Personality Tests, Surrender, and Dear Mr. Knightley

January 13, 2016January 14, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett10 Comments

Why, yes that is a new header and logo.

Thank you to my sweet friend Merideth who blesses me with her talent.

Lately, I’ve been learning a few things about myself. Back in the spring the Splickety staff used the test at 16Personalities to discuss how different–and alike–we all are. I’ve realized for awhile now (pretty much ever since I became a mom) that I walk a line between extravert and introvert and this examination of my personality was pretty spot on.

According to the test, I’m an ENFP-T (the Campaigner)–really? I don’t much feel like a campaigner, but I am these things:

Extraverted-Intuitive-Feeling-Prospecting-Turbulent

There might be emphasis on turbulent.

View More: http://candiceholcomb.pass.us/al-wedding — This is my family. All my sisters and our one brother. And Jasper, the golden retriever. Because when parents of 7 kids become empty nesters, they need a dog who’s treated like a child.

The analysis says people with my personality type “tend to see life as a big, complex puzzle where everything is connected… through a prism of emotion, compassion and mysticism, and are always looking for a deeper meaning.”

Well, that’s pretty true. I dug pomegranate arils out the other day for a salad and then wrote a story describing it that was about more than just pomegranates.

“ENFPs will bring an energy that oftentimes thrusts them into the spotlight, held up by their peers as a leader and a guru – but this isn’t always where independence-loving ENFPs want to be. Worse still if they find themselves beset by the administrative tasks and routine maintenance that can accompany a leadership position.”

Ha, I don’t see myself as a ‘guru’ at anything but sometimes I think others do. At least the people who don’t see me falling apart as a wife and mom on a regular basis are always asking for my advice and opinion and help, especially now that I’m a published and contracted writer. I type that and then figure I sound like a snob. Trust me, I know very little but I am always happy to share that little. I have to humble myself everyday, especially when I edit, and google questions like, “In fiction should numbers be written out?” (Yes, in dialogue especially.)

My favorite part of that description is the part about “administrative tasks”. Please keep those away from me. The paperwork, data, charts, analysis–that’s what I hated about teaching. Just let me read books and lead discussions, already. The decision making and final calling–what I wasn’t good at when I coordinated MOPS. Just let me connect with moms. The find a cute image, schedule posts, and dissect page views of platform building? Ugh, I write 500 words and wish that was enough.

It’s nice to be validated. To realize that there’s nothing wrong with me for not being good at/enjoying those tasks. I just enjoy other tasks more. And I struggle with these time consumers because while I didn’t always find my strengths to be exact in this study, the weaknesses… well, those were unfortunately true.

ENFP personalities tend to have poor practical skills, difficulty focusing, overthink everything, get stressed easily, are highly emotional, and fiercely independent.

Ouch.

But the beauty of having your weaknesses pointed out (and mine have been shown to me with this test and the loving words of some kind friends) is that when I’m aware these are my tendencies, I can make a conscious effort to recognize when I’m being a crazed, anxious, difficult person and step back to examine the why. Which is helping me do something I’ve never done before–say no and guard the time I need. Because while I might have tipped the scales toward extravert, I also know the introvert rises up everyday and needs a little time of withdrawal.

That’s why I get up early and sit in the dim light and drink my first cup of coffee without a three year old baby in my lap. Then I study.

Obviously this was not an early morning. But it was wedding morning.

Ever wonder what a personality test would say about Jesus? It’s comforting to me when I realize He too was misunderstood by those closest to him. In Mark 4, he’s teaching so many parables and then takes his disciples alone and aside and explains the deeper meaning, yet, still when they cross the Sea of Galilee that night and the storm blows up and He rebukes the waves they ask—”Who is this man?”

They didn’t really know him, not yet.

I’m paging though My Utmost for His Highest for probably the fifth time and this line yesterday, “We can only be used by God after we allow Him to show us the deep, hidden areas of our own character.” It’s when we see our own shortcomings that we can surrender to grace. I’m not so good at that (ahem, independent is another word for likes-to-do-things-my-own-way). Chambers goes on to say it is our pride that holds us back from understanding Christ’s work in us.

But I want to understand. So I’ve lain down a list that’s between me and Jesus of those areas in which I don’t surrender. Maybe you have one too? And maybe instead of being consumed with how others perceive me–or how I perceive myself–I can become consumed with knowing and understanding God so He can work in me—conform me to His image.

And speaking of surrender, that’s a major theme in Katherine Reay’s Dear Mr. Knightley which I finished just the other day.

