“Selah is a deliberate pause for contemplation, a sacred breath in the music of faith.”
January has always felt like a quieter doorway to me. After the brightness and bustle of December, the world seems to exhale. Fields rest. Trees stand bare without apology. Even the light feels softer, as though nature itself is practicing restraint.
There is a Hebrew word used more than seventy times in Scripture—selah. It doesn’t demand action or explanation. It simply invites us to pause. To breathe. To listen. Rather than rushing forward, selah creates space. And I find that comforting authority in it—the idea that wintering, this season of stillness, is not avoidance but obedience.
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We’ve all heard someone say they can’t hear themselves think, and we usually smile at the exaggeration. But there’s truth there. Direction, clarity, and wisdom often arrive not in noise, but in the quiet between words. In selah. In that deliberately open space where God speaks if we’re willing to be still long enough to listen.
This season feels like an invitation to be rather than constantly do. Spring flowers rest beneath frozen ground without fear. Their wintering doesn’t stunt them—it ensures growth. Bigger blossoms. Deeper roots. And the same is true for us. We don’t lose momentum by resting; we gather strength.
So I’m leaning into winter in small, ordinary ways. Cozying up with herbal teas (much like Verbena does in Episode Five of Sparkle Spin-Tumble Bin). Watching yarn turn into hats and scarves—remember Martha and Josephine crafting their gifts in Shaw Point? And, of course, reading. You might even enjoy reading Katherine May’s Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat, which echoes this season’s quiet wisdom beautifully.
Yes, work still needs doing. School schedules, chores, responsibilities—they haven’t disappeared. But perhaps we can meet them with a softer energy. Cozy up the grind, as it were. One new winter chore I’ve added is building an evening fire. It takes effort, yes—but the warmth and light give something back to both body and spirit. And I can happily report that I finally found someone to deliver a proper stack of firewood. Enough to last the season. That, friends, feels like abundance.
Also, as promised, I have included the photo below to share some of the farmhouse renovations with you.
I did my best to capture the same before-and-after-corner of my living room.
Bookstuff
Winter has always been the best excuse for lingering with a good book. This isn’t idleness; it’s a reflective change of pace. If you’re craving stories that reflect this same wintering spirit, here are a few gentle invitations for the season ahead:
• Letters from Kansas — Becky’s first winter on the farm brings its own challenges, including the very practical (and emotional) need to gather firewood (like I’ve been doing!). Her story is one of endurance, warmth, and faith in hard seasons. • Shaw Point — Filled with quiet moments, handmade gifts, and the beauty of women tending both hearth and heart. • Sparkle Spin-Tumble Bin, Episode Five: Folded and Fated — Now available for my Ream readers, this episode leans fully into winter’s slower wonder and Verbena’s thoughtful rituals.
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However you’re entering this new year, my hope is that you allow yourself moments of selah. To pause. To listen. To trust that winter is not the end of growth—but the beginning of it.
Grace, Gratitude, Growth,
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Bayou Blather and MEanderings is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
I love how you're making your home your own. ❤️