What the National Championship Can Teach Us About the Inauguration

January 20, 2017 Lindsey P. Brackett1 Comment

Originally published in The Elberton Star and The Northeast Georgian, January 13, 2016.

In a flurry of text messages, my book club girlfriends reminded me why we get along so well. Half of them didn’t realize the National Championship was happening Monday night either. In face, I was pretty pleased with myself for already knowing Clemson was playing Alabama for the coveted title—and I could even tell you who ‘Bama’s coach is because he’s brave enough to own a lake house in the heart of Bulldog country.

I had to respond with a “Go, Tigers!” because my parents are Clemson alumni, but it’s my mama who’s always been the die-hard fan. She threw a spoon at the television one Saturday night while cooking supper, and we kids learned to duck if Clemson’s defense wasn’t holding. (She’ll tell you I’m making this up for dramatic effect, but I promise it’s true.) This past Christmas she bought my cousin (whom she loves more than me during football season) a wooden ornament from the Corder’s General Store down the road. It had a tiger paw handpainted in bright orange, and Mama told Heather, “This is our year.”

Sometimes she’s a prophetess.

Because from what I hear, those Tiger-boys delivered an upset worthy of remembrance. Mama also says the last time they won a National Championship she was pregnant with my brother and now his wife’s pregnant with their son and she thinks that’s pretty profound.

I think it’s the perfect illustration of how we all love our connections to things that seem bigger and more important than our small, everyday lives. Since I knew I wanted to say a few words, I did a little reading and discovered Clemson’s beloved quarterback is a north Georgia boy, and I grinned wide over one sports reporter’s reflection. He watched that kid grow up in Gainesville to lead the rec league and the high school to accolades that probably felt as good in that moment as Monday night did with that biggest of college trophies.

People will say, after all, it’s just a game. But any coach or teacher or player will tell you the game can be so much more. It can be a place where weak boys learn to become strong men, where sore losers learn to become gracious winners, where the lost become the found. I don’t even have to follow a particular team or player to know all that is true. I just have to file back through my memories of teaching middle school or watching the Elbert County Blue Devils bring home their state title in 1995.

Now this game, that was played under bright lights and fought hard until the last moment, is over, and America is set to see the next one come to life. Soon we’ll swear in a new President, and there are those who swear they’ll never wear his colors. That’s okay. We don’t all have to cheer for the same team to recognize the end goal is about more than winning—it’s about how your character is played when your team loses.

Right now I’m watching the Inauguration coverage live… and have so much respect for Hillary Clinton’s attendance today and President Trump’s initiation of a standing ovation in her honor. It is my prayer that our nation would find common ground, once again, on the issues we all believe matter: kindness, goodness, selfless-ness.

Yes, We Are Homeschooling This Year

August 15, 2016August 15, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett1 Comment

I’ve been skirting around the proclamation for over a month. Dancing around the possibility for a few years. Making peace with the decision since we decided to jump the county line.

Yes, we are homeschooling this year.

Never thought I’d really say those words. Much less about having all three of my girls home a the same time. I figured if we ever did it, I’d be their middle school teacher for a few years and then back off to the land of textbooks and powerpoints where your teachers have more advanced degrees than I do for impossible subjects like chemistry and trigonometry. {insert shuddering at the idea of teaching that}

But they’re all home with me and homeschool is why we’re playing Barbies and drinking coffee in the middle of the day. Actually, no more coffee. I’m getting to that old age where caffeine after 2 o’clock makes me unable to sleep and I dearly love to sleep.

School around here started the first week of August. Friday for one county. We went to the waterpark. Monday for another. I took Gus to preschool and worked all morning. They played games and Madelynne read Divergent for the second time.

Yes, Gus is going to preschool. I know my strengths and colors/letters/numbers/rambunctious boy while I’m trying to write aren’t in my quiver.

I mean look how happy he is to be in PreK.

So we haven’t started yet and everyone keeps asking how it’s going, so it’s pretty easy for me to say, “Great!”

Yeah, I haven’t actually taught them anything yet.

Unless you count entrepreneurship because Annabelle and Amelia made homemade strawberry smoothies and went around the neighborhood last week selling. Half our neighbors are retired and home all day so they made $4.50. That capped off earnings for a new American Girl (Target knockoff) kitchen set.

Value of a dollar. I’ll jot that down as done.

The truth is we aren’t homeschooling because I think I can teach better than all the teachers who stuck it out in public school when I couldn’t anymore.

We aren’t homeschooling because I felt a religious conviction to give them a Christian education.

We aren’t homeschooling because I felt called to be their first and foremost influence.

Those are all great reasons if they’re yours. But ours is simpler.

We’re tired.

The run around of four kids in so many places plus my freelance work and Joshua’s travel schedule and our volunteer commitments has meant school’s rigid schedule couldn’t bend to accommodate our needs. Our kids were going to bed too late, getting up too early, and our family time was always compromised.

Between the move and Amelia’s relapse of symptoms and our desire to travel outside the confines of spring break and summer vacation, we knew keeping them home this year was the right choice.

