Sweet Moments and Sweet Dreams

I know it seems a little odd, but bedtime is one of my favorite times with Kathleen. That's not because it's the prelude to the few quiet, calm hours in our household, the time I actually have for myself. It's because there's something so sweet and tender about the bedtime rituals.

After dinner Kathleen (most nights, at least) takes a bath and, once she's moved the requisite amount of water from the bathtub to the bathroom floor, we pick up the bath toys and get ready for bed. We zip Kathleen up into her pajamas, and then she sets off to collect her Aloha and George (stuffed dog and monkey) from wherever they've been deposited, while I measure out a bottle of milk and heat it in the microwave. Once that's done, we settle ourselves into the rocking chair in her bedroom and turn out the lights. While Kathleen drinks her bottle, I sing her a lullaby. It's a hymn I learned in college, which we used to close our choir rehearsals. It was a favorite of mine then, and it's even dearer to me now that I sing it to my daughter each night. The tune is traditional -- most people know it from the lullaby "All Through the Night."

Day is done, but love unfailing dwells ever here.
Shadows fall, but hope prevailing calms every fear.
Loving Father none forsaking, take our hearts of Love's own making
Watch our sleeping, guard our waking, be always near.

Dark descends, but light unending shines through the night.
You are with us ever lending new strength to sight
One in love Your truth confessing, one in hope of heaven's blessing
May we see in love's possessing, Love's endless light.

Eyes will close, but You unsleeping watch by our side.
Death may come in love's safe-keeping, still we abide.
God of Love all evil quelling, sin forgiving, fear dispelling,
Stay with us, our hearts in-dwelling this eventide.

When I finish singing, Kathleen and I pray together, and then with a few more hugs and kisses, "sweet dreams" and "I love you's," I set her down in her crib. She tucks her stuffed animals into her arms and curls up around them and settles in for the night. I'm all too aware that one day soon she'll decide she's too big for a bottle, or too big for a lullaby, or too big to snuggle in the rocking chair, her head in the crook of my arm, her cheek against my chest. Perhaps that's why I love the nighttime rituals so much... because I know they're fleeting.