Lonely {five minute friday}

August 9, 2013 Lindsey P. Brackett12 Comments

It’s Friday and that means it’s time to write for five minutes, no editing, no backtracking, no overthinking. Lisa-Jo provides a prompt and in this community we write and then we encourage one another. So link it up, friends, and share the love.

This week’s prompt is….

Lonely

I truly didn’t realize I was. Lonely, that is. I was clicking along, finding my groove, coordinating MOPS and blogging a bit about real life, and trying to find my place in this world where I was no longer a teacher and an income earner, but just a mom and a spender and a thrifter.

Then last fall I went to this conference over at a local college. It was for local writers and publishers and there were authors there with real, covered, bound books that they had written. They gave lectures and answered questions and suddenly I realized—

why I had never really fit in anywhere I was before.

I was lonely for people who spew words like others throw baseballs and I was alone where I was because I didn’t have anyone else who talked about story maps and character plots and writing like it was the next best thing to chocolate.

I realized I belonged best among those who get that crazy strand of thought that writers are introverts who write what others speak.

Then I found Allume and the #fmfparty on Twitter and so many friends who get it. Which makes me feel so much less like an outsider and so much more like an insider.

Thanks so much to all of you who shared this bit of honesty about pancakes and perfection among your own community. It means so much to me.

When All You Want is Perfect Pancakes (and Maybe a Perfect Life): Behind the Scenes

August 7, 2013September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. Brackett3 Comments

I was supposed to make grits casserole. (Which is this amazingly delicious way to eat grits and has been known to win over even the most cynical of skeptics and really it deserves a shout out on the recipe page.) But someone had eaten all the cheese. Maybe it was Amelia during snack time or Joshua for lunch or maybe I just overestimated what could be done with one 16 oz block of cheddar in a few days. Either way, I had to toss that plan and since I’d promised my husband a hot breakfast before he left for work, pancakes seemed like an easy out.

Except that lately my go-to recipe is Pioneer Woman’s sour cream pancakes. Guess what?

Yeah, there’s no sour cream either.

So, I didn’t figure this was really a problem, I would just make the old standby that my mother whipped out in fluffy stacks by the dozen on Saturday mornings up until recently when she traded her spatula for a spork and the Appalachian Trail.

Buttermilk pancakes, no problem.

Also, no recipe. Mama doesn’t write things down; she just cooks and then shrugs and says, “You know, it’s like biscuits but not exactly.”

Not exactly is the point. I know where I went wrong. I overestimated the flour and while it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world, for some reason yesterday, when all I wanted to do was be able to make a simple batch of perfect pancakes, it was the end of the world. Maybe I should back up and admit that I was crying before I even started this process, and when my confused husband wondered what in the world I could be so upset about at 6:45 a.m. before the children were even awake, all I had was tears and fumbling explanations about email and being tired and how I just wanted something to turn out right. For some reason, the past week had just been hard. No reason, really. Just one of those dips into the valley of despair that colored everything gray with frustration.

He ate those thick and chewy opposite of light and fluffy pancakes anyway. He kissed me goodbye and urged me to have a good day. I dumped the rest of the disaster in the trash and started over.

With a recipe for Farmhouse Pancakes I found on a quick Pinterest search.

This time I followed directions. I didn’t second-guess or substitute or waver. I simply did what I was told and earned the promised result: the perfect pancakes I was aiming for all along.

I know I treat my life like that failed batch of pancakes sometimes. I want to just be able to dump all the mess-ups in the trash and start over with a clear and easy set of directions that fulfill my longing for perfection.

But there’s no simple recipe to follow that will guarantee me a life free from all the stress and fatigue that makes me imperfect.

If there was, there would be no need for grace. No need for unconditional love. No need for forgiveness.

I’d love to tell you that I cried a little more, prayed a little harder, and spent the rest of the day thankful for my revelation. The truth is I loaded them up and took them waterfall hiking on a nearby paved trail because I needed to walk away from the mess of the house and the press of those four walls.

I’m sure people thought we were sweet. There were probably some who thought I was either brave or crazy for bringing them here by myself. But the truth behind this picture is it reminds me that even when I follow directions, the promised result can take a lifetime to achieve.

After all, that glorious waterfall’s still pressing on trying to find its way.

I might make perfect pancakes tomorrow, but a perfect life?

I’m learning that there’s no such thing as a perfect life. Really, the perfect life has a lot of imperfect moments framed with a whole lot of grace.

Linking up with the Behind the Scenes community over at Crystal Stine’s today. Check it out and be inspired to tell the truth behind the picture.

linkups · Margin Mom · summer

When Overwhelmed, Just Jump in the Lake {My Search for Margin: Part 6}

August 5, 2013September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

It was just for a few hours, but it felt like more. The water was cold, but the day was hot and the sun was glorious. Waves rocked that old dock and the best way to the water will always be a flying leap.

We loaded down that speed boat with children and lifejackets and squeals of summer. Always, on the water, wind and sun in my face and white churned waves underfoot, can I find my space.

