The gift of sleep is not yours to seize by desperate effort but to receive from the hand that also formed the night. When the throbbing head and the aching frame refuse the rest you crave, remember, you have often wanted to go to sleep and could not, and no one ever drifted into slumber by striving after it. It is when all idea of forcing rest has gone that unconsciousness steals in. Cease from the wrestling, for the Shepherd of Israel neither slumbers nor grows weary in His watch over you.
What a blessing sleep is to this poor, weary frame and to the throbbing brain. Yet think how deeply calm His heart was amid the howling winds and roaring waves, the tempest came not near His soul. That same Christ rides in your little vessel. The tossing did not take Him by surprise, and He went to sleep in the storm because His heart was full of confidence in God. The Lord would have His people restful and not fretful. So He gives His beloved sleep.
Can you stand by and see your child tortured with pain and not wish to relieve him? Have you not sometimes felt, O tender soul, that you would take those pangs upon yourself right joyfully if you could set your dear one free? How much more shall your heavenly Father, who traces every sigh to its source, give good gifts to those who ask Him? His eyes are always quick to spy out the lame and the crippled, and His hands stretched out immediately for their relief. He went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed.
That gentle touch, that Divine love-pat that shall end all pain and sorrow, is the very thing you need in the watches of the night. There is nothing to be dreaded in it. I believe that full often it is so, relief comes softly, nearly imperceptibly, a loosening of the cords that bind the mind to its suffering. The saints have a better rest than sleep can give, but sleep is the nearest word we can find to describe the state of the blessed. And even now, as you wait, His gift descends with remembering mercies wrapped in quietness.
Sleep in security, for you are not cast away. Though the night drags its slow hours, you will find that in proportion to the weight of the apprehension is the intensity of the relief when it dawns. The Shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to seek one that gives Him pain, and having found it, He carries the lamb in His bosom. You are that weary one. So He gives His beloved sleep, not as the world gives, but as covenant love bestows it, a sleep of contentment, of trust, of a child laid against the Father’s heart. May that rest be yours tonight, in Jesus’ name.