Keep watch dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, sooth the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.

One of the most beautifully soothing prayers in the Anglican Book of Common Prayer has been on my heart of late. It blankets with prayer the many kinds of things that keep people awake at night. We’ve all known those restless nights when in the silent darkness the mind begins racing and there are no distractions to mute the anxieties and struggles that rob a person of the rest and sleep they desperately need. 

While Arden is in this long first recovery phase in a Spica body cast, daytime is her friend. She has things to do, a sister for playtime, family outings (she’s been out a lot), and movies to watch. She’s been a remarkably good sport. But everything changes for our little champ in the night, after she’s snuggly tucked in and the lights go out.

During the night, her Spica cast confinement becomes a battle.

She sleeps, but then when the rest of us would toss and turn, she’s helpless to change her position. Frustration with the power of the cast (much easier to ignore in the daytime) overwhelms in the night. It wakes her up in misery. She’s in the dark and crying for someone—anyone!—to let her out. 

At this stage in the healing process, Alli is up multiple times in the night—calming, comforting, reassuring, and helping Arden get back to sleep—deprived of much needed sleep herself.

Some dear friends sent me a book, An Appalachian Trial: A Story of Struggle, Survival, and God’s Grace, written by a grown-up who survived a plane crash, but barely, and spent months recovering from his injuries, including time in a Spica body cast.

Daniel Lipsi’s story puts an adult perspective on Arden’s ordeal. 

Mercifully, Arden’s not in pain as he was, but he is candid about the terrible discomfort and limitations that the Spica enforced. A nurse’s intervention, imploring the doctors “to ‘have a heart’ and not put [him] in the double spica” spared him of what Arden is experiencing. His single Spica encased only one leg. Even so, he called it a “plaster prison” and speaks of “the long battle to negotiate a bed angle that was the least offensive” to his body.

Arden’s double Spica goes from her chest down to her ankle on the left leg and above the knee on the right. She isn’t negotiating anything. She’s stuck!

So for those who are praying for Arden, please pray for nights of true calm and quiet rest—both for Arden and her mommy. 

I’m traveling to Anchorage on Friday, May 17 to help out and will stay with Avery while Arden and Alli return to Seattle Children’s Hospital for Arden’s recasting (May 27-29). Her next Spica body cast will be above the knee on both legs and so slightly less confining.

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