My youngest son, Miles, whispers from his bed at night.

His words draw me close. “Mama,” he asks, “will you read to me?” Scooting over, he makes room for me under his blankets, and we snuggle in close before he asks one more thing of me. “Mama, ” he says, “sing me the song.

Quietly, I begin our familiar bedtime song and hear his little voice chime in before he gently drifts off to sleep.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
 
As I slip out of bed, tucking the covers gently around him and rubbing his back, I pause to listen to his tiny snores. I attempt to memorize the curve of his little cheeks. Then, kissing him on the top of his head, I breathe in the smell of his shampoo and notice the way his hair splays out on his pillowcase printed with dinosaurs.  
 
He’s perfect to me; he’s my child.
 
I am a mother of four and in this current season of life, we are very busy. But “busy” is not a badge of honor I wear proudly. In fact, most days, it is my deepest lament, as I witness time slipping through my fingers, wishing I could slow it down and take a deep breath.  

I often crave the ability to turn back time and call my own mother into my bedroom at night, asking her to read and sing to me and rub my back one more time, just like I did as a child. But, now I’m the grown-up. The mother, the one being called upon . . . but, sometimes, I’m too tired to do the reading, singing, and comforting requested of me.  
 
On those tired days, “mom guilt” clouds my mind and shame whispers a familiar song. You should be doing more, I hear, day in and day out. I lay my head on my pillow at night, willing sleep to come,  desperate to shut out all the noise. If only there were someone I could call on to read and sing to me. Someone to rub my back, pausing to memorize the things they love about me.

I’m reminded of a verse that bubbles up in my soul after years of keeping it on repeat in my heart.

Because he bends down to listen. I will pray as long as I have breath! 
Psalm 116: 2 

When I was a new mother suffering from postpartum depression, sleepless nights, a colicky baby, and breastfeeding struggles, it was in the quiet hours I would pray and think on that verse. I even had it taped up to our refrigerator. The mere idea of being known and seen with such deep affection always brought peace to my weary soul. 
 
In the busiest, hardest, most exhausting season of my life, I learned to quiet my mind with expectant comfort. As I tended to my children, leaning in to listen to their whispers, I would call out to God — desperate for relief and believing in a Father who knew every hair on my head. Often, tears would pool in the corners of my eyes, and my breath would choke as I squeaked out tiny-voiced prayers, all while patting the back of a colicky-crying baby in the wee hours of the night.

Even though the days were long — and the nights even longer — hope spilled into my soul at the mere thought of a big, powerful God leaning in close to hear me choke out prayers with what little breath I had.

So, now, when I find myself laden with mom guilt or the shame of not doing enough, feeling restless or worn out, this whisper of truth spills into my soul: 

When we cry out for comfort, our Heavenly Father hears us. 
 
God does not grow weary; He leans in close to hear the voices of His children.  

Listen to today’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

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