Birthday Wishes with 163 Design Company

February 21, 2014September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I wore it like a talisman all those long days and nights that went by impossibly quick slow that last week of last year into the first days of a new beginning.

Jennifer, who was my roommate at Allume, and shares more than just a corner of this big internet with me, offered them up as gifts to us when we first spilled our luggage and our hearts onto beds in that hotel room in Greenville back in October.

It is well with my soul.

It takes courage to offer up those words. It takes courage to make a little piece of yourself and hope others love it and buy it so you can pay the bills but share it so you can know it means something.

The first time I choked on those words I was a senior in high school sitting in a church pew of First Baptist holding a hymnal with shaking hands and mourning the death of a girl I used to run the side streets of town with for cross country practice, a girl I’d known for as long as I could remember, a girl who should have gone on to live a longer life than just nineteen short years. It wasn’t well with my soul then.

But I grew up and I opened my heart more to faith and I saw the peace that passes understanding on so many whose souls were well.

And I want that. A well soul.

I’m 34 years old today and it’s taken me this long to learn and become well with the idea that I am not well. I am broken and scarred and flawed and made in the image of God. And everyday I get to choose to live in grace and forgiveness and joy so that all will be well–

or I get to choose not.

And let me tell you those days of choosing not, those days of choosing despair and self-deprecation and dilemma over delight, those days will eat through your soul and leave you with nothing.

So, everyday I’m trying and somedays, I wear my necklace because I need that little tangible reminder that

IT. IS. WELL. WITH. MY. SOUL.

Since it’s my birthday, Jen is letting me give one of these beauties away to you! And since she’s super kind, she’s offering up another one as well, so today’s giveaway will have two winners, which is perfect because she and I share hotel rooms and mom fears and coffee love and husbands who are recovered from perimyocarditis (how crazy is that?!?) and first names (yep, mine’s Jennifer) AND February birthdays. I tell you, no one but God could have crafted together a bonding like ours.

If the It Is Well piece doesn’t speak to you like it does me, perhaps you’d like this one?

It reminds me so much of Jennifer because she does seek to Glorify God in all she does whether it’s handcrafting these beautiful wooden necklaces (read about the process here) or designing prints and art to bring a little nautical joy to your home or blogging about ending the slavery of women.

If you’d love to win one of these, here’s the super fun widget from Rafflecopter. Enter as many times as you want and give me a birthday gift? Share this post even if you’re not interested in winning. Thanks so much!

And if you are yourself or know an expectant mother, send them over here to enter the giveaway for a free newborn session to honor my own baby girl’s birthday.

a Rafflecopter giveaway //d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js

amelia · giveaways · motherhood

What She’s Taught Me In Four Sweet Years {and another birthday giveaway!}

February 19, 2014February 19, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett2 Comments

She’s four today. It’s really hard to believe. She wasn’t sure after so many days of counting down if today was really it. But it is. Today she’s four and in four sweet years she’s taught me how to live better.

She’s taught me that it’s okay to wear whatever I want, or rather, to let her wear whatever she wants because in the grand scheme of motherhood, arguing about matching is not always worth my energy.

She’s taught me to use my attributes and work my assets the way she works her really great hair.

She’s taught me to love fiercely with no idea that a hug could ever be too tight.

She’s taught me to laugh all the time, to rediscover my imagination and to find silliness in everyday.

She’s taught me to color to my own beat even though, at four, she’s stopped humming while she draws. It makes me sad. I miss the nonsensical tunes that used to accompany the dramatic shading of Winnie the Pooh.

She’s taught me not to boss my friends because it’s not nice and they won’t want to play with you.

In four years time, she’s made me a better mother and she’s let me try and fail to parent her with what worked before when the sisters were passing through the same stages. She’s let me learn over and over that every child is unique and perfect in their own quirky way.

