I Keep Getting Interrupted at Selah in Psalm 62

Psalm 62 has the word Selah in it twice, once after verse 4 and once at the end of verse 8, and last Wednesday I got stuck on the second one because Ben got me stuck there. Biscuit's tail starts thumping the crib slats at about 6:12, which is how I know Ben is awake before Ben does, and I had made it through "Trust in him at all times" and "pour out your heart before him" when the thumping started. Then Selah. Then "Mama" over the monitor, in the voice that means he's already standing up.

My scriptures live on top of the dryer. I know how that sounds. It's the room off the kitchen where I can hear the monitor and nobody can see me from the hall, and there's no chair, so I read on my feet next to a jar of clothespins. The book has a dent in the cover from the dryer's warm corner and a ribbon that has been in Psalms since before Ben could walk, which is longer than I like to admit. Most mornings the whole thing takes about four minutes, and that counts the time I spend finding my place. A good day is eleven verses. Wednesday was eight, a pause and a two-year-old who wanted the blue cup.

What is Selah doing in the middle of a prayer?

Nobody I've asked can say for sure, and as far as I can tell the usual guess is a pause, with a musical cue (the place where the instruments came in or the singers took a breath) as the runner-up. I'll take the pause.

What caught on me is where it sits. The first Selah closes a stretch about people who bless with their mouth and curse inwardly, and the second one comes right after the psalm tells everybody to empty their hearts out.

Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us. Selah.

Psalm 62:8

So the instruction to pour out your heart has a break printed right after it. Nothing in the verse says the pouring has to finish before the stop. I'd always filed an interrupted prayer under things I hadn't gotten done, and here is a psalm that carries its own stopping place. People with sheep and children and a day coming at them sang it or read it.

How long should scripture time be when you have a toddler?

I don't have a number for you, and I'd be suspicious of anyone who does. What I'd say to a friend is to pick the length you'll repeat. A twenty-five minute plan that only survives on Saturdays leaves you feeling behind by Tuesday. I made the same argument about Primary lessons in Katie Asked What You Even Do With Twenty-Five Minutes, where the advice was to plan less and cut from the middle, and it works on a morning with a toddler too.

Where the book sits matters more than people admit, so put it where you already stand still for a minute: the dryer, the counter next to the kettle, the bathroom shelf, the floor of the car if you wait in a pickup line. A set of scriptures in a bag in the hall is a set of scriptures you'll carry past. A phone app counts too, and so does listening to a chapter while you fold towels.

Read less than you think you should. Say the verse that caught you again at the sink, with the water running over a sippy cup, and let the rest of the chapter go until tomorrow. Mine this week was "God is a refuge for us," which fits in the gap between the blue cup and the next thing.

If the plan involves getting up before the child does, ask what you'll give up to do it. Some mothers find the early hour works and I'm glad for them, but a woman running on five hours of sleep doesn't need a new thing to fail at before breakfast.

Does a one-sentence prayer count when you're too tired for words?

I think it does. The psalms are on my side, because they're full of people who ran out.

Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God.

Psalm 69:1-3

The man who wrote that says he's worn out from crying, and the prayer stayed in the book as he wrote it. Psalm 63 has a man in a dry and thirsty land (verse 1) who also remembers God "in the night watches" (verse 6), and anyone who has had a child under three knows exactly how many of those there are.

The prayer I'd offer a tired mother is a plain report. I'm tired, the day is starting, help me be kind until lunch. Say it at the dryer or in the shower or on the stairs with a laundry basket on your hip.

What about the mornings it doesn't happen at all?

Some weeks there are more of those than the other kind. Decide ahead of time what a skipped day means, because the tired part of your brain will decide for you and it's meaner than you'd be. A skipped day means the book is still where you left it.

If you catch yourself measuring your four minutes against somebody else's hour, How I Stopped Measuring Myself Against the Mom in the Foyer is about that comparison, and it applies to scriptures at least as much as it does to casseroles.

When you come back, start at the next verse. Skip the making up of what you missed and the announcement of a new plan.

Frequently Asked Questions

How much scripture reading counts in a busy season?

Whatever you'll do again tomorrow, even if it's two verses. One verse every day this week beats a quiet hour you never get.

Is it okay to read or pray while my toddler is in the room?

Yes. Stop treating a quiet room as the requirement, because you'll wait years for one. If you need ten seconds of real silence for a prayer, say so out loud and take them, and a toddler will usually give you about six.

Does a prayer count if I fall asleep halfway through?

I can't give you a doctrinal ruling, but I can tell you what I believe, which is that a mother who fell asleep mid-sentence was still talking to God right up until she wasn't. The psalmists were tired as well. Start the next one where you remember leaving off.

What if I read and feel nothing?

Then you read, and that's what happened. Some weeks the verses are just words on a thin page and some days one line stops you where you stand for a full minute, and you can't schedule either. I'd quit looking for a feeling as proof the reading worked.

I picked eleven Roma tomatoes off the vines by the fence yesterday, and they're lined up on the windowsill over the sink going from orange to red. I'll make sauce on Wednesday if they last.

with love, Melissa