Loved Dear Mr. Knightley—talk about introspective. Sam’s journey from hidden to found is delicate and though she appears fragile, we discover she’s a steel magnolia (trapped in Chicago). I learned I don’t really know Austen, so I’m adding Emma to my list (might read with Madelynne) and definitely Jane Eyre for a Bronte fix. This story is told in letters, which is unique, and at first I wondered how we’d really get the tale, but then I got lost in the first person narration. My only complaint was that she had to come out of it at the end (for justifiable and necessary reasons) but I hated losing Sam’s voice at that moment. Took me a few pages to feel we were still in her head. Which, the writer in me knows, is the trick of third person deep POV. Harder than one would imagine. So get this one if you like a good romance (not steamy but slow and savory) and appreciate good literature. Yes, I realize I just made romance sound like pot roast. But that’s the kind of story this is—wholesome and filling.

Oh, and if you’re interested I’m venturing over to Goodreads, so you can find me there if you want to talk books.

One more thing!

You can get some these goodies for free this week over at ePantry. I love ePantry. They send me items that make my daughter say, “I like to clean with the good-smelling spray.” Win-win.

She’s talking about that Meyer’s Multi-purpose spray. Favorite cleaning product EVER. I use it on everything and worry about nothing.

The sweethearts at ePantry (y’all they write me handwritten notes) will send you a free Mrs. Meyer’s cleaning kit with a $20 purchase. To make it super simple, they’ll suggest a basket for you based on your answers to four simple questions. You can add/delete as you want/need but this is the easiest, cheapest, funnest way to freshen your January house. Just go here to sign up or here if you’re an existing customer. They’ll take care of the rest.

For example:

Enjoy! I know I do, especially when the kids are cleaning and I’m reading. Sure, sometimes that happens.

What are you reading? Learning? Studying?

Linking with Jennifer Dukes Lee and the #TellHisStory crew today.

Books · resolutions · Uncategorized

Why (and How) I’m Reading 60 Books in 2016

January 6, 2016January 6, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett3 Comments

This morning our normal routine finally resurfaced. Everyone went to school and this mom used her Starbucks gift card and holed up in a cold corner of the local Ingles. (If your grocery store does not have a Starbucks, I am very sorry.)

There was a man across the way, a big hulking biker looking man who is actually a really nice guy. I think he works in the meat department. Anyway, he was tucked away in the corner himself, on his break, reading.

Not on Facebook. Not mindlessly staring. Not talking too loudly on his cellphone. But reading a fantasy novel–as in actual paperback book–and my writer’s heart sang.

Print’s not dead. Not by a long shot.

Of course print might mean Kindle or iBook and I won’t judge you if I see you scrolling on your phone (because I’ve got a big ‘ol finger pointing right back at me and my social media apps), but for me, there’s just something about a book I can hold in my hands. Which probably explains why I’m choosing a traditional publisher over self-publishing for my first novel. This year will be a year of work and sweat and tears as I bleed again and again over that story (and the ones to come after), but this time next year? I’ll be able to hold a real book in my hands.

But in the meantime, as I pray and list and plan and wait for some revelation as to which project I should pour into next, I’m reading. A lot.

Sixty books in twelve months. Five in one month. More than one a week, my husband pointed out. Maybe you read more than that in a year? I’ve never tracked my consumption of novels and non-fiction, but this year I am. Because this year, I’m making intentional choices to do what I’ve always said I’m going to do.

And that includes reading books I’ve been saying I want to read.

There’s a shelf in my room that’s full because my mom retired and reads voraciously and then stacks books on my kitchen table with admonishments that I better love it. There’s a wish list on Amazon that frightens my husband with its one-clickability. There are author’s names that are becoming names of colleagues as I delve into publishing. There’s that number one tip for how to write better: READ more.

So I am. So I will. And wonder of wonders–I think you all want to as well. When I posted a picture on Instagram and Facebook of my stack stacking up, I received so many responses I started a group.

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60 in 2016.

That’s it. Nothing too catchy. Nothing too hard. Read whatever you want. The point is–read the story or the information or the opinion that’s found its way between two covers while you’re snuggled under yours.

My Monthly Five:

A book I’ve been wanting to read. (Cannot wait to crack open Dear Mr. Knightly which I scored off the clearance shelf at a LifeWay bookstore in December.)
A book I ‘should’ have already read. (Just finished Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.)
A book that betters my heart and soul. (This month that’s Restless by Jeannie Allan–might bleed into February though because I’m also on the launch team for Kristen Welch’s Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World and it is SO good.)
A book that develops my craft. (For me, that’s writing. Haven’t settled on this one just yet, but probably The Extroverted Writer by Amanda Luedeke.)
A book that’s a current bestseller or new release. (This covers my book club’s choices, but since this month we chose Go Set a Watchman and I’ve already read that, I devoured Gone Girl. In three days.)

