Her cries pierce the night and I stumble to her room, body both aching to feed her and aching to sleep. I hold her close, too exhausted to open my eyes and then it’s her eyes that are closed and I’m awake. I sit for a long time, slowly rocking as I inhale her newborn scent.

During the day, I’m shooing away the other children—the sticky fingers that are grabbing at her arms and legs. Sticky kisses that are planted on her cheeks.

“Give her space!” I say over and over again, my voice cracking with weariness. But they never do.

She’s starting to sleep longer at night and, although I’m grateful for the rest, I’m sad. Her nighttime feedings are the only time where there is the quiet of just us.

The darkness is slowly lifting and still, I linger. Her tummy is full. She nestles her head on my shoulder and breathes sweet newborn sighs. I can see the outline of her face now—her full cheeks and tiny nose and long eyelashes. The birds begin to break the silence with morning songs.

I found a verse in Psalms this morning. I’m sure I’ve read it a hundred times but I’ve never really noticed it until today. It says,

I’ve kept my feet on the ground,
I’ve cultivated a quiet heart.
Like a baby content in its mother’s arms,
my soul is a baby content.
(Psalm 131:2, MSG)

This is why Jesus would slip off by himself to pray. God—not far off and unknowable but One who wants to meet us in the quiet. No demands. No competing voices. Nothing else pulling at our attention. Just us and Him and when we’ve voiced our needs and our hunger is sated, we can sit and lean our heads and linger as He holds us. He too likes the quiet of just us.

It’s not only about physically getting away. It becomes a state of the heart, something that we can carry with us through the rest of the day, through the busyness of life. It’s a deep soul contentment. Like a baby content.

Be still and know that I am God.

Such a beautiful thought. It’s not our words that draw us closest to Him. It’s not the conversations or even the praise. It’s something beyond all of that.

It’s the place of quiet rest.