God Swaddling and God Bothering

“Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!” (Robert Burns, To a Mouse)

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. (Jesus)

Boy, is that ever good advice. Wish I could follow it.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about God’s offer to carry my burdens and give me rest. I so want that. And yet I find in my day-to-day life I spend a great deal of time as a tim’rous beastie, feeling anxious, tired, and overwhelmed.

At times I can keep it at bay during the daylight hours if I’m busy with work — sometimes — but when it comes to the night, we’re in different territory. As far as physical rest goes, my body and I pretty much have that down and are in total agreement that we love and crave a good night’s sleep. Dark room — check; regular bedtime — check; white noise machine — check. It’s my mind, not my body, that often refuses to come along for the ride. It taps me on the shoulder in the middle of the night. Forget Amal and the Night Visitors. Mine is more like Appalled by the Night Visitors. My brain gnats come swarming in with a wide range of urgent information to report, disrupting my slumber. From the world news desk, my fearful mind begins to ask — So, just how far did that article say long-range missiles can reach? And where exactly are they pointed right now? That gnat is so far above my pay grade I can usually swat it away. But here comes another one, a little closer to home — You know it’s up to you to fix that broken relationship — you know the one. Okay, maybe if I lie here and consider all the angles, I’ll come up with a fix. But, of course, I don’t and I can’t, because thinking in the middle of the night is usually pretty incoherent and futile. Please, go away gnighttime gnats!

When I get in that state, the only thing I can think to pray is “God, please swaddle me.” That’s it. That’s my new go-to good-nighttime gnat prayer. I can’t calm my mind by reasoning with it, can’t talk it off the ledge, and I’m too tired to articulate a fancy prayer. Like Franny in Franny and Zoey, lying on her bed saying the Jesus Prayer over and over again, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” I’ve used that one too, but in my mind, swaddling equals comfort. And comfort is what I need in the middle of the night. “O tidings of comfort and joy.” Frankly, if I can only pick one, I’ll take comfort. “Comfort, comfort ye my people.” Yes, please!

The image of swaddling really appeals to me. I’ve seen parents of infants employ the method to great effect when their babies are in full meltdown mode. Gently wrapping their flailing arms, kicking legs, and clenched fists in an effort to soothe and calm them and make them feel safe. It’s a wonderful thing to witness.

As a child growing up in a Baptist church in the deep South, I remember hearing the Christmas story, “And she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger.” Of course, all the sanitized Christian art I saw at that time featured a pristine baby with what amounted to a lovely handmade Christening gown, an angelic onesie, lying in a very clean trough. It seemed an immaculate conception demanded an immaculate birth? It was only later I learned that swaddling clothes were more like bands of rags. In doing an internet search relative to those rags, I came across a beautiful scripture that, in my mind, is a perfect example of God swaddling. God said of Israel, “I took them up in my arms, but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.” (Hos. 11:3–4)

I’m so grateful that God swaddles us, even when we don’t know it or are resisting him, keeping us safe and secure in his love in spite of ourselves. Jesus points to this incredibly intimate God swaddling in John’s Gospel. On that day you will know that I am in the Father, and you in me, and I in you … and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them. Like a heavenly babushka doll. One inside the other, protected, connected, loved.

In addition to my garden variety of gnighttime and daytime struggles, at times I have issues with making decisions, lest I choose the wrong answer. So I’m left paralyzed with my three blind mice — worry, fear, and anxiety — waving their little white canes feverishly in the air, flailing about, trying to discern the correct path. In these instances I find the Psalms, that wonderful kaleidoscope of human drama, to be a soothing balm in the midst of the storm. One that is familiar to a lot of people is Psalm 23, which says, Your rod and your staff – they comfort me. There’s our favorite word again. Who would have thought a rod and a staff would be comforting, but they symbolize God’s protection and care for us mere mortals. It also says, He makes me lie down in green pastures. Go ahead, make me, God. Please. I’m so glad he has promised to override my turning to the right or to the left with his heavenly gees and haws. I rely on that. It’s comforting to hear that I can rest in his care, knowing he will do everything in his power to keep me and protect me — from myself, mostly.

I saw a British program once where a character referred to a Christian group as a “God-bothering society.” We’re not supposed to bother him, you know, whether it’s the middle of the night or when we’re desperately in need of guidance. He’s far too busy. A Catholic friend once told me that when she was a child she was given strict and serious instructions by nuns to pray to saints instead of bothering Jesus, since he had far more important things to do. But, au contraire. What did Jesus himself say? Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs. When it comes to God-bothering, asking him for help or swaddling. I’m glad the Bible has provided the example of the importunate widow bothering a judge in the middle of the night, pestering him to give her what she needs. But more importantly, at the end of the day, I’m so grateful that God continues to bother with us. What is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? (Ps. 8). We think we invented mindfulness, but God has been practicing it forever.

So, he’s mindful, he’s a champion swaddler, and he wants us to come to him and bother him with long-range missiles or whatever else is on our minds, and he offers us his rest. Sounds like the deal of a lifetime. And that it is.