Yesterday I was sitting in my office and kept hearing the hallway bathroom sink running and running-the water was full blast. 

"Xzavier! What are you doing?" I hollered to my six year old who was in the hallway bathroom.

"Washing my face, Mom," he hollered back. After another few minutes of hearing the water continue to run, I got up to see what was going on. He had a habit of washing all of his matchbox cars and even his muddied toys from the outside seasonal "mud hole" in the bathroom sink. And usually a big mess was left behind. 

What I found was my son in his bright orange t-shirt profusely washing his face. He'd plunge his small hands into the gushing faucet water, then stick his eyes in them. He'd do it again and wipe his eyebrows. And again and rub his cheeks. And again, and splash his lips and chin. I couldn't stop him; instead I sat there amazed. Then I ran to get my iphone and videotaped him. He was thoroughly enjoying himself and I laughed and asked if he wanted to go swimming. 

"I am, mom!" he said enthusiastically with a bright, wet smile. After finally drying off, we watched the video together because he loves seeing himself on camera. He smiled this slight side smile, so proud and full of delight in himself. 

I casually asked for my son's eye contact and attention and asked him if he remembered what it used to be like when he got water on his head. "Yeah, mom. I'm healed," he said, truly minimizing any real trauma memory he may yet have. 

But I remember. Any drop of water on his head created screaming. The pat on his head or brush of his hair in the wrong direction by a friendly hand was anxiety-causing. I could rarely get my lips near his cheek to give him a kiss and was completely forbidden to wipe his tears. Literally, forbidden to wipe his tears. He would tell me, "No mom. Don't touch my tears," and put his tiny hands near his eyes as tears squeezed out the sides of his eyes, lonely and uncomforted by the tender loving touch of a mother. 

Gratitude flooded over me and my message of bringing hope, health, healing, wholeness to other mothers aching for an answer for their sensory reactive kid was cemented even deeper. The story of the lepers came to my mind. 

Luke 17: 11-19 "Now it happened as He went to Jerusalem that He passed through the midst of Samaria and Galilee. Then as He entered a certain village, there met Him ten men who were lepers, who stood afar off. And they lifted up their voices and said, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

So when He saw them, He said to them, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And so it was that as they went, they were cleansed.

And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, returned, and with a loud voice glorified God, and fell down on his face at His feet, giving Him thanks. And he was a Samaritan.

So Jesus answered and said, “Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine? Were there not any found who returned to give glory to God except this foreigner?” And He said to him, “Arise, go your way. Your faith has made you well.”

I wondered if that same grateful ex-leper, after thanking Jesus lavishly, searched out his other leper friends that were in the unclean section of town. If he went running down Leper's Lane shouting, "Look what Jesus did for me! I was unclean and now I'm clean! I was sick and now I'm well! I had body parts falling off of me...and now I am restored to new! If Jesus did it for me, he'll do it for you too! He's good! He wants you well and he is willing! Find him! Go, now! Be healed!" 

I'm turning back to Leper's Lane so that you, too, may have the hope that we found. You, your child, and your family can live in freedom, also. What causes your child anxiety today that you will dare to envision them actually enjoying? The gift of the Lord is restoration of broken things. He will make them new again. He will take shadows and usher them into the light.