A Sacred Psalm

I love your smile
I love your face
I love the way you laugh and play.

I love your eyes
Such sweet surprise
Sparkling bright like firefly's.

Quickly down the hall you go,
You run and hide
Sometimes you fall.


"Come find me Mom!"
A soothing balm.

In hopes that I first count
To three,
Then out the door behind the
Tree.
Dancing, squeeling,
Mingling free, wading through
The crunching leaves. Sneaking
Up so slyfully, surprised and scared we
Both might be.

I love your gentle lulabye's
Dancing round like butterfly's.
You sing them sweetly all day long,
Sacred offering's-
Sacred psalm's.

So bright and brave you'll
Always shine, like the day
Your life met mine.  You've taught
My heart to breath again, and
How to walk through demons dens. 

Your courage reaches out to me
The will to fight, to be set free.  To understand
The Father's love goes far beyond
This Mother's love.
Beyond any thing I can
Fathom. 

I love you, Seth
My soldier knight.
You've learned to battle
Through this life.

My worship warrior child you are,
My beaming brilliant tender star.
That every night I get to hold,
Rock your heart, your mind, your soul.

Right into the arms of He
Who breathed your life into
My sea.
Where emotions, depths and
Plains so wide,
Drink puddles of love warmed by your side,
Summer's rain melts life to mine.

My heart is full, my heart it aches
With love for you as it awakes,
With joy sublime
I no longer hide
On this mother's day,
For you are mine.

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.

A Sacred Impression

"Mommy, I need a hug." in his itty bitty longing voice, asked Seth.  "Sure honey!" I replied.

Falling into my arms, he wraps every part of him, stretching himself as far as his arms can reach around me.  And in a very unexpected tenderness I hear him say,

"I love your hugs, Mommy."

As tenderly as the sacrament was given, I felt the vibration of a deeper cry within me, attempt to loosen whatever kept the latched door within my heart, closed.   I began to hear the pulling door, move back and forth over memories far away within me- stirring a well of tears inside. 

Words of a child have never felt so, treasured.  Never felt so, wanted.  Never felt so, precious. 

Why?  Why did my heart feel such a startled feeling of, unconditional love?  Longing? 

"With every breath.
With every thought.
From what is seen to the deepest part.
I offer all, that I've come to be.
To know Your love, Fathering me.

With every step,
On this journey's walk,
And wisdom's songs,
That the soul has sought.
I give myself, unreservedly,
To know Your love, Fathering Me.

Father Your all I need. 
My soul sufficiency.
My strength when I am weak.
The love that carries me.
Your arms enfold me.
Till I am only,
A child of God."

"Child of God"
 From "Hungry"- Vineyard Music
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3r3JAV2r208&feature=share

Drenched in His presence midst the wet heat of tears streaming down my face, I let this song surround my sacred soul.  I remember the first time I heard it.  I was unloading the dishwasher, about a decade ago.  I came crumbling to the floor in sobbing tears then, too.  Realizing, I did not know this love, anymore.  The love, of a father. 

My childhood had many hugs, by my father.  They made an impression on my heart, that shaped it.  Shaped it into a place where, I was indeed his "little girl."  During those years, I fell in love like many daughter's do.  He was my hero.  But like all hero's, they hold dark secrets that are kept from little girls hearts.  Until, they can no longer be kept. 

Some of those secrets, are redeemed.  Some, are left in the closet of darkness and shadow.  And sometimes, they are the very things a daughter is carrying, herself.

It would be over the course of many decades, that the many secrets would be unveiled.  And with each one, a bit of that little girl would die.  Or at the very least, become numb. 

Until one night, unexpectedly, her son would meekly say, "Mommy, I need a hug."

And the next night feel her Heavenly Father give her, a hug.

Streaming through scenes of sacred smiles.  Scenes of heroism, both by him and by me.  Scenes of chilled faces where the warmth of his coat, comforted the frost bit cheeks of a little girl.  Scenes of a kiss, for the dime to get a gumball.  Scenes of a generous spray of gifts beneath the Christmas tree, never knowing we were so very poor.  Scenes of his being taken, far away, for a long time.  Scenes of tear after tear, streaming through so many sacred miles.

