Goodnight Moon

There’s a goodnight moon tonight, not the genial full moon but the moon with the cow jumping over it.  Except. There’s  no cow jumping over this moon.  The goodnight moon swings above the moody horizon.Things always happen when the moon is a cowering sliver buffeted by clouds. I should know to beware on these nights.

They start out peaceful. Very peaceful. Sleepy. Goodnight light and the red balloon. Goodnight little house. Goodnight nobody. Goodnight everybody.

Then comes the phone call. In Malawi I knew those night phone calls usually meant someone had died or was dying. Since I’ve been married middle of the night phone calls aren’t usually bad; 97% of the time it’s someone who’s hit the ditch and needs a winch or the RCMP waiting beside the road with an intoxicated driver’s SUV. But on these nights, the moody ones with a goodnight moon, the phone calls do carry sinister messages.  There’s a delirious dehydrated child who needs to go  to the hospital . A diabetic 20 who may be in serious medical distress or maybe just drunk.  A fire. A nephew who needs a place to sleep while his parents drive through a blizzard to find an ER. A missing mother. A violent teen. And tonight, the quavering call for help comes from a little one huddling at the sidelines of a domestic violence battle miles away, out of my (/our) reach. 

There’s no cow jumping over the moon for this baby girl. No quiet old lady whispering, “hush.” The old lady (sorry, Mom) would do anything to be whispering, “hush” to her right now. She’ll whisper her “hushes” extra lovingly next time she gets a chance, trying to delete the horror with a few nights of security and safety, green rooms and red balloons sock monkeys. 

The crisis is deescalated and the emotional scars on baby girl are deep and irreversible. They reflect onto my mother and me; they haunt the night , casting a sinister shadow on things normally safe and beautiful . Helplessly I hold my own baby tightly, waiting for the next horror that surely will occur. I try to convince myself it’s safe to relax;  I try to slow my racing pulse .  A sleepy baby smile and the goodnight stars whispering promises from their Creator calm me back to sleep while my heart breaks on repeat. And as always I pray for Jesus to stand by all the hurting children, everywhere, healing the wounds I can’t fix.