When pain keeps you watching through the long hours of the night, and every position brings fresh misery, it is easy to think the darkness will never end. You lie there, longing for the one medicine no doctor can prescribe, yet sleep, though it seems so common a gift, has fled away and left you to ache in the silence. But the Lord knows your tossing. He hears every whispered sigh. And He who made your body remembers that you are dust.
Think of the Shepherd who leads His sheep. He does not drive them on until they drop from weariness; He makes them lie down in green pastures, beside the still waters. It is the Shepherd’s own hand that brings the rest. The poor sheep cannot fold its own legs and quiet its own bleating heart, it depends wholly on the shepherd’s wisdom and care. And so with you. This very night, the Good Shepherd is watching. He knows just where the pasture is softest and the air most healing. He will cause you to lie down, even if your body fights against it, for He has promised, and He cannot forget. You may feel too weak to do anything but hurt; that is precisely when His strength is perfected.
You remember the storm on the lake, when the waves battered the little boat and the disciples cried out in terror. And Jesus, bone-weary after a day of mercy, lay asleep on a cushion, his head resting as if on a pillow of heaven’s own peace. They thought He did not care. But He cared more deeply than they could fathom, for He was in the vessel with them, and the storm could not swallow Him up any more than it could them. He woke and spoke peace to the wind and the waves, and suddenly there was a great calm. So it may be with your body. The Lord seems to sleep while your pain howls on, but He is in the boat. He is with you. He will speak the quieting word in His own time, and when He does, your tossing thoughts and aching limbs will know a stillness that comes from His own hand.
He gives sleep to His beloved. It is a lover’s gift, wrapped up in a black-edged envelope sometimes, so that we prize it all the more when it comes. Do not fret because it tarries; the Lord’s delays are not denials. While you wait, lean into His nearness. The darkness is not dark to Him; the night shines as the day. Your bed is not a desert island, it is a place where the Shepherd sits by your side. He counts the watches of the night and keeps your tears in His bottle.
Soon, very soon, you will close your eyes and wake refreshed, and you will say, “The Lord has been good to me.” Until then, let your heart rest in Christ even if your body cannot. His love is a deeper rest than any sleep, and His presence a sweeter balm than all the quiet of the midnight hour.
Lord Jesus, Good Shepherd, tender to the weary and the pained, come now to this dear soul. Lay Your hand upon the hurts that throb in the darkness, and speak the word that stills the tempest in the body as surely as on the sea. Give Your beloved sleep, that peculiar, gentle gift You keep for those who trust in You. Fold up these anxious thoughts, relax these knotted muscles, and breathe peace across this pillow. May this one lie down in safety, for You alone make us dwell in peace. In Your own strong name, Jesus, amen.