"My daughter, I see every scene of your soul, dripping with unfathomable pain.  I want to help you learn how to receive, My hugs.  I want to Father you, in all of who you are.  I want to unfold and enfold every part of your heart, that you might know My Fathering love for you.  In those cracks where courage, stood alone.  In those secret sacred places where hope, stood alone.  In those strands of tangled and tormenting tugs of war over who your father was, and who he wasn't...I want to show you who I AM.  I want to Father you, my beloved daughter.  Will you let me?" 

"Can I be your sufficiency?" He whispered.

And I feel all over again, a feathered breath of my sons words against my neck, "You give the best hugs, Mommy!" 

Inhaling deeply while my chest heaves up and down I reply to my Heavenly Father as this song streams over my soul, barely uttering words, "You give the best hugs, Daddy!" 

With every step on this journey's walk, I am learning to let my heart be hugged, again.  Wisdom's song the soul has sought, is being sung through the voice of my son.  While every day I give myself to him, unconditionally, unreservedly, he gives back.  Over and over, again. 

With every breath, with every thought, from what is seen to the deepest part, Seth offers all that he is coming to be, in the safety of my love, nurturing him.  In that privilege offered me daily, I am asked the same of my Heavenly Father, "will you offer Me, all that you are coming to be?"

With each and every sacred hug he gives, my Heavenly Father is hugging me.  He is allowing me through my son, to fall in love with Him again.  To become, my Hero.  But unlike earthly father's, He holds no dark secrets.  And the secrets He does hold, are revealed in sacred shadows of beaming love through, Seth.  So that, those kept in the dark, can be broken.  Where once again I become, His little girl. 

His strength, when I am weak.
His love,  that carries me.
His arms, enfolding me.
Till I am only, a child of God.

And how do I know that every one of Seth's hugs, are making a sacred impression?

I am being shaped by them.

The Sacred Dance Of "Daring Greatly."

"In its original Latin form, sacrifice means to make sacred or to make holy.  I Wholeheartedly believe that when we are fully engaged in parenting, regardless of how imperfect, vulnerable, and messy it is, we are creating something sacred." 

"There's something sacred that happens between a parent and a child when the parent says, "Me too!" or shares a personal story that relates to their child's struggle."

From: "Daring Greatly" - Brene Brown

"Seth, it's like this.  Shame is like a cage." I explain, while sitting in front of the "jail" made out of Lego's on our living room floor, holding a Lego man captive within it.

"Shame tells you through the lies of Satan that, you are so bad that there is nothing you'll ever do that is good enough.  Everything about you is, bad.  You're so bad, you will never have a good attitude, make good choices, because you are just too bad." I explain, while the Lego man is held in the "jail."

"Then," Seth begins to say with thoughtful conviction, "Jesus comes along and breaks the cage open."

In one quick swooping movement my head goes from looking down at the Lego man to a beaming light bulb of blissful joy, as I utter with a full exhale, "Yes!!!" that's exactly right Seth.  Lit up with a grin, he smiles back at me as if to say, "You were thinking what I was thinking, weren't you Mommy!"  One of our favorite lines to say, often.

"What is the cage made of?" I ask, with pondering inquisitiveness.

"Evil, darkness, lies and sin, Mommy." in a very matter of fact kind of way, replies Seth.

"What happens when Jesus breaks the cage?" I continue, in searching thought.

"Jesus comforts the man, and tells him not to be sad and tells him, "I love you." he replies, in a very childlike faith kind of way.

"How does this make the man feel, Seth?" I ask, in anticipation for the climax of such a conversation.

"It makes the man happy, ...and thankful." he replies, with a smile.

In the sacred moments of our day, pulling back the curtain is not something that just always comes naturally.  And for some, it's the last thought upon their mind.  It takes a very intentional, committed and persevering path, paving past the pit stops of our own past mistakes.  Mistakes that many times creep along the canvas of our current situation, causing us to carry caverns of shame, for decades.