In some ways, the move made it easy. I don’t think I’d ever have left my safety net of a school system I know and love if I hadn’t been forced. And while Joshua ultimately left the decision up to me, and I all too often remind him he’s not the one saying no all the livelong day because our kids want to snack every fifteen minutes, the truth is my tipping of the scales came from him.

Because the person who will pick up my pieces on a bad day, who will review the math I don’t understand, who will bring home the proverbial and literal bacon so I can feed it to these hungry children–is my husband.

If I’ve learned anything from this decision making process it’s that I was seeking opinions from all the wrong people. My friends are great. They’re supportive of me–which means some said go for it and some said I was flipping crazy.

But my husband supports our family and from the beginning he thought this choice was right. And I discovered there is great freedom in submission to my God-seeking husband.

Which I’ll remind him when he comes home to find us having an Anne of Green Gables marathon (literature) and eating popcorn for dinner.

In case you’re wondering, we do have an actual plan. We’re using Sonlight as a guide for Amelia’s reading, Math U-See because I have no skills there, and I’m teaching a middle grades language arts class for homeschooled students that will guide my big girls through grammar, writing, and literature. We will fill in science and social studies from a variety of sources, with our main focuses being American history, geography, and earth science.

We’re going on lots of field trips and I’m talking everyone into a cross country trek to visit my sister in Utah. I’m sure we will reassess almost daily and “regular” school might come back to us next year, but this is our year to embrace change.

Hopefully without losing my mind.

family · Home · hospitality · just write life · writing

When Your 3 Year House Becomes Your 10 Year House Becomes Your Sold House

July 7, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett1 Comment

I tucked myself into the corner of the sectional couch we finally broke down and bought last year so we would have furniture that fit this tiny living room. Early in the morning the sunlight shafts through a kitchen window I’m not great at scrubbing clean and lights up a worn table with perpetually sticky chairs.

This is my quiet place. For three years I’ve risen early and written hard and sipped coffee and liked this little house best with that golden pool of light beaming on my hardwood floors.

In some ways, we outgrew this house before we ever moved in. When we bought it in 2006 at the climax of the real estate inflation, mere months before the fall, we figured three years.

Three years. New paint. New carpet. A few handy little things and then we’d be moving on. I had two girls then, one toddling and one nursing. My mama told me this house wasn’t big enough for more kids.

Ten years later we’ve raised four kids in that house and hosted friends and family and parties and memories.

We tried to sell in 2010. Again in 2012. Again in 2014. Fourth time’s the charm. Did all the right things–items in storage, fresh and clean, highlight the good. Big backyard. 4 bedrooms… just very little family space. Really 3 bedrooms and an office and don’t forget we have fiber internet!

None of that mattered. When we get all the paperwork signed and sealed our little house that built me into a mother, a writer, a better person–this little house will be sold to a neighbor who felt the timing was finally right for her to take it on and share it with others. This little house is about to be a ministry, a caregiving place, a breath of hope.

We prayed that years ago. Thought maybe we’d even be the ones to keep it.

Y’all, when this house is finally sold it will be at the last possible moment before our loan changed, before we reached the end of our rope with what to do about finding me space to write, the kids space to play, my husband space to work from home.

Always it’s been one of those first world problems. Six people cramped in 1400 square feet. We always knew we could make it work and in the last few years, I’ve made a conscious effort to offer hospitality without comparison. Because I was tired of telling my kids our house was too small to welcome our friends.

That is never, ever true. No matter the size of your place, true friends will sit on a narrow porch and play games with ten kids running around inside because it’s raining.

Some of those true friends helped us load a U-Haul with material wealth and drive ten miles down the road this week. To a place that’s bigger–and plenty better in some ways.

But that house that grew us into a family will always be out true first home.

P.S. I know you all want a tour of the house…. I’m working on it! Had to clear up some space on my fancy video camera, i.e. phone.

Notice the difference between Annabelle’s friends and Madelynne’s… of course, they did unpack all the books to find the ones they wanted to read.

Guest Posts · just write life · writing

Slow Down and Dwell

June 24, 2016June 24, 2016 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

The first new friend I made at the Florida Christian Writers Conference this year was Lucinda Secrest McDowell. She beamed a smile and a southern welcome and gushed with excitement when she heard about my Edisto novel. Then she connected me with her Edisto friend who can help me get this book into the hands of readers.

All before we finished a meal. Lucinda is genuine, faith-filled, and delightful. When we met up again at Blue Ridge for another conference in May, it was my pleasure to buy her new devotional book before the bookstore had finished unpacking the box.

Dwelling Places offers a one word pondering for each day of the year. Categorized by seasons, and so very timely for my own life right now, it is my honor and pleasure to share Lucinda’s words with you today.

Driving through Pebble Hill Plantation I saw the road sign that caused me to grind to a halt.

“Slow Down. I Mean It!”

And Pansy Poe, the owner of this beautiful estate outside my Georgia hometown, had signed her name to give it more authority.

Actually, God could have authored that sign as well.

I believe He sends signs warning me to “Slow Down” all the time, but I’m usually running by too quickly to notice. Missing what God has for me – “My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.” (Isaiah 32.18)

Or, as one seasoned pastor advises, “You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry.”