She’s made me a writer. It was in the days before and the many days after she came that I waded my way into the blogging world. It’s often because of her, and the lessons I’m learning, that I stay.

faith · Friday Five · motherhood

Fall In Love with the World Next Door

February 14, 2014September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I could tell you how I know what love looks like. How it’s his hands in soapy dishwater when the cracks on my dry hands just can’t do that again. How it’s rocking the baby boy we never dreamed we’d have back to sleep at 5:30 a.m. so I can write one more paragraph on the novel that he really believes I’ll finish. How it’s planning a garden to grow tomatoes and peppers so I can make tomato sauce for Friday night pizzas and it’s tending that garden with the same care he tends our marriage–even when things are a little wilty and the rains are just too much.

But this isn’t a love story about us today. It’s a love story about how he smiled when I told him I’d given my skinny jean money to fund clean laundry in Africa, and how he nodded when I said I want to help them build a garden. It’s about how he’s letting me fall in love with halfway around the world because I’ve discovered that really, deep down, all moms look the same.

I lead MOPS every other Friday so how fitting that today is Valentine’s Friday and I’m talking about loving moms. We meet in the spacious, well-lit, fully equipped fellowship hall of my church, and we share breakfast and potty training and sleep deprivation in the way that only mothers of young children can. We learn from and love on each other with fierce passion for our kids, our homes, our Jesus and so many moms tell me later it’s the best part of their week–this building of community with other mothers.

No comparison, just community. It’s been a mantra of mine for months now, whether I’m welcoming new moms or writing for Five Minute Friday. Because if we really want to get down to the nitty gritty, our comparisons amongst ourselves will only tear us down and diminish all the worth we could be putting into building community.

So today, I’d like to invite you to be a part of just that–this physical building of community for moms in Maubane, South Africa. Moms who are just like the mothers who fill that hall with me on Fridays; moms who are raising their own toddlers and maybe someone else’s; moms who scrub their laundry with clean water now because we believed that’s every mother’s right; moms who would love to tend a garden, cook in a kitchen, fellowship with other moms, send their children to a school, and have playdates on an actual playground.

Moms who deserve to be shown more love than any Valentine’s Day card could ever contain. Moms who by Mother’s Day, God willing, will know that love is more than a date on a calendar and every mom matters. I serve in MOPS because I believe better moms make a better world; I write here because I believe every mom needs to hear that motherhood is hard but grace is unlimited; I read Lisa Jo because she believes motherhood should come with a superhero cape and an open invitation to sit at the table of Christ.

And Christ’s table is long and wide and full of that good measure that’s been pressed down, shaken together, and poured out on us to give to others. It looks like vegetables ripened by the African sun, like clean water pouring out a new faucet, like slides and swings, and sharpened pencils in new classrooms.

It looks like love.

In October, my community of writing mamas funded the clean water project for this community by raising $5000 in less than twelve hours because there’s no limits on the love of Jesus and should be no limits on access to clean water.

Today I’m asking my community of readers, you moms and grandmothers and aunts and friends, you husbands and fathers and supporters of moms, to come alongside us and help raise thirty times that amount by Mother’s Day: $150,000 to build a community center for the families of Maubane, South Africa.

It’s a crazy big amount, but we have a crazy big God who loves with crazy big love and we get to be a part of that love by sharing it with others.

So, for Valentine’s Day 2014, instead of giving heart shaped candy, let’s grow tomatoes the size of our hearts in a garden for a world that’s really just next door.

Linking up with Lisa Jo and everyone else who believes #scaredisthenewbrave for today’s flash mob love and garden edition of Five Minute (or longer) Friday.

https://www.purecharity.com/widget?aff=9jpa6&slug=veggies4africa&utm_source=9jpa6&utm_medium=widget&utm_campaign=veggies4africa

motherhood

The Snow Day Mother’s Creed {especially for Southern Mamas}

February 12, 2014January 23, 2016 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

Today when the rare sight of fluffy flakes begins to blow across my kitchen window,

I will choose delight and not despair.

I will choose to recognize, through the eyes of my children, what a treasure this day could be.

I will accept that weather knows no boundaries, respects no schedule, and has no concept of school calendars (or a freelance writer’s planner).

I will accept muddy floors because little boots and wet socks will come in and out all day long.

I will accept gloves stained orange with Georgia red clay because snowballs must be scraped together.

