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    Slow Down
    Slow Down
    Slow Down
    Ebook205 pages1 hour

    Slow Down

    By Nichole Nordeman, Shauna Niequist, Amy Grant and

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    About this ebook

    The days are long, but the years are short.

    No matter if it’s your child’s first step, first day of school, or first night tucked away in a new dorm room away from home, there comes a moment when you realize just how quickly the years are flying by. Christian music artist Nichole Nordeman’s profound lyrics in her viral hit “Slow Down” struck a chord with moms everywhere, and now this beautiful four-color book will inspire you to celebrate the everyday moments of motherhood.

    Filled with thought-provoking writings from Nichole, as well as guest writings from friends including Shauna Niequist and Jen Hatmaker, practical tips, and journaling space for reflection, Slow Down will be a poignant gift for any mom, as well as a treasured keepsake.

    Take a few moments to reflect and celebrate the privilege of being a parent and getting to watch your little ones grow—and Slow Down.

     

    Nichole Nordeman has sold more than 1 million albums as a Christian music artist and has won 9 GMA Dove Awards, including two awards for Female Vocalist of the Year and Songwriter of the Year. Nichole released a lyric video for her song “Slow Down,” and it struck a chord with parents everywhere, amassing 14 million views in its first five days. She lives in Oklahoma with her two children.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThomas Nelson
    Release dateAug 22, 2017
    ISBN9780718099022
    Slow Down
    Author

    Nichole Nordeman

    Nichole Nordeman is a Christian recording artist and songwriter with numerous number-one and top ten singles to her credit and cumulative CD sales of over one million. A two-time Gospel Music Association winner for Female Vocalist of the Year, she has won a total of nine Dove Awards. She lives with her family in Oklahoma.  

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      Book preview

      Slow Down - Nichole Nordeman

      foreword

      SHAUNA NIEQUIST

      Sometimes at a baby shower, the hosts will ask each mom to write down one piece of advice for the expectant mama—and we all write things about sleep or feeding or how desperately hard it is to deal with those onesies with snaps in the mind-altering middle of sleepless, blurry nights. But then I also write one more thing as well: whatever you do, don’t do it alone.

      Mothering is life altering, soul altering, identity altering. It is physical and emotional and spiritual. It’s alternately breathtaking and boring, a treasure chest of all the best things in the world and a set of endless tasks, a delight and a dizzying weight to carry.

      And the only way I know how to embrace motherhood—the best and the worst of it—is to spill it all out to the other mothers in my life, over the phone or across the table or in books and stories.

      Nichole’s beautiful song Slow Down connected with so many of us so deeply and so immediately because she says what we all want to say, and she makes us feel less alone and less crazy for feeling those things. She captured that feeling, that nothing-like-it-in-all-the-world, this-is-just-exactly-what-it-feels-like-to-be-a-mom thing, and we needed every note of it.

      Because that’s what helps us through: the sense that we’re not alone in the enormity of motherhood, the sense that we’re not the first or the last to feel like our hearts might actually break with love. For many of us—for me, anyway—to know that we’re not alone in the wilds and wonders of mothering is a game changer. It’s a life changer.

      A band of women have walked this mothering road with me—through joy and loss and sleeplessness and fear and hospitals and stitches and silliness—and I cannot thank them enough. Nichole is one of those women, a fellow mama bear, a songwriter, and a storyteller who captured the beautiful ache of motherhood so absolutely perfectly—a true friend who carries it all with me.

      Through these pages, you’ll meet friend after friend, fellow traveler after fellow traveler. Our children are so different, our homes and traditions and paths are so different, but mothering is mothering: challenging and desperately beautiful and so much better together.

      images/img-10-1.jpgimages/img-11-1.jpgimages/img-12-1.jpgimages/img-13-1.jpg

      the black keys are better

      A couple of years ago, my son, Charlie, was getting ready to graduate from elementary school. His teachers and many of the fifth-grade parents at our small school were dreaming and scheming about ways to make the brief graduation ceremony meaningful. After all, we were about to bid farewell to elementary school musicals, science fairs, and pumpkin patch field trips and launch our fresh, new middle schoolers into the world of large lockers and math we could no longer help with.

      I did something I never do. Never. I asked Charlie’s teacher if I could sing at the ceremony.

      I’m not kidding when I say that my own family can barely get me to start Happy Birthday in a decent key while my aunt is blowing out her candles. I’ve spent the last two decades writing and recording music as a Christian artist. I’ve logged a lot of miles on tour buses and planes and stood on many stages, large and small. Like anyone’s job, mine can be a great gift and a grind at times. When I’m not performing on the road, I never volunteer to sing at anything, for any reason—very rarely at my own church.

