the watches of the night

In college I listened to one Fernando Ortega song a total of 1,0003 times, according to my iTunes clock. It was his rendering of Psalm 63, and it prayed on my behalf in hours where I thought myself unable to ever be the person I thought I most wanted to be.

I remember you at night, through the watches of the night, in the shadow of your wings, I sing, because you help me. 

In those days I was a well-worn believer looking for a story of rebirth. Or maybe I was an infant in the faith looking to appear wise and well-worn. Maybe some of both.In those days I hardly ever met the watches of the night. I stayed up too late only a few times at the end of college, once to walk the campus making only right turns to keep the conversation going, once to sing songs too loud in my roommate's car, and once, finally to say goodbye.What did I know of these hidden hours?--I am acquainted with the watches of the night. I have walked their hallways in a hospital in Temple, I have paced their floorboards and felt two babies sink into sleep on my chest at 1, 2, 3am. I have crept into the kitchen for peppermint Jo-Jo's and chocolate chip pumpkin bread and orange juice and dill pickle potato chips in the strange cravings between pumping or nursing.These are the watches of the night.Spending yourself to help another sleep, keeping company with the stars that guide only some distant sailors to safety.These are the watches of the night.The list of things undone and still to be done stretches itself and embraces me, thin ribboning arms weaving in and out. Wallace Stevens once wrote of a quiet house and a calm world, a poem that comes back now in the dark like a friend hailing you from the other end of an airport. The house was quiet, and the world was calm. You whisper it to yourself, but can't quite remember the next line.These are the watches of the night.--So much traveling I have done, in these hours I once knew only as words in a song. So many miles I have crept, belly pressed to the earth in prayer, looking for a sign of Jesus in the dust. So many verses I have sung my children back to sleep and hoped the songs were navigational stars, for in the watches of the night a weary sailor needs a guide. I feel the same, and not the same. This I still know is true: you alone, O God, are the song and the star.Love,hilaryP.S. My first book, Forgiving God: A Story of Faith is coming out April 3! You can enter to win a free advanced copy at a Goodreads giveaway by clicking here. So excited to share this with y'all!