Shame is something that I have not spent a lot of time, learning.  It's something however, that once I began to understand what it is, and isn't...unveiled insight regarding my own, childhood.  Thus set me into a place of asking, 'am I passing this on as a parent, now?"

What I haven't told you is that prior to this little theologically based lesson, was that we had one of those moments where the behavior and the sensory collided into a war of the wills. 

Seth, has Sensory Processing Disorder.  It is a neurological disorder causing difficulty with taking in, processing, and responding to sensory information about the environment and from within the body.  Information is registered, interpreted and processed differently by the brain, resulting in tremendous difficulty on every sensory level both externally and internally.

At that tender age of 2 1/2, independence kicked in.  It continued, and like every parent, you both encouraged it, while at the same time, struggled through it.  That tug of war that continues to challenge how everything has to be done "by them," in "their way," in "their time," at "their pace," goes into full swing.  Welcome to the land of patience!  But seriously, it is a wonderful time to watch them begin to take that "next step" towards growing up big!

But, it also challenges us as parents to enter that same realm, but on a different plane.  A "growing up big" for us, is presented with a full blown body size mirror.  Shuttering at the shame that is revealed from our own parents style with us as children, comes into full view.  Shattering pieces of glass as our image of what we thought we were, before children comes crashing to the floor in shards of shameful images, more quickly than we might like to admit.  I know it did for me. 

In another post "His Daughter, My Worth, on my blog titled, Daughter Of The King, I write about a moment where the Holy Spirit posed a thought for me to ponder: 

"You can't impart a truth to your son, you don't first believe for yourself."

I had no idea how much shame I carried about myself, till I became a parent.  And, I had no idea how much it had the power over me to impart that same thing, on my son.  Sigh...

However, early on, the Holy Spirit began to speak to me, each and every time my words would even hint toward such a washing. Though I have always committed from the beginning never to use the phrase, "you are a bad boy," or ever calling him bad in anyway, I think sometimes there are cheap subtle shots made in anger, that can still wash ones heart over, with shame. Thus began the journey of, refining.

Each night as we lay our day down to rest, I sing to Seth.  Mostly, my made up version of "Twinkle Little Star", with words about Jesus, and a few other sacred songs.  However, this other day after we had a day of, more challenge, I felt something rise up while rocking Seth.  I just went with it.  And...it was the most sacred moment in a long time within the context of song. 

"Mommy," he says, through quivering tones midst tears, "your song makes me cry.  I feel it very deeply, Mommy."

"Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry.  I'm not trying to make you cry.  I am singing a song that I have never sung before.   This is something that the Holy Spirit just gave me for you.  I think that the reason you are crying, is because the depth of where you are feeling this, is in a place only He sees.  He wants you to know that it is His presence, touching you, letting you know how much He loves you.  Values you.  Do you understand?"  I asked, as the presence of the sacred sacrament, surrounded us.

He pulled even closer to me.  And I...could not believe how naturally that moment in such a sacred song, so unexpected, happened for me, as well.

Just again tonight, I hear Seth say, "Mommy, don't sing that song again, it makes me feel too deeply and I'm afraid I will cry."

"You know what honey...I understand.  Did you know that sometimes songs about Jesus make me cry, too?  And did you know that He wants you to feel that deep feeling of His love so that, you can know how valuable you are to Him?"  I reply, stroking his hair.

"Really?" he replies, in wonderment.

"Yes!...Oh Yes!.  See Seth, you are a King's Kid, the son of The One True King!" I say, in absoluteness. 

When he heard me say, "a King's Kid," the smile of worth flushed over his face. 

"And you know what else?  When you get to Heaven, you will be given a crown, filled with beautiful jewels like rocks, and they will be a symbol of all that you have done here to show other's the love of Jesus."  I said, in waiting anticipation for his reply.

"Can I play with it, Mommy?  Will they be in the shape of snakes? he replied, in longing hope.(Reptiles being his passion right now.)

I smiled at the marveling wonder of his tender heart, the vision he has for all things made for children, as I replied, "I think Jesus will have it be exactly as he knows you will love it."

Laying side by side, he drew as close as he could wrapping his arms around me...and with that fell right to sleep.

