The Lacher Family

I held Julia in my arms, patting her back gently. Only 2 weeks home, we have established a routine for falling asleep that involves her resting her head on my (or Daddy’s) shoulder, soft blanket across her back, as we pat her and sing. Classical music plays gently – I have come to know every note, every crescendo of this music having spent much of the last 2 weeks sleeping in the rocking chair in her room as she sleeps in my arms.

I pat her back until she feels limp, her breath even. She has been stroking the cotton receiving blanket that I draped on my shoulder – an attempt to stop the scratching, and for now it seems to be beginning to help. I see her gently grab the fabric and stroke it across her lips repeatedly. I say a prayer, take a deep breath – and place my precious Julia down in her crib.

She instantly rolls to her side – usually a good sign that she will settle right in – and then it begins. Her hands and feet begin moving simultaneously. She curls the toes of one foot, using the nails to scratch the other. Back and forth her feet move, nearly in rhythm to the piano concerto in the background. Her hands claw desperately at her wrists – clearly a favorite zone based on the battle wounds from previous evenings. She tries in vain to pull up the snug sleeves of her pajamas, and so moves on to the only other exposed skin she has. First, she grabs one ear, scratching deeply where it meets her head. By morning her hair will be matted in this spot from the repeated digging. She tugs at her ear, almost willing it to come off her head, then jams her finger inside, creating flakes of skin as she rubs. At first I gently telling her to stop scratching and redirect her to the blankie. Eventually I say nothing, knowing her scratching started with her skin issues and somewhere along the way during her time in the orphanage turned into a self-soothing behavior, and I so desperately want her to be soothed.

All the while I continue to pat her back. As my own back begins to ache, I decide to try something new and sit on the floor next to the crib, reaching in between the slats to continue patting. For a while we look into each other’s eyes. She is calm, but not still. Her feet and hands continue to work. Her eyes occasionally flutter shut, and at one point I feel her body begin to relax. But then, she startles and her hand jerks into the top of her pajamas, raking her fingernails across her chest and collarbones. Her nails have been cut just two days ago but already they are long enough to inflict damage. Still, we have reached a new point of progress, as she lies in her crib looking at me and understanding it is a safe place to be. And so we stay – she on her side scratching, me on the floor patting her back, my arm nearly numb. We do this for nearly 40 minutes. Julia seems to be getting more agitated, her scratching becoming more frantic. I can see that she wants to be sleeping and just can’t get there. And so, I lean in, gaze into those deep chocolate eyes, and ask if she would like “up please”. She lifts her little arms without a sound, and I place her right back where we started nearly an hour ago.

Almost instantly she is limp in my arms, yet I still hold on. I can’t bear to go through the last hour all over again. Finally, I lean into the crib and place her down gently. Again she rolls to her side but this time is different – she relaxes into the crib, clutching the soft blanket. Right before I take my hand off her back, she rakes her hand across her neck again – and then she is still.

As the evening unfolded, I couldn’t help but see the parallel with my relationship with God. I, too, have behaviors that are destructive yet soothing. And God sometimes asks me to stop, and other times He lets me see for myself that I can’t get the peace I desire with my own hands – I need Him to pick me up and cradle me in His. It is these thoughts that will get me through the night tonight, when she will wake multiple times. It is His love I must model to her as I cradle her in my weary arms, when my own selfish desires tell me I’d rather be lying in my own bed. And it is His power and grace and mercy that will get all of us through to the next day. And the next. And the next. Until eventually – God willing – sleep will come easily for my daughter, and her precious hands and feet will be still in her slumber.