A Sacred Song

Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, went the symbols in Seth’s hands as I was washing the dishes. Blaring out in his other hand was the reverberation of the high pitched echoing of the triangle, as he stood upon our cement kitchen floor. After asking him to stop the "clanging cymbals" several times, my own sensory overload saturated my ears and brain in an already spent day of, ‘I don’t have to stop if I don’t want to,” choice. Pounding inside my own head began anger melodies of “make it stop-make it stop!!!! “ Though, I can humbly say I did not lose it, I lost it enough to convict my heart of having one too many hits from the triangle clash against my reactive tones of--- “I’ve had enough.”

Finishing up those dishes was a relief for me since, we were planning on heading out the door for a bike ride. After finally getting ourselves out the door, leaving behind the ‘marching band,’ I paced myself with a deep breath- in and out- to release the adrenaline thoughts of, "finally, fresh air!”

With each breath, my heart and mind were beating a rhythm all its own.

Sensory Overload!

It hit me as loud as the clanging cymbal's in the kitchen.... “this is what it is like for Seth!” Every day, every moment that vulnerable window of feeling out of control, opens unexpectedly. In his world, where the norm, is too loud, too fast, too cold, too hot, too sticky, too rough, too tight, too loose, too soft, too hard, too big, too small, too scratchy, too watery, too smelly, too....etc.”

In your world, or at least the world unaware, such things don't flash upon your radar. When they do flash, you adjust what needs adjusting, and go on about your business with out a glitch in your routine. For the most part, anyway. Until you are faced with a child who lives with, Sensory Processing Disorder. Then.... every element of your day is planned around that reality. Other’s... don’t get it. They presume you spoil your child terribly rotten, have lost all control, are focused on letting the child run the program and see you as one of those couples where the judgmental dialogue goes, “how did they ever think they were going to be parents?” 
 

You, know differently. 
 

And, many times in a sea swarming with silent and subtle stares from afar...you feel utterly,

alone.

Suddenly, walking behind Seth as he rode his bike, I became acutely aware not only of the bitter winds of 43 and breezy hitting my face in the dusk of evening, but the heat of my face being washed by tears of revelation. My precious was longing for a moment of sensory output in a song of clanging cymbals and twanging triangle's, while Mommy in the midst of it, melted into the music of feeling fully out of control of that "loud noise."
 

Approaching the curb, I walked right in front of Seth’s bicycle bending at my knees to meet his brillant brown eyes looking left, to make our turn.  I cupped his chin.  “Seth," I whispered as he looks at the tears in my eyes with question, "I am so sorry! I know what you are feeling inside, when things are too loud, now. When things inside your body control you, and you can’t find that control. I’m so sorry for becoming impatient and angry about your wanting to play music for me. Please, forgive me, Seth.” 
 

“Okay, Mommy.  Let’s turn left Mommy," he says in a glance of distraction.
 

Grace.

So much grace, our children give to us. 
 

So much grace, He, my Beloved gives me.

Crossing that street, I realized I was having my own, “adult meltdown.”  Inside my heart and mind. Yes, I controlled it to a fair degree, a respectable degree. I did not get out of control. I did not lose "it" in a way that brought about fear.  But, it doesn't justify the melody I did sing over, him. 

My Beloved- has been faithful to lead me to, repentance. And, faithful to lead me to see the deeper lesson in those moments. Faithful to produce more fruit, of self-control.

What was my lesson, in this song? 
 

Was it just about understanding Seth, better? An epiphanic moment about his world, and how my world too, can be altered into a state of tragic meltdowns. 
 

Or, was it more?

As a child, I was living in a realm, no one else around me understood. I would look at objects surrounding me, that were un-noticeable to everyone else, such as a window screen. I would be in a moment gazing outside, peering through the screen while peeking back to my spirit was a deep spiritual truth about, a Kingdom not of this world. I would bring that truth, that ‘object lesson’ to church with me on, “Object Lesson Sunday.”    While at thirteen years old, I was opening a window of spiritual insight into the Kingdom of God, people in the pew had their mouths hanging open...scratching their head, wondering, “how does she see all that?” 

In this moment, tonight with Seth, maybe He wants me to remember.
 

To pause the ringing in my ears for just a moment. 
 

Listen.

 

Until those songs I loved to sing as a little girl to my Daddy, are heard once again. Heard in the hardened soil of memory. Songs of insight and mystery about a Kingdom that is not of this world. 
 

A melody that, as a child--- longed to be listened to. Understood. Invited, to join in such a dance.
 

Aching in longing, to play such melody’s. Reaching into a reservoir of song, full of metaphor and mystery. 
 

As those songs poured forth, I was not met with harmony's I had hoped for. What was sung over me, was not a love song at all. It was instead a very silencing, out of tune mantra--- “Dawn, you need to get your feet back on the ground. You let your head live in the clouds too much.” 
 

To him, it was a song of sixpence...
 

To me, those songs were sacred. My oxygen.
 

Therefore, a song he needed, silenced.


When you shut down the melody of one’s very spirit, very purpose, you begin a slow and subtle death of shutting down one's, destiny. That is the intent, anyway. The intent of the enemy. 
 

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! .... begins the song the enemy sings over your, mind. Loud enough that you will hear it. Working hard to obtain your agreement to such songs, over your mind. So that you will eventually have your own, “spiritual meltdown.” So that your song becomes, “make it stop, make it stop.” And you are silenced to whom it is, you were meant to be. That is his song. His agenda. His processing disorder. To disorder your heart, sending you into a meltdown of confusion. 
 

It’s what he attempted to do, with me.


But, grace.

My Beloved, reached down in an orchestrated pursuit of my heart, and awakened His song--- a love song, within.


Reaches, deep into the reservoir of songs He has long ago played over me, written upon the tablature of my soul, so that, the cooing of doves might once again be, heard in this land.


Inviting me, to come...through the songs of my, son. The songs, ultimately sung, through His Holy Spirit.

So that I might once again learn, to sing.