An Excerpt from THE LOST HEART SONG
As the sea breeze swept the scent of jasmine from the prayer grove through the balcony windows of the open-air classroom, Noelle grew increasingly antsy. Her mind was everywhere, except the classroom. The fishing boats below the ridge had her full attention. She’d counted seven. Then lost count and started again.
Professor Evie Carter’s question pierced Noelle’s wandering thoughts. “Looking at the acrostic laments of Psalm 34 and Psalm 25. Why might David have structured his grief alphabetically?”
The question invited discussion as hands shot into the air, but something rose in Noelle faster than she could contain it.
“But it’s not just alphabetic,” Noelle blurted. “There’s a secondary interval pattern embedded in the acrostic. If you map the gaps against the Selah markers in the surrounding Psalms, it suggests the poems weren’t just written to be read. They were written to be sung in a specific space designed to carry sound.”
Her stomach dropped the moment the room went quiet. The silence that followed felt personal.
Something crossed Professor Carter’s face, there and gone before Noelle could name it.
Noelle hated being so impulsive. Why couldn’t she contain herself like everyone else?
She averted her gaze back to the balcony, making mental preparations to apologize after class.
Professor Carter moved on, avoiding acknowledgment of Noelle’s contribution; it wasn’t cruel as much as it was something unsettled between them. Noelle hated disappointing her favorite professor.
“Guy.” Professor Carter pointed.
“I was thinking for ease of memorization.”
Professor Carter nodded. “What about you, Regina?”
“That, and order. Organization. Completeness.” Regina added.
Professor Carter nodded, “Yes.” She lifted her gaze to meet the rest of the auditorium, “Your assignment this week is to work with your group to identify two patterns, other than alphabetical, that David used in his Psalms. It’s due Monday.”
Noelle quickly collected her notes in her usual haphazard way as one page fluttered to the floor, only to be left there, before rushing to the podium. “Professor Carter,” she said breathlessly. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt out. My excitement gets the best of me.”
The Professor’s eyes lifted slightly, as if gazing annoyingly over a proverbial pair of spectacles, though she was far too young for spectacles. “How did you find the Selah pattern?”
“I was in the Sacred Archives one day last week —”
“No, I mean how? Did someone show you? Did someone mention it? Did you find other research on it? Or did you find it yourself?”
Noelle stammered as she shrank back. “I — I just…” Her mind raced. She was sure she had discovered it, but began to doubt herself as she considered the parallel teachings from Professor Evan’s class. “Professor Carter, I’m sorry. Have I done something wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet,” the Professor continued. “That’s why I’m asking about your discovery. This wouldn’t be the first time my work was stolen.”
Noelle’s eyes widened as tears threatened to spill. “Professor Evans had been so pleased with my last assignment that she encouraged me to look at the Selah patterns.”
Noelle paused. “Teachers are rarely impressed with my work. I thought maybe I’d found a skill of use to someone. I don’t underst —”
At the mention of Professor Samantha Evans and the mixed look of panic and defeat that crossed Professor Carter’s face, Noelle knew she had made a devastating mistake. If only she knew what it was.
You just watched shy, quiet, extremely scatterbrained Noelle give away something precious without knowing it.
The one time she felt brilliant enough to contribute meaningfully, a cunning foe was already waiting, and Noelle handed her exactly what she needed without knowing she held anything of value.
Over time, those moments of failed impulse control accumulate. They chip away at confidence quietly, steadily, until the child who couldn’t stop blurting becomes the adult who stopped speaking up at all, or the one who still does but apologizes afterward.
Perhaps you recognize your child’s tendency to:
Blurt out before anyone else has a chance
Interrupt with thoughts so urgent that the question isn’t even finished yet
Submit work the moment it’s done, without double-checking the accuracy or completeness.
Or maybe you recognize it more personally, as someone who says yes to their boss before the question is fully asked because it feels good to be needed. As someone who offered an uninformed opinion in the board room before all the facts were on the table. A relationship where you gave more time or effort than was wise, sooner than it was safe to do so.
What you’re noticing in your child or experiencing in yourself is not a character flaw. It’s a brain that hasn’t yet learned impulse control, to pause before acting.
But impulse control challenges aren’t always loud. Sometimes they look like generosity. Sometimes they look like enthusiasm. Sometimes they look like finally having something worth saying.
Tuesday’s issue unpacked exactly what’s happening in the brain in that half-second between impulse and action, and more importantly, how to build the pause before the next flooded moment arrives. If you missed Tuesday’s issue, it’s worth the read.
Your Child Isn't Born With Impulse Control, But There's a Way to Activate It
You’ve seen it a hundred times. They hit, they grab, they interrupt, and then comes the look on your child’s face that tells you they knew better.
Noelle needed a pause, in the classroom and in the Sacred Archives.
She needed a moment in the classroom between I know this answer — and Is this the time to share?
She needed space between Someone wants my help — and Is this the help I’m called to give?
Next week, we’ll follow Noelle into the Sacred Archives, where her challenges with executive function look a lot like the moment we walk into a room and think, “What did I just come in here for?”
Wonderful perspective