Nightmares and the God of 3 A.M.

It’s 3 a.m. and you’re awake again.

Heart pounding. Sheets soaked. For a few terrible seconds you weren’t in your bedroom at all — you were back there. The sounds, the faces, the moment your mind has replayed a thousand times without your permission. Now you’re sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, wide awake while the whole world sleeps, and the loneliest thought in the world settles over you: nobody else is up. Nobody else knows. Nobody else would understand even if I told them.

I want to talk to you about that hour. Because I have sat on that edge of the bed myself — and I am still, even now, learning what God can do with 3 a.m.

God Put a Sleepless Man in the Bible

There is a psalm written by a man named Asaph that reads like it was composed at 3 a.m. by someone with a pounding heart. Listen: “When I was in deep trouble, I searched for the Lord. All night long I prayed, with hands lifted toward heaven, but my soul was not comforted” (Psalm 77:2, NLT). And then this raw, honest line: “You don’t let me sleep. I am too distressed even to pray!” (Psalm 77:4, NLT).

Too distressed even to pray. God didn’t edit that out. He didn’t clean it up. He put a sleepless, overwhelmed, haunted man’s words into the Bible — which tells you something most veterans desperately need to hear: God is not offended by your 3 a.m. He is not disappointed that you can’t produce a tidy, faithful prayer with your heart still pounding. The groan is allowed. The groan, Scripture says, is itself heard.

And here’s what Asaph did next, right there in the dark. He made a decision — not to feel better, because feelings don’t take orders, but to point his mind somewhere on purpose:

“But then I recall all you have done, O Lord; I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago” (Psalm 77:11, NLT).

That word “recall” matters more for you than for almost anyone. The nightmare is your memory replaying the worst things. Asaph fought memory with memory. He deliberately rehearsed a different record — what God had done, the times God came through, the deliverances, the mercies. He couldn’t stop the night from coming. But he could decide what the night was filled with.

The God Who Is Already Awake

Here is the truth that changed 3 a.m. for me: when the nightmare throws you out of sleep, you are not waking up alone. You are waking up into the presence of a God who was never asleep. “Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps” (Psalm 121:4, NLT). You are not interrupting Him. You are not waking Him. He has been in that room all night, and He is wide awake when you are.

That is why the psalmist could write, “Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor the arrow that flies in the day” (Psalm 91:5, NLT). Scripture knows the night has terrors — it names them. And it answers them not with a technique but with a Presence.

And there is more. The Savior you are praying to knows the dark hours personally. The worst night in history happened in a garden called Gethsemane, where Jesus was in such anguish that He sweat drops of blood — while His closest friends slept a few yards away. He knows what it is to be in agony at night while everyone else sleeps. He kept watch through that night, and through the cross that followed it, for you. When you meet Him at 3 a.m., you are meeting Someone who has been there — further into the dark than any of us will ever have to go.

Turning the Night Watch Into Holy Ground

So what do you actually do, sitting on the edge of that bed? Let me offer you what has helped me — not as a formula, but as a fellow traveler. (And let me say this plainly too: if the nights are crushing you, telling a doctor or counselor is not weak faith. God heals through means, and He is not insulted when you use them.)

First, say His name. Out loud if you need to. You are not alone in the room — act like it. Second, pray honest, not pretty. “Lord, it happened again. My heart is pounding. I hate this.” That is a real prayer, and Psalm 77 proves God receives it. Third, fight memory with memory, like Asaph. Keep a Bible — or even a card with one verse — within reach of the bed, and let the Word be the last thing the night hears. David did exactly this: “I lie awake thinking of you, meditating on you through the night” (Psalm 63:6, NLT). The same night watches that torment you, David turned into an altar.

And then remember this: the night does not get the last word. It never does. “The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23, NLT). Morning is coming — and His mercies are already on it.

I won’t promise you the nightmares end this week. I will promise you what the Word promises: that the God of 3 a.m. is real, that He is awake, that He is near, and that He is patiently, steadily healing people like us — night by night. Until then, you and I can pray the soldier-psalmist’s bedtime prayer and mean it a little more each time: “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe” (Psalm 4:8, NLT).

The room is dark, but you are not alone in it. You never were.

— Brother Bill

Next in the series: The Anger Underneath — the rage that guards the grief, and the God who can be trusted with both.