Sleeping: an act of trust

It's a coincidence - or is it? - that Susan of Bipolarwellness just finished talking about sleeping problems, searching for solutions that might help Kira out. I had been planning on doing a post about the problems of getting rest. It was the topic for our last Living Room meeting.

Some of the practical solutions to getting to sleep are well covered in Susan's post. But there is a spiritual angle to this - one I haven't seen discussed too much anywhere. I read a wonderful book by Mark Buchanan and loved it so much that I am in the process of reading it again. The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring the Sabbath deals with rediscovering what it means to truly rest. One of the things Buchanan writes about is sleep.

I want to share with you what he has to say on this topic:

Sleep is "...a relinquishment. It is a self-abandonment: of control, of power, of consciousness, of identity. We direct nothing in our sleep. We master nothing. We lose ourselves and are carried like children or prisoners into a netherworld alternately grotesque and idyllic, carnivalesque and elysian. In sleep we become infants again: utterly vulnerable, completely defenseless, totally dependent. Out of control.

"...So sleep, besides being a necessity, is also an act of faith.

"...we give ourselves, regardless of our unfinished business, into God's care. We sleep simply because we believe God will look after us."

White-knuckled

Chica, in a recent post quoted Phyllis from The Young and the Restless as saying, "I'm holding on so tight that my knuckles are white." This reminded me of the way I used to feel. I wrote about it in my new yet-to-be-published book, A Firm Place to Stand, and thought I would share it here. This also happens to be a theme we will discuss at Living Room this Friday.

I dedicate this post to Chica.

I Don’t Believe in If Anymore
©marja bergen

With the greatest determination, I used to cling to what was left of my mind’s composure. I felt as though I were hanging from the edge of a high rooftop, white-knuckled, panicky with fear. How long can I hold on like this? Can I maintain my strength? What will happen if I let go? Exhaustion overwhelmed me. Far below was the hard ground and no one to catch me if I fell.

But I did fall – quite often. These experiences were devastating and difficult to recover from. The support I received from family, friends and my doctor was helpful, but I was alone in the battle.

Rudyard Kipling’s poem If was like a bible to me during many years of my illness. I described in Riding the Roller Coaster how meaningful this poem became, how I patterned my life after its good counsel, how I carried it with me for many years. It encouraged me to become a productive and responsible person. I still think highly of the poem and try to go along with most of its advice. I follow through on my dreams, don’t worry about what others say and try as much as possible to “…fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run.” But I no longer listen to the challenge Kipling leaves us with these words:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will, which says to them, “Hold on!”

For twenty-three years, I tried to live out those lines when I was in crisis. I tried with my best willpower to survive the mental turmoil that overtook me. I was determined to be strong, hanging on to whatever I could, but not finding much of substance. Those were times of anxiety and fear.

Coping with crisis finally changed for the better when I could no longer deny that God is real. I realized I didn’t have to depend on myself alone. I could relax my grip and trust in someone much stronger than me.

The faith I learned to have in a God who loves me too much to let me go helps me cope better with stress. Extreme difficulties no longer develop as often. Sometimes I still have a fear of falling, and for good reason. But today I have a Bible that tells me, “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10, NLT) Remembering this gives me comfort when I need it. I am not as afraid anymore.

Challenging periods will always be part of my life. There will be times when I’ll have trouble. I may even fall. But I know that when I do, there will be someone there to catch me and stay with me as I recover. I’ll never be alone again.

Hanging on the wall across from my bed is a photograph of a child’s small hand resting comfortably on her father’s big hand. Underneath are the words from Proverbs 3:5, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” During tough times, I look at that photograph and feel a sense of peace. No longer is there a need for white-knuckled fists, no longer a need to rely on my own inadequate strength.