When was the last time you really rested? Hard to do, isn’t it? Our environment is constantly depleting us with noise, distractions and the compulsion to always be in a hurry. We are just too busy to rest.

“Busyness does not mean you are a faithful or fruitful Christian. It only means that you are busy, just like everyone else,” claims Kevin DeYoung, a pastor and father of six who struggles with finding true rest. “It’s not wrong to be tired. It’s not wrong to feel overwhelmed. It’s not wrong to go through seasons of complete chaos. What is wrong – and heartbreakingly foolish and wonderfully avoidable – is to live a life with more craziness than we want because we have less Jesus than we need.”

Do you want more of Jesus and His rest?

I believe our greatest threat is distraction. Did you know the root of this word is the Latin word distractus which literally means “to draw or pull apart?” No wonder we feel torn in every direction!

The author of “Sanctuary of the Soul” says that we have noisy hearts. “The fact that our schedules are piled high and we are constantly bombarded by multiple stimuli only betrays that we have succumbed to the modern mania that keeps us perpetually distracted. The moment we seek to enter the creative silences of meditative prayer, every demand screams for our attention.”

How can we quiet our hearts and discover these “undisturbed places of rest?”

Unplug. Sign out. Turn off. Hang up. Be ‘Closed for the Weekend.’ Clean up your surroundings so fewer projects call out your name. Put sleep and ‘nothing’ on your agenda and then keep those appointments. Determine your greatest distractions and energy-drainers and decide to be proactive about curbing their power over you.

And then go to Jesus and rest in His care. “Faith means resting – relying – not on who we are, or what we can do, or how we feel or what we know. Faith is resting in who God is and what He has done. And He has done everything.”

Slow Down. I Mean It!

Lucinda Secrest McDowell is passionate about embracing life — both through deep soul care from drawing closer to God, as well as living courageously in order to touch a needy world. A storyteller who engages both heart and mind, she offers “Encouraging Words” to all on the journey. A graduate of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and Furman University, Cindy is the author of twelve books, including Dwelling Places, Live These Words, Refresh!, Amazed by Grace, Quilts from Heaven and Role of a Lifetime. Whether co-directing the “New England Christian Writers Retreat,” mentoring young moms, or leading a restorative day of prayer, she is energized by investing in people of all ages. Cindy’s favorites include tea parties, good books, laughing friends, ancient prayers, country music, cozy quilts, musical theatre, and especially her family scattered around the world doing amazing things. She writes from “Sunnyside” cottage in New England and blogs weekly at EncouragingWords.net

just write life · Margin Mom · writing

Cosmos From Chaos

June 20, 2016June 17, 2016 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

They gather in a darkened gym in the early morning before the heat has baked the parking lot into a reflective oven. Some are heads taller and light years older and wiser than the littlest ones with their childlike faith in absolutions and fairness. They have scabbed knees and restless hearts; feet that dance because they can’t stand still; fingers that look for keys or strings or brushes to strum into submission.

For five days, I pack lunches to be eaten on a playground and dust off my teacher hat and two dozen sets of warped dowel rods. I may be the queen of over commitment—but this isn’t bondage. This is service and creation and cosmos out of chaos. This is a chance to share Jesus in what I believe is the best way—by celebrating the gifts and talents of those who are compelled to create.

God the Father created first, you know.

In the early mornings right now, I curl on our couch with my laptop and the rewrites of a novel that has potential—but first, I break open the words of Madeline L’Engle in Walking on Water alongside my Scripture. “We are human and humble and of the earth, and we cannot create until we acknowledge our createdness.”

L’Engle maintains unless we let ourselves be mentored by Christ, we cannot separate cosmos—beautiful, boundless art—from the chaos that surrounds this world. Chaos like gunmen in houses of worship, and prison workers who side with convicted killers.

For five days every summer since 2008, First Baptist Cornelia has hosted those who seek the divine through art—art that is both ethereal and everyday. Amidst the usual repertoire of classes for dancers, musicians, and sketch artists, there are offerings for aspiring quilters, potters, and puppeteers. I put sticks in the hands of children who are afraid to speak and teach them to praise the Lord with interpretive movement. We call the class God Rods, and I’m always amazed by the kids who take it over and over each year. Usually, they are not the ones with a natural aptitude for drama, but rather ones who timidly return, believing their small part of the whole is great and worthy.

I tell them we’re storytellers—putting images to the lyrics of songs they can sing, but do not understand. We chose Casting Crown’s “Voice of Truth” this year. A song about hearing cosmos among chaos, the voice of truth among the cries of failure and defeat. A song about how faith can evoke powerful actions: walking on water, slaying a giant, even painting a picture.

We call our camp MOSAIC: Mentoring Our Students Artistically in Christ. I wasn’t around when the original band of artists and dancers and musicians saw a need in our community. A need for our children to not only have the opportunity to experience the fine arts, but the opportunity to experience the fine Creator of all art.

I am grateful every year, that now, these are my people. Together, we see the world, in its chaos of blood and fear, and we find the cosmos. The kaleidoscope of color and beauty that God created, and then placed in our hands to return as a song of praise.

Originally published by The Northeast Georgian, June 2015.