Introducing The Selah Journal for Kids
Practice Pause + Praise with your little ones in the happiest little journal on the block
Selah. Pause. Praise. It’s a tiny word I found 3 years ago that changed my life. Became a mantra. A lifestyle. A mindset and constant prayer. It’s a beautiful word to say out loud. Like a breath. An exhale. A whisper. Lovely and soft and poetic. I say it to myself a hundred times a day. I wear a bracelet that says it. My lock screen on my phone says it. It’s in artwork all around my home. It’s part of me now.
And that little lovely word? It’s the name God whispered to me when he placed a call on my heart. And I want to tell you the whole long story. How I got here. Where I’ve been. And how this message has been shaped and formed for years and years of my life. Formed into three practices that define Selah: the tactical ways to pause and praise and change your life. They are gratitude, creativity, and connection. I’ll begin with gratitude. You see, when Raines was a baby, I was working a bunch of part time jobs. Raines usually came with me. I juggled her while I merchandised clothing in a boutique. I toted her along to teach preschool music. And the job she didn’t come to? Well, I usually left her screaming at bedtime to go teach cardio dance at a studio. My little jobs didn’t take up much time, and I loved our sweet new life at the beach in a lot of ways. It was full of long walks and exploration and lots of baby snuggles. But I was still exhausted. I was still a new mom in a new place with no friends and three jobs that didn’t feel like stepping towards anything. I was doing them just to do something. Make a little money. Find some identity. But it all just felt so off. Have you been there? Looking at your life and thinking , but WHY am I doing this. That was me. I wanted a greater sense of purpose. To pursue something bigger than me. I wanted a calling. And one day? I was riding alone around and around the island with a sleeping baby in the backseat, and I just said out loud, God, this is not what I meant. I thought I would feel different here. Find a purpose. I feel like I’m meant for more than being exhausted.
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About four and a half years go, my whole life changed. I had my first baby. At the time I worked in fashion in a big city. I started my career in Human Resources at Bloomingdale’s in Boston, transitioned to selling at Neiman Marcus in Charlotte, then finally landed as a store manager of an upscale boutique in Charlotte. I loved my job in a lot of ways. I got to be creative, and work with fun customers, and attend amazing events. I got to wear beautiful clothes, and learn from the best mentors. And for a long time I saw a future in fashion. Actually, Jordan and I looked very seriously into buying the store when the opportunity arose. We really thought our dreams were coming true. We would be business owners and I would live out a big dream in an amazing city.
Well, our first baby girl rewrote everything I wanted; as babies do. Suddenly working Saturdays and holidays in a store seemed almost unbearable. And I didn’t want the pressure of owning a business at that point in my life, as a new mom in a city so far from my family. I wanted freedom and flexibility. And really? Just to be with my baby. I craved a new lifestyle, new career, new vision. So I enrolled in graduate school. I kept my job at the store, but scaled back my role. I felt pretty good. That was my fresh start. Graduate school. Well, nope. About halfway through my program, with a 6 month old baby, my plans blew right up. Jordan lost his job. And as we walked through those days? I questioned my own path. Is this really what I want to do? And I discovered to my great disappointment that, no, this was not my path. But I did have a dream tucked away that I never thought would be real. A silly thought that made no sense. I wanted to have my own business at the beach. I had ignored it for a long time. But when Jordan lost his job? I thought, what if? And just like that, it stopped being a dream. It became a goal. The Sunday morning rush starts early at our house. Breakfast and giggles and whining and running away while I chase them with tights and hair bows. Iron the dresses. Why? They get wrinkled in the car seats. Ugh. Do it anyway. Nurse the baby, brush all their teeth. Where is the hair brush? Did everyone potty? Did I brush my hair? Is the curling iron unplugged? We have to leave in two minutes. Leave my coffee untouched on the kitchen table. Clamor into the car with the diaper bag and sippy cup and baby shoes. Sing and chatter and squabble in the car. “Keep your hands to yourself.” “What is Bonnie holding?” “No you can’t go to the playground when we get there.” Get to church. Did anyone keep their shoes on in the car. Who took their bow out? What seat is it between? Please be donuts inside so we don’t have meltdowns. The donuts were my bribe all morning. Grab donuts. Get juice. And water. Juggle the baby. Put baby shoes on. Say hello. Corral the girls. Collect trash. Where did I put my bag down? Wipe sticky hands and faces. Herd everyone to the nursery. They can go up the stairs all by themselves. Drop off. Sneak into church. Always late. Flash Jordan - sitting at the piano - the “we made it” smile and sigh. Try to quiet my frazzled brain to focus on the message.
Last year, for the first time, I chose a word of the year. In 2018 I chose grace. And it carried me through a year of joy and sorrow. I went back to grace all throughout the year. Studying it, sitting with it, accepting it, giving it. Being kind of saved by it. Over and over.
So this year? My word has big shoes to fill. Last year changed me forever, and grace was just what my heart needed. I don’t know what this new year will bring. But I hope this word, this mantra, this prayer that I choose now will serve my heart during this new year. Today, as I begin to type this, it’s December 18th. Seven days until Christmas. I started planning Christmas in September. How to make a few extra dollars for holiday spending. What gifts would be meaningful for our children and others we love. What activities we would pick to celebrate the season. What I would cook for the people coming into our home. I was ready to enjoy and embrace this season. And today? Right now? I’m sitting in the driveway with three sick sleeping children. The first one came down with an eye infection on December 3rd, and here we are. Sleepless nights. Runny noses. Fevers burning. We missed the teddy bear tea and the Santa visit. Instead we rocked and wiped tears and gave medicine at all hours. We missed family pizza night and gift exchange with aunts and uncles and cousins. Instead we scheduled sick visits and picked up prescriptions and paid co pays. We missed the Christmas concert and our date and all the parties. Instead we gave midnight sips of water to pitiful coughing babies and took temperatures and rocked some more. It hasn’t been what we planned. No magic. No occasions to wear the precious matching Christmas dresses that I bought months ago. No lights. No holiday treats. No shopping trips. And now? Seven days until Christmas? When we’ve all but missed it? Grace.
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