When I Had Nothing Left To Give: A Prayer At Naptime

“Oh, no,” I thought, the words a silent whisper as my son poked my arm and laughed—a sound brimming with mischief.

By then, it had been two hours—two hours of trying to get him to take a nap. Two hours of bedtime routine, cuddles, and singing—all to no avail.

Each day, getting my oldest child to fall asleep became a harder battle. But it wasn’t that he was ready—he was too young to be skipping naps. No. This three-year-old had a mind all his own, and I couldn’t understand him enough to meet his needs so he’d cooperate.

You see, when he was awake, things was pure chaos. He was constantly jumping on me, biting, screaming, dumping things on the floor, peeing in places he shouldn’t—anything to provoke a reaction. In truth, he was exhausted. In addition to his lack of overnight rest, I’d been working him as hard as I could while he was awake to make sure he was ready to take a good nap.

Each morning, there was a slight reprieve. About one to two hours where things felt normal, where we could simply be. But, each day, the chaos would erupt as naptime approached. The toys in the house were dumped out and thrown at me. I was being climbed on, bit, and my pregnant belly, in particular, became a target. This routine began early in the day, much too early. I found myself desperately looking forward to naptime, a brief respite where solace and rest might finally be found.

So I’d wrestle the toys back into order again and hustle us outside before he decided the floor was a better plan. I hoped that perhaps being outside would offer a breather.

Yet, it did not. After a brief fifteen minutes of excitement, we were suddenly running into the middle of the road and into other people’s yards. It had devolved into a frantic game of chase!

At this point, I was exhausted and incredibly stressed. And, I knew he was exhausted, too. We pushed our way through and—finally! Naptime.

I had tried countless things to help my son fall asleep. We’re talking strict routines with kisses and ‘I love you, goodnight,’ to staying, singing, and snuggling until he drifted off. No matter what I did, the efforts seemed futile. He just wasn’t having any part of naptime, no matter the approach.

Many days I dissolved into tears. I was exhausted from tending this child, and all I needed was for him to rest so that he and I could both refresh.

Each day, my ability to handle the chaos dwindled. Dad was at work, and I was very pregnant and incredibly overstimulated. I never got a break and I found myself raising my voice at him out of my frustration. I had no tools left, no energy, no patience, and no chance to recover from the relentless chaos.

One particular day, we were deep in the trenches of naptime resistance. This boy desperately needed a nap, and after an hour of snuggling, I finally retreated from his room. I took the baby monitor outside to check on the garden, listening to him play and talk to himself. For a little while, there was peace, until he decided it was time to tune it up again.

My heart pounded with anxiety as I moved to the living room, staring at the monitor as if it was the most interesting movie I had ever seen. Anxiously I watched, and began to pray feverishly, my gaze fixed on the screen.

“Oh, God. I have nothing left. Nothing I do is helping him, and if I let him get up now, the rest of the day is going to waste. He needs this rest so desperately, Lord. For his sake, and mine, please help us. Is anything too hard for you?”

I prayed feverishly for what felt like an eternity, a full thirty minutes of gnawing anxiety as I eyed the monitor.

And then—just as I was about to give in and get him up—he went still. The frantic mischief ceased all at once, and he was asleep before my prayers even finished. It was instantaneous. One moment he was awake and being silly; the next, he had crashed out on top of his covers, lying upside down on his bed.

It was an odd movement—the way his body collapsed onto the bed—but I watched him. He really didn’t move after that, settling into a deep, quiet sleep. I wondered if he was okay, though I could see him clearly breathing on the monitor. In the midst of my prayers for him, this child had fallen into an immediate, deep sleep. It felt as though God had touched him, and in that very moment rest fell upon him.

A shiver traced its way down my spine. I knew in that instant that God had heard me and answered our needs while I was still praying, similar to Genesis 24 when God sent Rebekah to Abraham’s servant in the midst of his prayers. My feverish, anxious prayers dissolved into tears of praise. I had just witnessed the work of God before my eyes and felt His presence fill our home.

That day, God met my son’s needs, answering my desperate plea. He napped for several peaceful hours, and we were both profoundly refreshed.