What are you reading and how much do you think you read in a year? Join the conversation and let me know if you want to take the #60booksin2016 challenge.

1000 gifts · Uncategorized

How Do You Measure a Year?

December 31, 2015December 31, 2015 Lindsey P. Brackett1 Comment

I’d forgotten all about these lyrics until my jazzercise instructor used the song in class the other day–

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, a year in the life?
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/rent/seasons-of-love-lyrics/#ulRxxkIvQXcSY0JZ.99

The words all came rushing back along with lots of memories of drives back onto Berry’s campus late at night after Waffle House runs. My friend Melanie would put in her Rent soundtrack and roll down the windows and we’d be all young and idealistic and going-to-change-the-world.

Then we all grew up and life happened and years have gone by and we’re all world changers in some big and small ways if we open our eyes to see.

View More: http://candiceholcomb.pass.us/al-wedding

How do you measure a year?

2015 will blow out today, taking with it bands of storms that have plagued lives and spirits. The flood waters haven’t just risen in the Mississippi or spilled over the levees in St. Louis or my sleepy little college town.

They’ve spilled over my life in countless ways of hope and fear and promise and pain.

So do I measure the passing of 2015 in MRIs and blood work and countless unknowns? We took my almost-six-year-old for her sixth MRI yesterday. She’s considered stable right now, and most of the time, these days, we are too. But in other ways this will always be the year I watched my daughter’s little body degenerate–

and watched her learn how to put herself back together.

That’s the hope I need to carry. That she, as her physical therapist reminded us this week, always compensates and keeps going, never worrying about the fatigue or the pain.

May I learn that lesson from my child.

How do I measure a year?

In apologies and forgiveness, rather than meltdowns and tantrums.

In acts of kindness, not jealousy.

In second chances and mistakes that taught lessons.

In successes, not in failures.

2015 is also the year I gulped faith and pushed down insecurity and wrote a novel–bleeding heart and soul and family onto the pages that are under contract with a publishing house for release in early 2017.

This is the year I rebranded my blog and myself, as a Southern writer of life, and have shifted my focus to where my heart truly lies–in the words of creative non-fiction and fiction that paint portraits of the life I know and cherish.

This is the year I heard God whispering, Ask and you shall receive.

Not a give-me faith of praying for things, but a resolute faith of praying that I can walk with His plans, surrendered and passionate and in constant awe of how and where he can use me. A faith of believing that if God has placed a restlessness within my soul, it might be because He wants to do more with me than I ever imagined possible.

And more might simply be to live and love and give and hope through the measure of another year.

Uncategorized

When Christmas is One Week Away and You Wish it was Over Already

December 18, 2015December 20, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett1 Comment

I should have known better than to write a post titled How to Underwhelm Your Overwhelmed Holiday.

Because that was kind of like praying for patience.

And while I did actually do those three things I suggested for simplifying this over-symbolized time of year (I said no to a couple parties, I volunteered at school because I know that’s what the teachers really want, I practice gratitude) my past three days have been anything but underwhelmed.

I put myself to bed at 8:30 the other night because EXHAUSTION. And I cried when I forgot to send the book for the preschool party exchange and I bought cookies instead of baked. No guilt, right?

Except, so much guilt.

At church Wednesday Night Supper (where they thought it was okay to feed this overwrought mom pasta, bread, and cheesecake in one sitting) I sat with another mom who just looked like she wanted to crawl in her bed and not come out until January. That’s basically what she told me. How chaotic it is to keep up with the parties and the expectations and the kid who wants to dress like the Grinch and wrap all the presents and read the devotions and actually be present and move the freaking Elf on the Shelf.

As an aside, I don’t know a single mom who actually likes Elf on the Shelf. You all do it for your kids. And that’s great, but if it makes you miserable, they might be happier if you stopped. Or if you just sat it in one place and told the kids Jingles is playing a month long game of Statue.

I gave her some advice–advice I need to take myself because trust me, Queen of Christmas Humbug I am. And then I told several other moms I’m launching a movement. And I’m serious.

No More Mom Guilt at Christmas.

Here’s what I’m going to do and you can join me if you are certain and sure and ready to admit that what we’re doing out of love may actually not be the best thing for our families.

I’m going to get through the next week. I’m going to breathe and pray and read devotions for me and try to read the Jesus Storybook Bible or Unwrapping the Greatest Gift or Luke 2 from my NIV with my kids. I’m going to wrap presents and accept a few credit card charges and make the Southern Living cover cake.

