"you can close your eyes, it's alright..."

"Well the sun
is surely sinking down,
but the moon
is slowly rising.

And this old world
must still be
spinning 'round;
and I still
love you..."

I've always loved James Taylor and Carly Simon's, "Close Your Eyes."  It feels like a lullaby from divine Love.

The fact that most nights we close our eyes and surrender control of our lives to the Unseen, is such profound evidence of our trust in something Divine.

Remembering how peaceful it felt to watch my new babies drift off to sleep -- without any concern that they would not wake in the morning (or later in the night) -- is still something that takes my breath away.

Perhaps, without realizing it as a young mother, I was witnessing in myself an innate trust in God as the Source and substance of all life. I can honestly say that I never worried that my daughters would take their next breath. I watched the rise and fall of their little chests with such an unwavering trust in Life carrying itself out -- breath-by-breath.

This week I read a passage from Scripture that brought this trust into clearer focus:

"In quietness and confidence
shall be your strength;

Ye shall have a song,
as in the night
when a holy solemnity
is kept...”

It is this trust in the presence of God as Life, that feels like a holy solemnity to me. A promise made and kept between a Mother and her child:

"Lo, I am with you alway...”

We are never alone.  Not in our waking and not in our sleeping.  Elsewhere in Scripture we are assured:

"When thou liest down,
thou shalt not be afraid;
yea, thou shalt lie down,
and thy sleep shall be sweet.”

This promise doesn't need to be read from sacred texts to be known. Every child knows that he/she can lie down and closer his/her eyes - surrendering, without fear, to the presence of something felt, but not seen.

As children everywhere seem to be facing so much -- violence in war-torn countries, family separations in immigration detention centers, economic uncertainty, educational inequity -- this one thing brings me peace and provides a springboard for my prayers. No matter what my child may be facing, he/she knows that she can close her eyes and trust that morning will come, the sun will rise, her consciousness of being -- simply being -- will greet her when she wakes from sleep.

Nothing can touch this quiet confidence. Nothing can shake the presence of "I am..." from the core of her being. Tonight I will sing this precious lullaby from our balcony, into the vast velvet of a Colorado night sky.

"Close your eyes,
you can close your eyes,
it's alright.”

And I will pray. I will listen for the peace that passes all understanding. The peace that each of us can rest upon. The peace that fills the "I am..." in every man, woman, and child -- regardless of gender, socio-economic privilege, nationality or geo-physical location. This deeper peace is based on God's presence.  A divine Voice that reaches us in the darkness of a warm bed or under an aluminum blanket on a concrete floor.  A voice that silently sings the song of songs:

"And I still love you...”

May we each feel this promise, and our rest be sweet.

offered with Love,

Kate