Bedtime

She lay stiffly on her stomach, hands covering her eyes, face pressed into her pillow.  Her little heart was probably pounding. 

She was six years old, the oldest of the three little girls we were in the process of adopting from foster care.  It was our first night to tuck them in at their foster mom’s house, and the same day we had told them we were going to be their parents.

While Brandon tucked the other two girls in down the hall, I sat quietly and straight-backed in a chair next to our oldest daughter’s bed.  She was the shyest and the most protective of the three – the most aware of what was actually going on in their chaotic little lives.

“Can I sing to you?” I asked her. 

She was still laying with her face pressed deep in her pillow, probably scared out of her mind.  I couldn’t blame her.  I was the adult in the situation, and I was extremely uncomfortable.

She nodded her head in response, body still and rigid.

I nervously sang three whole verses of Amazing Grace, drawing the song out as long as I could because I didn’t know what I would do when I was done singing.  Brandon was the one who was good with kids.  Not me.  He was probably tickling the other two down the hall and making them realize how cool he was.

And then there was me…

The song was done far too quickly, and we were just silent for a second.

I cleared my throat.  “Do you like back scratches?” I asked her.

She nodded.

Was it too soon for this?  We had played with them at the park a lot and gone to a museum together, had lots of tickle time.  Maybe it would be okay.

“Is it okay if I scratch your back?”

Again, a wordless nod into her pillow while her hands stayed tightly pressed to her cheeks.

I lightly scratched her back, telling her that this was what my mom used to do for me.

“Is it okay if we call each other mom and daughter you think?” I asked.

A silent nod.

“Okay…Yay.  That’s fun,” I said.

Silence.

The poor girl was probably thinking, “This is who they stuck me with?”

“Well…good night,” I said.  “Sleep well.  Jesus loves you.  My parents say that to me.  Is that okay if we say that to you?”

A nod.

“And is it okay if I tell you that…I love you?”  I bit my lip for a second when she was silent.  “You don’t have to say it back.”

She finally nodded slowly.

“Okay.  I love you.  I’m so glad you’re my new daughter.”

Of course, she didn’t respond, so I said good night one more time and walked out the door, pausing there with tears in my eyes and my throat choked.  I took a deep breath and then made my way down the hall, thinking there were about a thousand ways I could’ve handled that better, a thousand sweeter words I could’ve said.

The younger two were just as riled up as I thought they’d be.  Not only was Brandon tickling them, but they tended to show their nervousness with bubbles of laughter instead of silence.  Saying goodnight to them was completely different and involved a whole lot more, “Okay, it’s time to quiet down now…”

They were the ones who would easily say I love you, easily call us mom and dad.  Our oldest daughter, though?  She’d be a little tougher about it.  It would be months before she would tell us she loved us or finally let herself do things that other kids do with their parents.  But ever so slowly – like the movement of the minute hand or the slow slide of the sun across the sky, change happened without us even noticing it.  I still remember what a special night it was when she finally trusted us enough to let herself fall asleep in the car after a long day.

Probably ten months after that first bedtime, something happened between me and her that might seem completely normal to someone else, but for me, it meant hope.  It meant change and healing.

It was another bedtime – in our house now since we had long since settled in as a family.  We had just gone through our normal chaotic routine that involved pajamas, a little stubbornness, a quick story time, and – of course – the toothbrush song.  It’s a song I made up for them that they still laugh about to this day because I didn’t know any other way to get them to brush their teeth correctly. 

Anyway, after all the craziness I was now sitting with our oldest daughter on her bed because she could stay up a little later than her younger sisters.  She lay back comfortably, smiling, telling me some story. She had a hair tie and was winding it through our fingers, tying them together.  I remember we laughed really hard about something…

…And that’s when it hit me – how different this was than the first night I ever tucked her in.  How different I was.  How different she was.

My throat closed up as I watched her play with my fingers.  She said something else funny and we started laughing again.  Then she rolled over and got under her blankets, ready for bed.  I tucked her in, blinking tears out of my eyes, and then I leaned over and gave her big kisses on her cheeks and eyes.  She wasn’t covering them with her hands this time.  She wasn’t burying her face into her pillow and barely responding to me. 

Instead, she smiled up at me.  “Love you, Momma.”

“Love you,” I said.

“Jesus loves you,” she added.  “I’m so glad you’re my Momma.”

Emotion choking my throat, I repeated it back to her – a tradition we keep to this day.  “Jesus loves you.  I’m so glad you’re my daughter.”

I turned her light off and walked out the door, closing it behind me and bursting into tears.

These two very different bedtimes…I’ll never forget them.

“In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.”

Psalm 4:8