I will accept snow day dishes in great stacks of chili bowls and hot chocolate mugs.

I will accept that I cannot be everywhere and with everyone because the baby still needs a nap.

I will accept the fact that despite my best preparations, I will inevitably be short a vital ingredient for tonight’s dinner.

I will accept that if I make cookies, the only evidence will be the unwashed mixing bowl still sitting in my sink hours later.

I will accept that I will do little of the work that matters to me but I will do much of the work that matters to my children.

I will believe that I am not a terrible mother if I know I need a break, so I let them watch television.

I will believe that the exhausting process of walking a quarter mile with a toddler counts as my daily cardio and enables me to eat the last cookie.

I will believe that if a child eats the snowman’s carrot nose that counts as a daily serving of vegetables.

I will believe that eating snow is a rite of childhood and I shouldn’t taint it by telling them that snow is dirty and full of pollutants.

I will believe that they will remember this day better if I spend it with them, and there is no Facebook status or blog post or Instagram upload more important than the moment they ask me if I can build a snowman.

I will understand the laws of laundry as dictated by such events.

Mittens adhere to the same theory of disappearance as socks.
The dryer is the only cycle that will run today. On repeat. Up to ten times.
Apparently, it is unacceptable to sit around in the clothes one had on under snow bibs.
Pajamas are acceptable at all hours of the day, but at bedtime none can be found.
Leggings are not to be confused with tights and for some reason the fleece lined ones will not be preferred over the oldest pair in the drawer, yet, somehow both will be in the hamper by nightfall.
Neighbors’ clothes will migrate into my laundry pile and some of mine will find its way to theirs.
Snow people will generate their own massive pile of dirty scarves, gloves, hats, and the occasional bathing suit.

I will, despite the laws of laundry, encourage the use of all things layers. Never less than two pairs of socks, double up the gloves, and sweatshirts belong under winter coats. Question me, and I’ll do like my mama did and cover your feet in Ziploc bags.

But mostly, I will embrace this day.

I will embrace makeshift sleds and the kitty litter on the driveway.

I will embrace (and kiss!) chapped cheeks and lips.

I will embrace the laundry and the dishes and the inconvenience and the tantrums because despite it all,

there will be moments worth seeing.

And I want to be a mother who sees.

Originally published February 12, 2014. Revised for The Northeast Georgian weekend edition, January 22, 2016.

Friday Five · linkups · writing

Writing Secret {Five Minute Friday}

February 7, 2014 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

It’s time for Five Minute Friday and I know what this says, but I will confess to you, I didn’t get up this morning. I blame the lack of hazelnut coffee creamer. I’m joining with Lisa Jo and the incredible community of writers who write on a one word prompt for five solid minutes every Friday. No editing. No overthinking. No fear. Well, working on that. Today’s prompt is…

Write

When I get up to write, the house is still dark and my only motivation to crawl out of the warm bed and stumble to the cold living room to turn on a lamp is the coffee maker. Thank goodness for auto program. It starts dripping at 5 a.m. and even though I want to hit the snooze on the alarm, the steady percolating from the kitchen helps me up.

I write in the quiet because my day is usually so full of noise and requests and squeals and fussy babies that I crave just the quiet. I lose myself in the thoughts and the words and the possibilities for just a few moments before everyone else is up and begging waffles or milk or cuddles.

I write because I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll look back and wish I had, I’m scared no one will ever want to read it, I’m scared someone actually will. I write because there are stories that have been told over and over so many times, but no one has ever told stories of mothers and daughters and sunsets and first loves the way I will.

I write because when I was nine years old my mama put a copy of Little House in the Big Woods in my hands and I was transported to another place. I write to capture that for someone else, to be that transporter, to share a story that has a different meaning for the person who might someday be on the other side of the page than it has for me right now typing the words.

I write even though I don’t know if anything will ever come of it, even though no one’s ever paid me a dime to do it, even though I sometimes think I’d be better off reading great writers than ever trying to be one.

I write because I’m not alone even though it’s the most solitary time of my day.

I’ve got some fun giveaways going on this month! Click here to read about how you can win a copy of my favorite organizational tools!