      But I asked, gingerly, over e-mail. Would you mind if I sang at the fifth-grade graduation?

      The teacher agreed to include me, and then I forgot all about it for several months. The week before the graduation ceremony, I remembered (and regretted) my offer. I was certain Charlie would be super embarrassed. I had no idea what to sing. Wind Beneath My Wings? What would I even say to the kids? What if I started bawling? What was I even thinking? The next time you feel pretty good about what a cool mom you are, try standing in front of a roomful of middle schoolers, and tell me how fantastic you feel about any part of your outfit or personality.

      Mommy! he’d announced. "Come see! I colored all the keys black! The black keys are better!"

      In the end, I decided I’d sing a song called Legacy that I’d written and recorded a decade earlier, hoping it would encompass the spirit of go forth and make your mark on the world, young people. Charlie would just have to work out his embarrassment in therapy years later.

      The night before graduation, I sat down at my keyboard to brush up on Legacy. I played through the song once or twice, and at one point during my late-night rehearsal, I glanced down at my hands and noticed black Sharpie marks on some of the keys. I’d stared at those marks for so many years that my eyes had grown accustomed to the creative coloring Charlie had done when he was three years old.

      Mommy! he’d announced. Come see! I colored all the keys black! The black keys are better! I came around the corner to see him covered in permanent marker and to behold his handiwork on the keyboard I’ve owned for more than twenty years: the beloved instrument upon which I’ve written every one of my songs. The songs that have won awards and accolades. And the college songs that were so bad, Jesus Himself would have to white-knuckle it through the first chorus. If my house went up in flames, I would try to save this keyboard before the cat.

      Thanks to Google, I’d found a way to remove most of the marker, except for some little scribbles that still remained, my fingers now frozen over them.

      Charlie’s little voice rang in my ears. Mommy! Come see! And in an instant, I did see. I saw every moment: from diapers to crawling to walking to tooth fairies to Santa to karate to training wheels to bicycles to black Sharpie to drum lessons to Legos to trick-or-treating to Pokémon to science fairs to basketball practice to the end of fifth grade. Just like that.

      In an instant, I did see. I saw every moment: from diapers to crawling to walking to training wheels to trick-or-treating to the end of fifth grade.

      One large box of tissues and many photo albums later, I abandoned my decision to sing the safe, familiar song and wrote a new one. I sobbed, as I am sobbing now, to think of it.

      The moments we never get back. The moments I was always trying so hard to rush through.

      Please be done breast-feeding. Please give up the bottle. Please hurry and eat solid food. Please sleep through the night. Please outgrow your pacifier. Please take your first step. Please say your first word. Please hurry, hurry, hurry, and do the next thing that the baby books and blogs say you are supposed to do.

      Oh, God. Please let me build a time machine in my garage so I can go back.

      Please. Slow. Down.

      And out tumbled the lyrics that became my Slow Down song for Charlie and his little sister, Pepper, and inspired the book you now hold in your hands. I had no real intention of recording the song at all. People smarter than I am talked me into that decision, as well as the beautiful idea to compile a simple video of new and old friends and the moments they most wish they could slow down with their littles.

      Nearly twenty-five million views later, I better understand why Slow Down went viral. It’s the universal plea of parents. We all want to slow time and make the most of every tick of the second hand. How could I have known, late one night at my piano with my full and achy heart, that I was giving so many other people the language for such tender places in their own families’ lives?

      I walked onstage the next morning, looking out at Charlie and his classmates—boys sitting respectfully in awkward starched shirts and ties; girls with French braids and lip gloss. I don’t remember exactly what I said, something about asking them to be patient today with us moms and dads if we squeeze them too hard and for too long.

      I caught Charlie’s eye. He was nervous for me. He gave me an anxious smile . . . like the one he’s seen from my seat every time he took any stage. As I cleared my throat and forced my hands to move nervously over the grand piano’s pristine ivory, I wished every one of those keys were black.

      Deep breath.

      Don’t miss this moment.

      Slow down.

      Here’s to you.

      images/img-19-1.jpg

      The moments we never get back. The moments I was always trying so hard to rush through.

      images/img-18-1.jpgimages/img-20-1.jpg

      slow down

      NICHOLE NORDEMAN, CHRIS STEVENS

      Here’s to you

      You were pink or blue

      And everything I wanted

      Here’s to you

      Never sleeping through

      From midnight till the morning

      Had to crawl before you walked

      Before you ran

      Before I knew it

      You were trying to free your fingers from my hand

      ’Cause you could do it on your own now somehow

      - - - - - - - - - - - -

      Slow down

      Won’t you stay here a minute more

      I know you want to walk through the door

      But it’s all too fast

      Let’s make it last a little while

      I pointed to the sky and now

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