Today, I was a fully engaged parent.  Today, I sacrificed a bit of myself, so that he would know he was not alone.  Today, I felt the tug of shaming cheap shots longing to slither themselves off my lips, in the humanity of who I am.  The temptation to run from the endurance needed to withstand a "battle," for the sake of my uncomfortable, inconvenienced lesson in self-control.  Temptation to run from "growing up into maturity" and building character in Seth, in exchange for less momentary pain.
I know, I did it imperfectly.  I know, I did it with vulnerability.  And yes, it was quite messy.

"There's something sacred that happens between a parent and a child when the parent says, "Me too!" or shares a personal story that relates to their child's struggle." as Brene Brown so aptly writes it. 

Can Jesus break the darkness of a cage filled with the evils of shame, wide open?  Absolutely.  Can it come by way of a battle?  For certain. Might there still be hope for true happiness, thankfulness, even in the battle?  Resoundingly, yes!  There is always, hope.

Why?

Because, to be fully engaged, is to bring a sacrifice.  To bring a sacrifice, is to bring something holy. Something, sacred.   And to be a parent, means to "Dare Greatly". 

Our children, do. 

My son, does.

And you can, too.

A Sacred Pause

"Mommy, can you read my Bible to me." Seth yells from the other end of the house. "Sure honey!, I'm just finishing up dinner sweetie, I'll be right there, okay!" I reply with anticipation.   A wellspring of joy wells up within me, at the sound of his request from the other side of the house.  It was a beautiful harmony to the day, being the melody of challenge earlier in our day was a song all it's own, for certain. 

Closing the oven door with our cheesy jalapeno and bacon stuffed chicken ready for cooking, I pace quickly down the hall. Unexpectedly, I see him lying in the bed of our bedroom. Tri-colored ivory, tourquoise, and purple afghan is pulled up tightly to his neck, while the crunching of space shaped fishy crackers in his tiny blue cup are tucked between his fingers.   In a high end tone of delight, smiling through his words he greets me, "Mommeeee!" jubilantly exclaiming.

"Mommy, read me a story about Jesus, please!" he asks.
"Sure sweetie. Let's see; we could read about "the sower," or "the faith of a mustard seed," or ...
"The boy who spends his money Mommy, can we read about that one?" he asked.

"Yes, let's read that one." I replied.

Turning the pages to "The Prodigal Son," I settle my head into the pillow as we become cheek to cheek in the warmth of our bond.

"I love to snuggle you Seth!  You are the best snuggler, you know that!" leaning in towards his eyes, smiling smiles of love.
"You are the best snuggler too, Mommy!" he replies as he presses in closer.

And so I began to read, our story.

"He was dead and now is alive, he was lost and now is found," I read as the story ended.
"Do you know what that means, Seth?" I asked in pondering thought.
"No." he replied with expectation for me to share.
"Remember when Jesus told Peter, "one day you will be fisher's of men?" I asked him.
"Ya," he answered open endedly.
"Well, it's kind of like that. This boy was once close to his father, but then left. He came back and was found again. It's an analogy for how when we do not have God in our hearts, we are dead, and when we have God in our hearts, we are alive." Just as Jesus told Peter, he would one day catch "men" who would come to Jesus, so the lost son comes to Jesus.

"Tickle me Mommy, tickle me." he invited me with delight.

So many times reading together, Seth and I often spend time talking about what we learned. Discussing analogy's we think about, that come to our mind throughout the reading. Today however, was not one of those moments.

As he invited me to tickle him, I embraced the moment with playful abandon. Tossing the blankets aside, removing the blue empty cup that once held the fishy crackers, plopping to and fro onto pillows, the music of our giggles filled the room.  As those giggles upon giggles continued, I was pondering our short time of reading.

Later that evening, the stillness of my day finally settled in. In a short reprise of the moments with Seth, the Holy Spirit captured my minds eye in a short movie clip.  From the first words Seth spoke calling out to me from the other side of the house---"Mommy, read me a story about Jesus, please." Down the hall of my mind, replayed the moment I saw Seth, laying in our bed.

