A full day–one that started at 4:30am, put 100 miles on the car, and sealed our signatures to a tax form or two–was behind us. We were settled in and set up for a massive marathon of House of Cards and another Netflix series I am a little embarrassed to admit we watch. Settled in, covered up, and pillowed-down.
Before sending our eight-year-old off to bed, we said prayers. Said them the way we do every night: snuggled together in our king-sized bed, my husband, our daughter, and me.
Our Amen barely from our mouths and that was it. That was what? It. The end. We were finished. All three of us. Set to find at 1:30 this morning, the proof: A frozen streaming screen, a bed strewn with one too many sets of arms and legs, a neck crooked in conversation to the heavens, and a restless heart, fearful of having missed something. Then I looked across their faces. Peaceful. Relaxed. No sign of worry. No sign of wake-up calls, excessive mileage, or even tax season. Nothing but the echo of the prayers we sent before drifting off behind heavy eyelids.
It was the letting go at day’s end that we all had needed. The day that had zapped our energy had recharged our spirits the minute we gave it all up. The proof: An unwatched show (or two or nine. You know how Netflix is.) A family bed full? Yes, but crowded? No. A conversation with God that will last us through to morning.
My now enlightened heart and mind settled back in, covered back up, and pillowed back down. Snuggled once more between my two favorite people, I let the peace, relaxation, and echo of prayer wash back over me. That’s all the proof I need.