I did not get much sleep last night…or the night before.  Keilan’s sleep patterns have been true to his three-year-old-self lately.  Often he is up for HOURS wanting nothing more than to bounce and play and read and sing and…. And in the few short moments where he rests quietly, inevitably, something like his brother’s cold symptoms will keep us awake. A few months ago, one particular night, Keilan was up NUMEROUS (a term used to describe a number that is at once large and also ambiguous due to exhaustion and frustration) times screaming and crying: “It hurts! It hurts! Mom, help me!!!”  After NUMEROUS attempts to console him, I came to the conclusion that there was really nothing I could do to “help,” and Keilan was entirely unable or unwilling to tell me what the “it” was that was hurting him.  But the most absurd thing happened the following morning as I was reflecting on the sleep I had (or had not had) the previous night: the most ridiculous word came to mind.  In my mind I qualified the sleep as short, disjointed, insufficient…and perfect.

If a sleepless night with unhappy boys does not sound perfect to you, I understand. I blame my three-year-old for causing the word “perfect” to come to my mind.  He has an incredible ability to see the perfection in the imperfect around us each day.

We recently stayed with a friend of ours who had moved into a rental property while looking for a more permanent place.  While staying at his home, he listed off all of the reasons he was hesitant to stick with this property; all of the things that he would choose differently in his next home.  Also, being new to this home, his furniture was sparse, and so I had my messy, little boys sit on the floor in the kitchen when it was time for them to eat.  Uncle Adam, as my boys call him, is kind and compassionate; but I still didn’t want to risk a mess on his carpeted dining room floor.  A large cardboard box served nicely as a table, and the boys were thoroughly impressed with their mealtime set-up.  Keilan found this to be the best thing that had ever happened, and one morning, around bites of blueberry muffin, he informed me: “Uncle Adam has a perfect house.”  And so it was.  It was filled with friends and family and fun…and it was perfect.  Maybe the split-level set-up was a little unusual, maybe the space was larger than necessary, maybe the empty walls were looming, but it was the location of our little-boy-approved breakfast picnic and it was “perfect.”

Often Keilan reminds us of all the perfection around us. After a recent trip out of town, Keilan sat out on our deck admiring the way the wood in the deck was a little “squishy” and the particular way the paint on the side of the house was peeling.  “Mom. Our house is perfect.  It is builded. And it is perfect.”  Keilan, in his insightful way, declared our imperfect home “perfect” in all its imperfections simply because it existed, it was “builded,” and it was ours. And though it is easy for me to see all the things our house is lacking; when I glimpse through his three-year-old lens, focused in on the family that fills our home, I can see its perfection as well.

If you are feeling overcome with feelings of discontent, I dare you to spend a day with my little man.  When traveling in the car with him, he will declare each hill you come to as, “The biggest hill EVER!” And he will accept the blueberry donut you hand him with the most winsome grin and declare: “That’s the special one ever.” (In those exact, grammatically incorrect words that speak of his youth and sweet sincerity.)  And I know, from experience, that you will grin from ear to ear and your heart will be full when he announces from the backseat of the van: “Mommy, you know what favorite letter I love? The letter ‘G’!!! That’s the perfect one for me!”

The word “perfect” can mean many things. One of Webster’s definitions of the word reads: “As good as it is possible to be.” And while I am pretty sure that there are things I would change about my current, sleepless nights; I have also come to appreciate another definition: “Highly suitable for someone or something; exactly right.”  I have come to accept this definition of perfection because that same little boy who has kept me awake so many nights, has also taught me about looking past annoyance and declaring perfection.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am exhausted.  I would REALLY, REALLY, REALLY appreciate a good night’s sleep; and maybe a few hours “away” from my little guys to rest and recoup my energy.  But as I reflect on the annoyances of being kept awake night after night, I am overcome by the love I have for my little boys, by the great privilege it is to be the one that they call for in the middle of the night, and by the possibility that even my sleep-deprived, caffeine-induced existence just might be “perfect.”

I will choose to find joy in this sleepless part of my journey as I embrace the belief that these boys, this time of life, and the challenges that they bring are “exactly right” for me. After all, as much as I may think I know what is “perfect” for me, I have found time and again that God’s plans are greater than mine. And when I trust in Him to lead me, I am reassured by the words of Jeremiah 29:11, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

No, they don’t share a bed. But this photo still somehow captures how my three-year-old feels about sleep…