My daughter is surprised how well her ears work in the middle of the night, when she is sound asleep.  She tells me that the smallest whimper or whisper from her children opens her eyes as well as her ears.
This phenomenon is very familiar to me, of course.  I bet it is familiar to every mother.  I remember that I could sleep soundly through the loudest clap of thunder and brightest crack of lightning, through hailstorms and a ticking mantel clock, but not through the tiny voice or tiny footstep in the hallway of Jenny or Nick. 
I'm reminded of yesteryear as Jenny tells me her own stories of today …
"Mommy, Mommy," says little Addie in the night, in her smallest three-year old voice that is only angel notes above a whisper.
Jenny's eyes open wide and she lies there without moving a muscle.  She knows she isn't dreaming, but doesn't know how serious or long-lasting is the interruption to sleep on this cold winter's night.  She stops breathing to better hear as she stares into the dark.  Then the silence is broken and she hears once again, this time consciously, "Mommy."
Jenny throws back the covers and flashes down the hall past Gunny's room, past the bathroom, and into Addie's room.  She kneels at Addie's bedside and cradles her daughter's soft curly-haired head.  "Whatsa matter, honey?" she tenderly asks.
"I had a bad dream," whimpers Addie, ever so clearly, blanket pulled up to her chin.
"What did you dream about?" asks her mother.
"A gabilla," says Addie with a large tear streaming down her cheek, further softening her mother's heart.  "And he sat there in my chair," continues Addie.
Jenny recalls seeing a gorilla on television earlier that day with the kids and so explains to her sleepy child, "Sometimes what we see on television pops into our minds at night and it can be scary.  Our minds are kind of like televisions …
"The gabilla popped into my room!" declares the child whose dream remained vivid.
"Sometimes we can get rid of scary things by bringing very good things into our mind.  Maybe you want to think about dance class," suggests the smart mommy.
A big smile and fresh complexion appears on Addie's face as visions of sugar plums seem to dance in her head.  She rolls over and shuts her eyes.  "Mommy, go to your own room now," says the little girl with a mind that is all her own.

Such stories are favorite parts of my days.  When I hear words like "gabilla," I get the tickles inside and out.  When Addie dresses up like Cinderella, she is the most "beautiest."  The hula hoop prop at her dance class becomes her "lula loop."

And then I'm brought from sweet reality to harsh reality by television news blaring in the background of my office …
"The U.S. Supreme Court said it will consider the constitutionality of banning partial birth abortions … The federal ban passed in 2003 but was never put into effect because it was struck down by judges in three states …
"The federal Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act prohibits a certain type of abortion in which a child is partially removed from the womb and the skull is punctured and the child's brains are sucked out …
"The federal law has no health exceptions for the mother, but defenders point out the procedure is never medically necessary to protect a woman's health, much less a woman's life …"
I am awakened as if in a bad dream.  Don't people know that by the time a baby has partially escaped the womb, that the mother's health and life is not threatened?  'Tis only a murderous heart that would kill a child seconds away from its very first breath.
It's an ugly thing, worse than a child's nightmare.  There's a huge gabilla in the room.  I used to think it was due to ignorance, but I'm changing my mind.  There is no excuse for ignorance today.
People in our country, in our lives, in our hometowns with small town charm, in our churches, and in our families, make friends with the gabilla and give every lame excuse to keep him in the room.  They are part of the nightmare that snuffs out grandchildren before they get a chance to whimper.
                               ~Sue