I slept on the floor for part of last night, my body braced against the bedroom door. This was an act of desperation on my part. Stephen had come to my bed looking for protection against giants who lift him from his bed and carry him to a land of monsters. Sleeping in my bed wasn’t good enough—he needed me against the door.

While trying to sleep in that less than comfortable position, I thought about my futile attempts to persuade him that there are neither giants nor monsters and that we are quite safe in our home. Why doesn’t he just believe me, I thought, I’m bigger and stronger and wiser and more experienced. I can see things he cannot. I know things he does not. And then I thought of the monsters in my life.

I thought of all the worries I regularly let run wild in my mind. I thought of all the doubts and all the fears. I thought about the pain of human relationships and the frailties of the human body. And then I thought about a Bible full of reassurances that God is in control and I am loved. How many, many times I’ve read those reassurances and replied, "Yes, but..." Yes, but there are monsters, I just know it. I saw them and they are real.

Most nightmares look silly to my children in the morning’s light. This one did not. Stephen cried as he told his daddy all about it. He insisted it was true while his siblings tried in vain to dispel the myth. Finally, as evening approached and his fear intensified again, we solved the mystery. Stephen said, "It happened for two nights or maybe three. I fell asleep in Mommy’s bed or Nicky’s bed during stories and a giant came and took me to my bed where I don’t want to sleep and then there were monsters in my dreams!" His lips quivered and his eyes filled as the truth dawned on me.

The giant was his big brother, who, at my bidding, had gently lifted and carried him and then tucked him in his own bed. I had watched both nights. I’d even heard Michael murmur reassurances to Stephen. In his state of extreme fatigue, even the gentleness was mis-perceived. Stephen was certain that a giant was causing him harm.

Sometimes, life hurts. Things happen that we don’t understand. Illness strikes. A job is lost. We are betrayed by a trusted friend. In the dark of those times, the monsters loom large. It is difficult to know that God is cradling and carrying us. We beg him to do something. He’s there, on the hard bedroom floor with His back against the door, keeping the monsters out and whispering reassurances in the night. With His presence, we are at last able to sleep and in the morning, we continue to seek Him, asking again and again about the monsters and our protection, until we understand what He knew all along. And we are wiser and stronger and more faithful for the experience.

Foss is a freelance writer from Northern Virginia.