An Evening Prayer

When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches.
— Psalm 63:6

By the end of the day the house finally goes quiet, and all the things left undone go quiet right along with it. There's nothing more to be done tonight — and there's a mercy in that, if we'll let it be one. The evening isn't for finishing. It's for laying down: setting the whole day down, the work and the worry and the long list that never did get to the bottom of itself. And then, before sleep takes us, remembering the One who was holding all of it the whole while we thought it was resting on us.

Lord, as I lie down, I remember you.
I give you this day that's behind me now — what I did and what I left undone, what went well and what I'd do over if I could.
I can't carry it into the night, and the truth is I don't have to.
You kept me through the daylight; keep me now through the dark.
Let me lie down in peace.
And let the last thought of my mind be you — and the first one, come morning, you again.
Amen.

The hardest hour is so often the one in the bed — the lights out, and the worries come back louder than they ever dared to in the daylight. The psalm knows that hour well. It doesn't pretend the night is easy, or that the remembering comes without effort. It just turns the mind, there in the dark, toward the One who stays wide awake the whole night through, watching, while we cannot. And it turns out the remembering is rest enough. The night watches belong to him. We can close our eyes and let him keep them.

Keep this one close, for the nights the quiet doesn't come easy. And come morning, Ruby writes a short devotional every day in the same spirit — a verse, and a few plain words to begin again. You can subscribe — it's free, or stay a while and read more of her writing.