3 a.m.

As I become aware that I am in my bed and not on one of the adventures where my dreams often take me, I roll over squinting to read the lit numbers of my digital clock on my bedside table. It is 3 a.m. Again. This is happening more frequently than I would like to admit.

Lately, 3 a.m. is when an internal alarm goes off inside of me and I am transported from a perfectly peaceful night of sleep to an awakened state, as though I am late for an appointment and need to get up. I sometimes wonder if I have awakened to my own screaming, which sometimes does happen. If I ask my husband about it later, he does not ever seem to remember, and yet if I get up for any reason whatsoever he seems to wake up and wonder what is going on. So I choose to lie here, trying to focus on something in the darkness with my nearsighted eyes.

Not being able to see, I decide to entertain myself by contemplating why I may be awake. This question prompts an overflow of thoughts to come pouring out. And it isn't just one simple question after another, but an entire dialogue involving each subject.

"What should I wear to my class reunion?" turns into this: Ok, it is going to be a long night at a park. Jeans seem too casual; a party dress too dressy. A sundress may be cute, but which one? I wish I could have lost that 20 pounds I had intended to lose by now. It is going to be in Michigan which is much colder than North Carolina. I may have to wear a coat. Which shoes will I wear? Will sandals work or should I think about my boots? Maybe it will rain, which it does there quite frequently. Cold and rainy, do I really want to wear a dress? And yet, I haven't seen some of these people since graduation day. What will they expect me to look like? Have they noticed my pictures on Facebook? Do they think I look fat? I have had three kids, but I should exercise more. I have no excuses. I can't blame everything on my under active thyroid. And yet, it is the main reason I am overweight. I wonder how I will measure up. Well, I am in my 50s. Who is going to blame me for gaining a few pounds over all of these years? And on . . . and on . . . and on . . . .

I gently nudge my snoring husband to get him to roll over, and decide to check the clock. It reads 4:30 and I am beginning to wonder if I should give up the hope of sleeping and go read something. Knowing it will probably wake him and cause him to wonder if I am sick, I continue to lie here, trying not to think of how tired I will be in the morning. It is already morning. I try not to think of that either. More questions present themselves. Checklists form: grocery lists, college supply lists, imaginary calendars with to-do lists dance before me mockingly. I should not be this stressed. It is summer. I should be well-rested. I try not to focus on how disappointed I am that I am not getting the rest I need.

With nothing to do, I decide to pray. There is a never-ending list of need: a friend who grieves the loss of a loved one; a friend who grieves the loss of her friend while preparing to do her funeral; and a friend who seeks God for guidance in his calling, all come to mind. I think of my son who is at the beach with his girlfriend's family. I think about the future of my son who will graduate from college next spring. I think about what it will be like to have only our youngest son at home with us soon. I am grateful my husband is happy in his work. I wonder which direction my work will take me, as I head off on another series of questions and tangents; my very own rabbit trails leading me on.

I have read that 3 a.m. is when the "veil" between this world and the spirit world is thinnest and the spiritual realm is closest. Spiritual activity, whatever one defines that as, is at its height. This somehow comforts me. Maybe I am meant to be awake. Perhaps it is part of my calling and responsibility to awaken so that I can engage with God, interceding for all those I love.

I have also read that sleep deprivation can result in something that resembles temporary insanity which explains a lot about those early years of motherhood. Our oldest son did not sleep through the night until he was two years old. I felt like I needed psychological counseling. Maybe what I needed was a good night of sleep.

The clock now reads 5:11 and I am starting to count on my fingers how many hours of sleep I had before my middle-of-the-night interlude. Three and a half hours? Is that all? I know the time to wake up is approaching at breakneck speed. My husband will need to get the day started soon. I wonder if I'm going to feel this exhausted all day. I try not to panic since that will not help me get back to sleep. I try to stop the questions, the prayers, the random thoughts. I need to clear my mind of everything but the beautiful tranquility of slumber, like the waves rhythmically coming in, one . . . after . . . another.

Next thing I know it is 6:45. My husband has already been drinking coffee for at least half an hour and it is time for me to begin. I keep telling myself that with the very next cup I will feel revived, reinvigorated, ready to start the day. Three or four cups of coffee later, I consider making another pot.