Bedtime was the only time I usually saw my mom.

My mom worked as a gas station cashier. She also worked 2 jobs at one time, so by the time she came home, it was time for bed. That was the only part of the day that belonged to us.

She would lie next to me and tell me a story. It became a ritual, right alongside my chocolate milk with bread and butter. She made the stories up as she spoke, reaching for whatever came to mind. I constantly asked for more every single time. She’d try another ending or another version, but it didn’t feel complete. Even when I fell asleep, if I felt her slipping away, I woke up and asked for one more. She always tried again.

She jokes about it now and then, about how persistent I was. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve wondered why I was never satisfied.

Part of it was simple. I wanted more time with her. That was the only space where I had her attention. But something else was happening too. Her stories filled the space, but they didn’t give me anything to hold onto. They didn’t settle into my bones or my being. She didn’t yet have the language or the spiritual foundation to offer something deeper, something my little soul was quietly searching for.

The effort was there, but the anchoring needed work.

What surprises me is how this still shows up within me as an adult. My partner knows it oh so well. We don’t call them stories now, we call them insights. When I’m unsettled, I reach for language. I ask him, "Do you have any insights? Anything to share about what you've learned today?" lol. Which I follow up with an endless thread, "and then, and then?" It’s how I search for connection, but it’s also how I try to steady my mind. It shows up most when I’m dysregulated.

He might share something that fills me for a moment, then I remember maybe it’s time to reach for my Bible. People don't exist to be storytelling robots just so I can feel at ease😅.

That’s also why social media, alternative knowledge like astrology or occult wisdom, and certain friendships or relationships where the other person loves to speak CONSTANTLY have been dangerous for an overactive mind like mine. It becomes a never-ending stream of information. It feels satisfying at first, but over time, it hijacks the mind. It fills the space without rooting me in truth. They've all kept me occupied in the past, but never anchored.
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I’ve learned that not everything fills the same way. That’s why Scripture and a relationship with God fulfill what nothing else can for me. It quiets the search. It tells me who I am without asking me to keep reaching.

So I often think about parents and the moments they have with their children. Try your best to make those moments count, even if all you have is just 30 minutes a day because of life's circumstances. Children aren’t counting minutes; they are absorbing meaning. What settles into them is not the time you spent, but what was carried in the moment. For example, I haven't had many conversations with my father, but what I hold on to is the type of music he played every morning when taking me to school. Life lessons, grounding, and identity were instilled in this way, regardless of being a man of very few words.

When you read or share stories with your child, let it point somewhere deeper, even if it's woven in subtly. Let it give them something to stand on. Speak life and Scripture into their God-given identity. Pay attention to what they repeatedly request. Even at a young age, children show you exactly what their souls are seeking.
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_{And for those who never had anyone sit with you at nighttime, not even for a moment, I see you. I know what that absence does. The search for nurturing can feel endless. After all the searching, I’ve learned the truth remains the same. Only God fills that space.}

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^{Deuteronomy 6:6–7 (ESV)
‍“And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.”}