Contrary to what most people think, houses are not silent at three in the morning.

Clocks tick; the fridge purrs; children toss in their beds, giving out the odd whimper; the nearby freeway roars with trucks making early morning deadlines.

I know what 3AM sounds like because I am often awake at this time. While my husband and children have the enviable gift of being able to fall asleep in eight seconds flat, I suffer from chronic insomnia. For six years this condition has been my presumptuous friend, sometimes dropping by for a week, other times a whole month. During her visits, I sleep around three hours a night, sometimes less. My record to date is 72 hours without sleep. By the end of those three days, I was a delirious mess; a bundle of raw nerves that could barely catch the right train home from work or string a sentence together.

I’m not the only one who knows the frustration of sleeplessness. One in three people experience mild insomnia, according to the Sleep Health Foundation. For me, most nights begin with optimism. I’ll clean the sink; scrub the cupboard doors; maybe watch the odd cat video on YouTube. By the early hours of the morning, the glee of a clean kitchen gives way to frustration. I inwardly curse my expensive ergonomic pillow and stare with crazed eyes at my husband’s slumbering form. “Have you tried warm milk?” friends have asked. “Dabbing a spot of lavender oil on your temples?” I’ve tried it all. Yoga. Prescription drugs. Counselling. A CD called Ocean Sounds to Soothe the Soul that did nothing of the sort. My presumptuous friend still visits.

It has recently occurred to me that my battle with insomnia collides with my faith as a Christian. While reading my Bible one night, I was struck by the Psalmist’s cry to God in Psalm 77: “I meditated, and my spirit grew faint. You kept my eyes from closing.”

Sleeplessness is one of the many human experiences articulated in psalms such as this one. Like King David before him who flooded his bed with tears, the Psalmist stretches out untiring hands all night long, his soul “refusing to be comforted”. On the flip side, a good night’s sleep–an insomniac’s white whale–is granted to those whom God loves. Sleep is a blessing; not just for the physical rest it provides, but the fact that those who sleep well, rest easy in God’s care.

This makes sense. Worrying about marauding enemies, imminent exile or societal oppression would be enough to keep any psalmist awake at night. Even today, depression and anxiety are some of the most common causes of chronic insomnia.

It’s a self-defeating situation. Sleep experts say the more you worry, the less likely you are to fall asleep. But like the writers of the Psalms, it is precisely when I go to bed that my anxieties emerge, along with a whole host of destructive thoughts.

Negative, sometimes sinful attitudes I restrain during the day wreak havoc at night. With teeth clenched and aching shoulders, I replay conversations, regretting all the stupid things I’ve said. I nurse a litany of hurts people have committed against me, refusing to forgive. I feel guilt for failing to live up to my own exacting expectations. I imagine God’s judgement bearing down on me. I envy. At night, other people’s lives become shinier. My friends become superwomen who have it all. Mostly, I worry about what I cannot control, from ridiculous things like whether my microwave is giving me cancer (thanks Today Tonight for that one), to big things like what if children fall away from Christ when they’re older? Will I always have insomnia and anxiety? Will I always feel like I’m failing in my struggle against sin?

It is at this point that I have much to learn from Psalm 77. I love this phrase: “I will remember the deeds of the Lord.” By the end of the Psalm, the writer isn’t dwelling in anxiety. He isn’t even focused on himself. Instead, he finds solace in remembering God as the One who performs miracles and leads His people like a flock.

Am I willing to do the same when I can’t sleep at night? Although my exhausted mind wants to wallow in despair (or more specifically, bawl into the arc of my ergonomic pillow), I’m challenged by the Psalms to “remember the deeds of the Lord”.  More than performing miracles in the desert, God has acted powerfully through Jesus death and resurrection. He has removed my sin, cleansed my soul and given me new life. What better time to meditate on this truth than when I’m alone at night and my soul is wrestling with shadows?

These days, I’m slowly learning to accept my presumptuous friend’s visits. My nights have become a form of spiritual bootcamp. When Satan accuses me of guilt in the early hours of the morning, God trains my eyes to Jesus – the author and perfector of my faith. When I lie in bed obsessing about someone I find irritating, He teaches me to desire holiness rather than sinfulness in my private thoughts. When the night feels endless and lonely, I try to remember that nothing can separate me from God’s love, not even insomnia.

This is one of our great blessings as Christians; that God uses every hardship as a chance to refine us, deepening our understanding of what it means to trust in Him. Even the hardships that occur at 3am in the morning can be an opportunity to “remember the deeds of the Lord”.

Sophia Russell is married to Sam, has two children and lives in Sydney. She blogs at The Fountainside.