by Amelia Love

Created on: December 18, 2010   Last Updated: December 23, 2010

Sleepless nights are common. I lay my head down and a thousand thoughts interrupt. I pursue tricks like focusing on one thought redundantly and, inevitably, other thoughts and worries eventually intrude. I try to dismiss the concerns about the myriad of problems and difficulties I will have to face the next day, and they come back to me again and again with renewed vengeance.  I finally start to drift and then an image will pop into my head suddenly and jolt me awake immediately. No matter what I try, the nights can sometimes be endless.

There are Psalms in the Bible that describe the long watches of the night. It's nice to know I am in good company.

I often think about children on nights like these. I have met few young children who have sleep problems. Once they are in bed, they usually drift off quickly. Makes sense. They're not concerned about tomorrow. They're not bothered by the images of the night. They can rest comfortably that all will be well, in their little minds perfectly handled by strong, all-knowing adults.

The night watches began early for me. I was in fifth grade, and I had taken the lead in a school play. Weeks before the performance, I began to stay up into the long hours of the night worrying that I would forget lines or trip and fall in my pretty dress. I had discovered a habit that I would carry with me long past grade school - incessant, unrelenting worry.

The play ended, but the sleepless nights continued. One night, after moving back and forth from bedroom to living room, unable to sleep no matter how much I wanted to, I began crying, purposefully wailing louder and louder until my dad came into the living room. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and chased his irritation away, sat at the end of the couch and began to rub my feet. I told him I couldn't sleep and I had to go to school tomorrow and I didn't know how I would manage because I was so tired. He told me everything would be okay. It didn't matter if I only got a little sleep or even none at all. He said that bodies adjusted, and everything would be okay even if I didn't sleep. When he went back to bed, I fell asleep immediately. Everything would be okay. Daddy said. That's all I needed to know. For several years after that conversation I never had another sleepless night.

But then I grew up. And I grew out of my daddy's comfort. I want it back, desperately. But no matter what I tell myself, no matter how often I try to convince myself that everything will

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