"Pause," I heard the Holy Spirit say, as the movie clip came to a stop.

I stood at that point in my minds eye---waiting for what it was He had for me.

"Do you see it?" He asked me.

Seth was prompted.

He made himself ready within the comfort of his Mommy and Daddy's bed, to listen.  He waited, patiently to hear the word read to him. In stillness for Me to come, he remained ready. He was expectant.  Full of delight and joy, in that expectancy.  He was listening, to his spirit.  He was responsive.  He was in tune and in touch with what his heart was already longing to hear, more about.

I must admit that when so quickly after he invited me to tickle him, that I wondered; is that it?  No more snuggling?   No more reading?   No 'aha' moment for us today?

But---there it was. Lingering down the hall of my heart in my spirit...

waiting-

for a tranquil moment where the promptings might be heard.  Felt.  Having a readiness, to see it.  Primed in spirit enough for the sacred to unfold, for my own heart.  Hearing.  Listening.  Responding.  In the twilight hours of my soul, when and where my heart, hears best.

Dear Holy Spirit,

Tucked beneath the covers of our day, you snuggled me into a moment, midst your Kingdom. Thank you!  For my son, who listened to the promptings of Your leading. Who responded not only to the hunger of his tummy with space ship fishy crackers, but with the hunger of his heart. The longing for a meal with You. Thank You for choosing me, today.

Thank You for that bed, of rest.

Thank you also for, untucking the covers for me. For pulling them back long enough to expose the chill in the air so that I could see that which was being uncovered, for me.

Help me Father, to be ready.  Responsive.  To be able to recognize Your, promptings.  Rather than ready, to the promptings of worry.

Help me not be afraid of what that meal might be.  That you are not a Father of shame, but of grace and love. 

Like Seth, that my longings for truth, wisdom and knowledge might be, filled.  May it sink deeply into the cold, cracked, crevices of my soul.  And like the warmth of our afghan, may it cover me in a cozy sense of your presence, unlike any other.

For those moments when I don't;

pause-

let me not see those moments as, wasted.  Allow me and draw me in so very close, that I can't help but pause long enough again...to seek out that which you had for me.   Long enough to enjoy, a meal.  And like Seth, be ready to respond.  Ready to remain, for as long as I need, till I hear Your voice speak.

Lord Jesus, I confess I have not been nearly as faithful to the stillness, you beckon me to.  I now invite You to usher in, all of what you long so lovingly to give me.  Where, when after the meal has been recieved, I could say, "Tickle me, Papa, Tickle me."  That I would feel so very comfortable with the freedom of your Fathering, that I would delight in the joy of asking for, more.  Teach me how to laugh, in Your presence.  Not with something that meets my ears with fancy talk, or things that are of no substance, but with the weight and joy of your glory.  The weight and joy of your majesty.  Where every breath I make, I make in You.  So that, when those promptings awaken within, my first response will be, "Daddy! would you tell me a story about, Jesus!"

Witnessing The Sacred

"Come on Seth, we're running late, it's time to get going". I told him as I began heading out the door with my coffee cup in hand.  "Okay Mommy" he echoed back to me.

It was a mildly melancholy day for our mid-morning drive to our friends home.  Gentle sprinkles of rain fell lightly upon our windows.  Seth chose to listen to worship on the radio today. The gray overcast subtlety invited us to relax a bit, as we patiently drove with anticipation to a time of play with our friend.  Though not too long of a drive there, it was enough time to hear a few songs on the radio and catch our breath from a hurried moment getting out the door.  

"Mommy, are these angels singing?" Seth inquisitively asks as his voice ever so slightly raises in tone.  "No honey. Does it sound like angels?" I ask in return.  "Ya, it does Mommy" he replies with a drawn out childlike conviction.  

The song playing has a very melancholy melody.  Like a slow dance of rain, dripping down delicately on the windows of our heart, the piano begins to play.  

Here are some of the Lyrics to the song, "Blessings" By Laura Story; the song that begins to play.

"We pray for blessings.
We pray for peace.  
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep. 
We pray for healing...

What if your blessings come through raindrops. 
What if your healing comes through tears.
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know your near.
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise."

