three blankets - shiny pink, shiny yellow and chenille green. This is the genesis of a new era for Mosely - the Era of the Big Girl Bed. And for Mosely, Big Bed means Big Tears.

We tried to make the new bed look strikingly similar to the old crib. We put it in the same corner of the room. The sheets closely match. We provided the same comfortable resting place for the previously mentioned Favorite Blankets Three. We still kiss her goodnight every evening. We still read a story before bed and say prayers together. Really, not much has changed. In fact, it’s actually been an upgrade for the tiny toddler. More space to roll. More space to create worlds for her Little People and her favorite green cucumber Larry. I would think she would be pleased with her expanded real estate.

She isn’t.

The ritual has become pretty routine. Following our nightly rites, we place Mosely in her bed. A few moments pass. She crawls out of bed, clinging to her trio of cotton comforts. We see her escape - she isn’t very stealthy yet. We place her back in her bed. The tears begin. And the accompanying sighs, cries and wails. Mosely is unhappy. She wants us to know it. She is not pleased with her new surroundings. She gets her point across clearly - a good communicator already.

The funny thing is, when Mosely’s body is overwhelmed with exhaustion and her tired eyes close and the wails subside, she rests contentedly in her new space. When she wakes up in the morning she is happy, excited to crawl around her new bed, now spacious enough for more blankets if she ever desires them.

I think we are all like that. We don’t know what is best for us and we all dislike waiting. We want what we know, what is comfortable, what is routine. We want our parents to never age, our children to always be obedient, our jobs to always be stable. What we want is what Mosely wanted - static, unchanging lives. And what we get is the opposite - unexpected turns, surprise visits, unplanned adventures. And even though the new is often times an improvement over the old, we cling tenaciously to the familiar and resist the alternative. We weep. And the night seems long. It seems very long. But God’s promise to us is so much bigger than even our promise to our daughter.

You will weep. You will. But joy cometh in the morning. Joy.

And all we have to do is wait.