why was the mother weary
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I heard him cry in the monitor.
Seriously? I thought. Three straight nights of post-bedtime tears. I was so over it.
Walking up the stairs, I devised a scheme to get me out of his room as quickly as possible. But as my feet hit the hallway leading into his bedroom, I felt God’s gentle nudge.
Slow down. He needs lullabies of grace tonight.
I took a deep breath of faith, and for the next forty minutes, I sang my scared little boy to sleep. My lullabies had calmed and quieted his four-year-old soul.
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