The door that separates us seems like paper. I want to rip it to shreds -- to break into the room, scoop her up, and glue back all the pieces of our shattered hearts.
"This can't be right," I think. "How can I do this to her?"
I feel my resolve breaking. Despite careful research, I convince myself that I'm exercising cruelty on my baby. I decide I must be the most terrible mother in the world to let her cry for... well, it must be an hour, right? I look at the clock.
It's been ten minutes.
I pace back and forth, back and forth, before finally welling up with tears myself and collapsing onto my bed.
"God!" I internally cry out. "Is this right? Is this the right thing to do? Please give me wisdom!"
It's funny how when I never really expect Him to answer, He does. Loud and clear.
Sometimes I, too, have to let My children cry.
The response stops my tears immediately. I feel utter clarity enter into my soul and brain. It's so true, isn't it? I think about the many times I have felt absolutely broken and left alone -- the times I have cried out to the Lord to save me -- only to be met with silence. I think about the suffering that I have had to go through, but the blessings that those times have given. I think about many other people who have had to endure pain for some time, only to learn great things about the Lord.
And that's when I realize that in this case, I see more than Gwen sees. I have a fuller picture. And even though she may cry now, she won't cry forever. Eventually (and usually, after 10 or 15 minutes), she will be able to sleep again -- to sleep a deeper and better sleep than she has in the last month.
Making this decision has been ... powerful. I have felt in control of the situation; I have felt freed. And in the process, I have felt as though I am sort of growing up as a parent. This small little hardship and decision has helped me feel more equipped to make more decisions when-the-time-comes. And I know I am doing a good thing.
I am being the parent.