Now I just have to keep that feeling of lightness tucked away for those margin-less days when all I want to do is jump in the lake.

For all my other posts in this possibly never-ending series on how I’m aiming for more white space and less smudges in my life, click here.

I love what Kayse says about how she feels less overwhelmed when she’s said yes to the many things God’s called her to, rather than yes to the many things she thinks she’s supposed to do. I’m mulling over that idea for fall when I have so many tasks on my plate that, truly, have all come to me at this time for this purpose.

Linking up with these lovely ladies…

Friday Five · gus · motherhood

Story {Five Minute Friday}

August 2, 2013 Lindsey P. Brackett6 Comments

This week’s prompt is….

Story

Usually I’m a good girl, a rule follower, a yes, yes, yes, responder who just wants to please and takes everything as it comes. I only really said no once.

I said no to the curly haired, dimple cheeked, screeches at his big sisters when he wants more juice baby boy sleeping in the crib down the hall.

I didn’t want him at first. And that’s the bare ugly truth of what is becoming my story. When I found out I was pregnant, I cried for days. I hid in the shower and sat on the floor and could barely hold up my head because my story wasn’t supposed to be the girl who quit her job and was just a stay at home mom. My story was supposed to be doing great things and writing profoundness and making differences and finally getting to breathe after three girls and a brief career.

I was ready for my story. What I wanted.

Thank God I’m not in charge of what I want. Thank God He knew I needed that baby to be my story of grace and redemption and brokenness and life and love.

I want him now. I want him to be wholly the man the Lord has set him apart to be. So much more than this weary selfish mama could ever raise him to be.

I want my story to become his story; how there’s always a plan and a purpose and a gift when we say yes to God.

joshua · linkups · living local · marriage

Ziplining at Sunburst Stables {Behind the Scenes}

July 30, 2013September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. Brackett4 Comments

Last week, just before our anniversary trip, he got the report from his doctor that his heart had returned to normal function and he could begin conditioning himself back to activities more strenuous than solitaire and Candy Crush.

Apparently, that’s what he’d been waiting to hear because he’d saved his birthday money and when I asked him what all he wanted to do while we were hiding away in a little cabin on Blueberry Hill and playing tourist barely twenty miles from home, he decided on ziplining.

Really?

No, it doesn’t require any great athletic skill, and no it’s really not that strenuous, but ziplining? I’ve seen the pictures and a few videos and while the concept was intriguing, the actual idea of hanging on for dear life to a cable and a harness while brushing by trees and then having the ground rush up to meet you in a sudden stop was not on my list of anniversary activities.

I mean, seriously, I figured he’d still be recovering and we’d paint pottery because it’s a nice, quiet activity.

Ha. Instead, he took me over to Sunburst Stables, which is North Georgia’s premier place for ziplining. Seven zips, several 1000 feet long or more, one through a cave and 200 feet of darkness, all located in the woods and hill top pastures of a local family’s farm. We could have ridden horses instead. They’d have even packed a lunch for us. But no, zipping it was.

I was terrified. Not in a “there’s no way I’m doing this” way, but more in a “I can’t believe we’re both doing this and there’s four children at home waiting on us to come back.”

Sometimes life is scarier when you have kids.

Our guides were great. They were young college guys who boasted confidence and humor and assured us and the father/son duo with us, that the cables were designed to hold 14,000 pounds and weren’t going anywhere. They told us Sunburst has never had an injury, that the youngest zipliner ever was not quite 2 and the oldest was 92. They explained how to slow down (yeah, like I was going to touch that wire for anything) and they explained how they control the stop, so there’s no way to miss it.

All that I was still jumpy.

We opened with a short zip. Okay, got my bearings on how this is going to go. The next line was twice as long as the first and I think I kept my eyes closed the whole time. At any rate, I don’t remember much. But at the third line we were joined by the photographer, who happens to be the family’s oldest son, and his younger sister, who happens to be attending school in the fall with my girls.

It took a five year old to put me at ease.

She was funny, answering questions about how she likes to zip, and telling us how she can’t go on the cave line alone because she doesn’t weigh enough (not a problem I have for sure). She was teasing and being silly with the guides like they were another pair of brothers, and on our fourth zip, she informed me it was my turn to go first and I better get up there. (I’d been waiting until last each time.)

It was like having one of my daughters there, and I know they’d have been doing the same thing. Youth knows no fear and my girls would have all but pushed me off that platform if they’d sensed mine.

By the fifth and sixth runs, I was watching the scenery speed by and appreciating the beauty of where we live and call home in a whole new way.

But honestly, I didn’t realize that I had been enjoying myself until I saw the pictures.

Apparently I’d been smiling.

The last zip was over a lake with a fountain and you go with a partner and the likelihood that one of you will get wet. I left that to my husband because after all, this was his idea.

Definitely one of his better ones.

For more information on Sunburst Stables and all their great activities for families, couples, and anyone looking for an adventure in North Georgia, click here.

Linking up with the Behind the Scenes community over at Crystal Stine’s today. Check it out and be inspired to tell the truth behind the picture.