As this song played, I looked back at Seth.  This is what I saw: 

His hands held to his chest, folded. His eyes gently closed.
His lips moving, in silence.

As I watched him, I was immediately enveloped by the presence of Heaven around me.  I knew that there was something sacred, surrounding us both.  Sifting the soil of my heart where worry and fear, hide...the Holy Spirit opened up to me a picture of what He is doing in our son.  Watering His heart with more of Himself, in a moment where the very rains of Heaven flowed down.  Laced around those tiny little lips was a prayer only he will know- this side of heaven. Perhaps that prayer was moving mountains, I had no idea he even knew how to ask-
    be moved.  

Perhaps he was unwrapping in the spiritual realm, things only unwrapped- through the mouth of babes.  To even ask what he was praying, felt invasive.  The gift of that moment, was enough. One to be kept between him and his Heavenly Father.  

There is a sweetness and innocence in children, however when they have their eyes closed, in prayer...it's indescribable the feeling it brings a parent.  A gift that is priceless.  Especially when you sense something profoundly intimate in such a sacred moment, has invited you in to witness. 

I saw something in his face in this moment of prayer that he had...

Pure peace...pure faith...pure abandon. The kind that only the  Spirit of Jesus, can give a child.  

As the lids of his eyes were closed, I couldn't help but ask, do I look like that when I pray?  Do I go with the same depth of conviction and transparency, such as that of a child?

It was shortly after his little lips stopped, he then lifted his hands in worship. I immediately felt the presence of His Spirit fill the car.  And suddenly, just as the raindrops were falling on our window, this mild melancholy morning, they began to fall from my eyes. 

Falling from places within where- longings lye patiently for healing.  

Where tears of joy rise- in the privilege of seeing your son, respond so resoundingly to the revelation of His presence.  

This was a blessing through raindrops.

A bit of healing, through the tears.

I am sure, I will silently see more sleepless nights yet to come.
I am sure, it will take such nights for me to know once again...
He is near.

And, I am sure it will take many trials more- for me to know that these trials truly are

some of your most tenderest of mercies...

in disguise.



Dear Savior,

Thank you for the many voices You've gifted, that sound like...angels to our ears.  

Thank you for the way you find us, a midst many melancholy mornings- so as to bring us into the healing rains- of Your presence.

Thank you that our son, knows the voice of angels in his heart...

the voice of Your Spirit enough...
to raise his hands in prayer. 
In praise.
In worship.  
Even at four years old.

Thank you that you allowed this window in our morning...to open in such a way...that it became a window- into the days of our lives, yet to come.

Help me Father-

 to remember...

there really are blessings in the raindrops.

Your healing can, will and does, 
come through the tears.

That in the sleepless nights, still yet to come...
you have not changed.  That you are the same yesterday, today and forever.  

That you are...

always near.

And though the trials of life tragically travail upon the terrain of our hearts... 

help me remember that your mercy treads upon those trials more powerfully than the trials themselves. 

And that in those truths your mercy will come-
 even if disguised...in the rains of such pain.

Sacred Construction

"Look Mommy, an Excavator, a Bulldozer, and a Backhoe, Mommy.  Can you even believe it Mommy!" stated Seth in a jubilant exaltation!  

My little boy is very much, all about Construction Trucks these days.  Every where we go, we are seeing them.  You know how it is when you get a new car, you suddenly see "your" car, everywhere.  

I was on my way to an appointment, alone.  Though not often do I go anywhere alone, when I do - it's a time of uninterrupted thought, reflection, and worship.  A time where; a deep breath- is good for the soul.  

I had been breathing in a deep breath of worship, playing a song on repeat by Mathew West called, "The Reason For The World".  It's an amazing song about just that, making sense of the things that happen in the world we live.  Leading us ultimately into a realization that, we long for Home.  Home being Heaven.  I was pondering how much I have longed for Heaven; decades now.  How tragedy's have a way of setting your perspectives on higher ground.  How just as quickly as the traffic raced past me, fading into my rear view mirror, so memories raced by my minds eye. However, I wish memories disappeared just as quickly.