I’m going to laugh and smile and be happy because that’s what matters most.

Then, when the frenzy is over I’m going to sit down with a glass of something that’s not eggnog or hot chocolate, and I’m going to make a list. I’m going to divide what all we’ve done into two categories:

What I Actually Enjoy About Christmas
What Makes Me Want to Light My Hair on Fire and Run Away Screaming

Or, you know, something less extreme.

Then I’m going to put the list away and pull it out again in November. I know by then I’ll be ready to dive in again and maybe a few items may migrate from #2 to #1, but at least I’ll be doing so with the perspective that this isn’t particularly enjoyable, but I’m doing it because a) Christmas is about being selfless or b) I know my kids will love it.

And then I’ll move that elf or ice those cookies or go to that party without grumbling because I gave myself a choice.

That’s the big secret friends–if you’re overwhelmed because you feel you don’t have a choice but to do all the things, know that you do.

You have a choice.

You can say no.

You can stay home in your pajamas and watch the Grinch with your kids and eat the store bought cookies and they’ll say, “Hey, Mom, you’re being so nice, we think your heart just grew.”

And it will.

We need a hashtag. Any suggestions?

Christmas

How to Underwhelm Your Overwhelmed Holiday

December 15, 2015December 15, 2015 Lindsey P. Brackett4 Comments

Two Christmases ago we received a terminal diagnosis.

My precious Granddaddy’s cancer had metastasized and we knew this would be our last Christmas. I was in the middle of directing A Christmas Carol and between the constant coffee and stress, I worried an ulcer into my stomach and winced pain all season long. Scrooge lived in our home that year in the form of this overwrought mother.

Because Granddaddy had dementia, he would forget his diagnosis, and eventually, we quit reminding him. The last time I saw him happy was Christmas Eve. My sisters had decorated the house and brought in a tree because he loved the smell of that fresh cut pine. I made him cookies and we huddled around his chair that day, the big family Christmas that had been planned thwarted by the stomach bug and death’s cruel march. He smiled and told me he’d see us all again soon.

He died in hospice care one week later just as the deep cold came and settled itself around the South.

That was the winter I never felt warm.

Last year we fumbled though Christmas in a fog of uncertain diagnosis, and I vowed and failed in my attempt to keep my Scrooge in check. The tree always undoes me. In an already small space, bringing in six feet of Frasier Fir, no matter how slender, seems futile. But then, as the days marched on toward fear, I tried to loosen my grip. To enjoy my children and their antics and their normalcy. I didn’t want to have to write another one of these posts and admit how much I fail at enjoying Christmas. And on my darkest days, I didn’t want Amelia’s last memories to be of a Christmas where all Mama did was waver between tears and anger.

Do you know I can’t even remember what we gave them last year?

But I remember with crystal clarity every detail of our Christmas week MRI and losing it in the parking lot of a Chic-Fil-A after a trip to Stone Mountain.

And I knew headed into this year, how much I didn’t want this to be my story anymore.

Overwhelmed by the season of light and giving and love in a way that only made me feel underwhelmed by God.

Is this all there is? Hustle, bustle chaos and comparison and conflict?

This time I prayed before it all began. This time I didn’t vow, I asked. For grace. For patience. For a heart of simplicity. For eyes to see all the blessings that have already been pored out and a mind to register gratefulness every time I look at my daughter who’s still here, healing, right now never in any more constant danger than just the danger of everyday life.

(And I’m definitely not perfect and neither is she and that’s why there’s grace and forgiveness and sometimes spanking when a tantrum gets thrown because I asked her to clean up her art supplies and she threw the scissors across the room.)

This is my parents’ tree. This is why I have a tree complex.

When you really want to underwhelm your overwhelmed holiday so you can be overcome with the true Spirit of the Season–compassion and faithfulness and generosity all wrapped up in swaddling clothes in a manger–you’ll practice these three things.

Saying no. To the party you don’t really want to attend, to the gift that costs too much and you don’t really want in your house, to the social media that’s making you feel like a failure because all your elf does is sit around (or you don’t even have one like us).

Saying yes. To the kids who want the big tree and are willing to figure out where to put it, to the teacher who asks so hesitantly if you can maybe just help for one hour, to the crazy idea that since layaway has ended maybe there’s no reason to try and hide a giant box of trampoline for ten more days when life is happening right now.

Saying thank you. To the cashier who’s curt, to the kid who’s sorry she made you feel like the worst mom ever because you were too tired to play Bananagrams on a school night at 8:45, to the people who have made your year matter in a whole new beautiful way.

Because at Christmas, I only want to be overwhelmed by the love.

And maybe the cookies.