Though the sky was that of a summer blue, the air outside was clearly not that of summer, but rather seeking permission for the arrival of winter, as it lay at the edge of it's coming.  Life...does not take such steps.  It does not slowly emerge.  It just comes.  It waits not- for you to gently ease into such things.  It simply ...arrives.  

As I considered the destination of which I was going to arrive at this morning, I began to notice many Construction Trucks all around me.  Echoing in my heart, "Can you even believe it Mommy!".  And in that quiet moment of reflection, I heard it again, only it wasn't my little boys voice I heard, but rather the voice of the Holy Spirit..."Can you even believe it, Dawn?  Look, ...that is what I say when I see the construction work of my children going on.  When I see the 'trucks' of life coming at them, the Excavator of eradication and all that hinders one from fully coming alive.  The Front End Loader coming to scoop away that which has been chiseled, after the Bulldozer first did it's job of plowing out all that was destroying me.  Friendships that were unhealthy. The dirt of derailed and daunting decisions left behind.  The Crane Truck of which had the wrecking ball effects of poor discernment.  Can you even believe it, Dawn!  Because, what I see Dawn...is not the torn up Construction site, but rather the restored site.  The fully alive, breathing life site, that has come to it's fullest potential."

 And then, just as Seth asks; the Holy Spirit asks me, "See it Dawn, see it!"  Like my little boy, with longing- Jesus looks and asks, do you see it? Really see it?  

And then I felt the Holy Spirit ask, like when you buy that new car... do you see it everywhere?  Not just in your own life, but in the life of others too? Do you see the beauty of the construction in the lives around you?  Do you see beyond the trucks of tragic trauma, into the places where, foundations are laid, cemented in, like a Cement Truck pours cement,...firming up that which cannot be shaken?  Do you see... the way I am forming and making what seems like an excavation of enormous magnitude of the enemy's making, and taking what was stolen and giving it back, miraculously beyond what could or would have been before?  Do you see Dawn, how with great joy, delight and freedom, I AM?  That I too, am moving among this construction site of your life, with immeasurable longing, patience, pursuit, that none would perish, so that my healing, deliverance and redemptive restoration might fall forward to all who hear, see, listen...?  

Then He asks me,"Do you want to see more?  Be a player in the in the story of all that I am doing not just around you but through you as well?  I don't need you, true!  But oh...how I love to use my creation, to reveal all of who I AM!  Can you even believe it, Dawn?" 

As I sat there just about to get out of my car, having arrived to my destination, I mused a moment...what will I have to go through, before I arrive at my eternal destination?  Can I see it through the lens of; all I've been given in this short drive today?  Can I say it with the jubilation that Seth did?  See, the thing is...we don't always get the blueprints of what the site is being torn up for...what is being built.  Unless we look...eternally.  And it's this view...that I long for more of.

Dear Holy Spirit,

Wow...you really do know me don't you.  I did not expect such an intimate moment, on such a normal kind of day.  But, you don't see as I do.  You see perfectly, while I see...dimly.  You see what I can't see.  And yet; you invite me to come close,...you invite me to see, listen, hear, all that You are doing. You invite me to also, play a role...in the work that you are doing in others.  This is nothing less than humbling for me.

I have had some pretty major construction work going on for a long time now.  I'm humbled all the time, that you are continuing your promise, fulfilling it..."I will bring to completion, the good work which I begun".  Thank you. Thank you for Your patience with me. 

And Father, please draw near to ___________ who is going through a very intense excavating experience, as well.  Show me, how I can be used in that site.  Help me rightly usher in the privilege of what you want to do, to help them come fully alive through it.

I pray Holy Spirit, while in the midst of my own
construction; 

I would not be concerned with how long it will take,

or what I can't control,

or what I see as it's happening. 

But rather remember...every truck of transformation has a role to play.
Just as I have a role to play.  

When all the digging, pushing, scraping, and excavating is going on, I pray I would be enveloped by Your intimate presence.  And help me most, while standing in a world longing for home, 

to see the eternal.

So that I can say in response; "Can you even believe it!" and rest in all around me, coming fully alive.