When Drowning is How You Become New Again

November 21, 2013September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

Sometime in the recent past the tub toys took over my jetted bathtub and I succumbed fully to motherhood of four. Sometime in the very recent past we realized that not all four of them can fit in the tub together anymore, and shampoo bottles migrated back down the hall to the bath with a shower, but the toys have stayed.

And despite our good intentions and our purchasing of turtle shaped scoops and plastic open weave baskets and shrimp boat captains that don’t absorb water, the toys cover the bottom of the tub and sit in dirty bathwater that someone forgot to drain, and sometimes there’s slime underneath the ducky until I huff and puff and scrape everything up and begin to squeeze those squishy toys that delight toddlers and disgruntle mothers.

Flecks of grime and probable mold and general nastiness comes out the bellies of pink polka dot ducks and big blue whales and I wonder for the thousandth time why I bother. But I fill the tub again with hot water and a healthy dose of vinegar, if I’m feeling green, but bleach when I’m feeling done. I leave the room for minutes or hours, and sometimes it’s evening again before I remember the drowning mass of plastic aquatic life.

There’s another round of squeezing and the sucking in of water that is laced with cleanser in a valiant effort to save them all. Some don’t make it, and I am relieved when I can let go and just toss away and accept that they’ll never notice among all the rest that only a few are missing. The water swirls in layers of grime, and I wash it down and rinse again and again waiting for the flood of new.

This ritual of motherhood, this gross and dirty and weary bending and squeezing and rinsing time becomes a sacred moment as I watch the filth disappear and the water stream out clean.

What mom hasn’t felt like she’s drowning at some time in the midst of motherhood and all it gives and takes? What woman hasn’t tried at some point to salvage it all, only to throw up her hands and admit defeat to some things that just have to be thrown away? What mama hasn’t placed a summer-loved toddler in a tub and marveled at how the dirtier that water becomes the cleaner it means her baby is? We drain and rinse and repeat and in the drowning of the water over eyelashes and ears and bright red tugboats, something soiled becomes new again.

But because we never seem to really get it–this beauty in the mess, this glory in the grime–we’ll do it again and again and again tomorrow and the next day and the next for many more to come…

and those who’ve already passed this journey will tell us that someday we’ll long for the rinse and repeat days of motherhood when it was the drowning in someone else that made us new.

On Expanding Your Local: Undivided Mom Launch! {31 Days: Day 7}

October 7, 2013September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I’m writing all month about living local. About embracing where you are and living within your zipcode and finding new ways to just be present in your own corner of this world that God has fashioned just for you, for this time, for this season, for this moment in your life.

I love where I live; I love my locale. I love the mountains and the pastures and the cinema-style small town that is my real life. I love that the grocery clerks know mine and my children’s names and that my former students serve me at our favorite quick places to eat. I love that I’m a part of this community, its theater, its churches, its schools and volunteer organizations.

But sometimes, I have to reach out from here a bit to find a little more of what I need.

And when I do, I’m more content with where I am, and I’m less alone in this everyday chaos that is motherhood.

That’s how I found Kayse. She’s way over on the west coast, but she’s a former teacher, a writer, a mama, an encourager of women, and a friend to me.

No, she’s not local. She can’t bring me a casserole on a bad day or meet for a pumpkin spice latte to celebrate fall. But she can reassure me that I’m not alone.

I’m not the only one balancing how to make this writing gig a career while raising small children.

I’m not the only one who’s sometimes living for naptime.

I’m not the only one who wishes just getting laundry done was enough accomplishment for each day.

I’m not the only one who sometimes feels forgotten.

I’m not the only one who struggles to find Christ in the chaos of motherhood.

I know she shares these burdens because she bares her soul (and her unfolded laundry) to tell us about them in her new ebook The Undivided Mom.

It’s here, among these pages, that you’ll find wisdom from a mom who hasn’t just BEEN there; she IS there. And in a few weeks? She’s adding a precious baby boy to her motherhood mix.

But she took the time to share her heart with us mamas who feel so divided between motherhood and careers and home and marriage. She’s not giving us a formula to fix anything. Instead, she’s giving us a Savior to seek for all those moments when we feel pulled in a million directions, because she knows (and so do I) that seeking Him first will help us find margin in our busy everyday lives.

“Jesus lived by the Spirit. While he, of course, was following God’s plan for His life, He didn’t get caught up in busyness and law. Instead, He structured His life in such a way that He was able to pay attention to the people around Him, and minister to them as he saw a need.”

But I can step away from the things that can wait. I can invest fully in quality moments with my daughter. I can show her through my actions that she is completely loved and valued.

She [Martha] couldn’t see past her to-do list to realize that the Savior of the world was sitting in her living room.

~excerpts from The Undivided Mom by Kayse Pratt

Reading this short (14 days!) devotional has reminded me that no matter where I am, no matter what local I am calling home, my perfect home is in Christ and He alone will satisfy my soul.

I encourage you to click a link and check out this book (and Kayse’s other great products) on her site. Today she’s hosting a giveaway of the book and basket filled with DaySpring goodies! Buy anytime this week and use the coupon code UMLaunch20 for 20% your entire order!

If you’re on twitter, we’d love to have you join us tonight, October 7, at 9PM EST for a twitter party loaded with giveaways and excitement for the community we build as mothers who encourage one another to find our knees before we find the next lost sock.

Sometimes living local is about supporting those who surround you. Sometimes it’s about finding those who share your heart.

For all posts in my #31days series click here.

Disclosure: This post contains affiliate links but the opinions are my own.

gus · motherhood

Dear Gus {a love letter for seventeen months}

September 29, 2013 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I admitted for the first time yesterday that maybe you’re not a baby anymore. You picked up your foot to step over a cord hanging off the game machine at the bowling alley so you could position yourself better to play with that toy rifle, and I thought that was it.

That was the end of my belief that you’re a baby.

But you’re only seventeen months old and you think you can wash the dishes and climb up anything and yesterday I taught you to say “tractor” and you sat on the antique blue Ford with the pull-behind wagon and tried to drive and you were still my baby.

You push the kitchen chairs all over the house and point enthusiastically at whatever dessert concoction might be on the counter in anticipation that I’ll serve it to you for breakfast. You think you’re too big for your table booster, but you’re still turned backward in that hand-me-down Britax and on the way home from school Friday you echoed your sisters’ exclamations of spelling tests and science projects with a hearty, “Yeah!”

You love shoes and those passed down from some sweet friend grey New Balances might be the cutest thing I’ve put on your feet since last winter’s second-hand Robeez with the puppy. But sometimes you go in my closet and try on every pair I have and I find wedge heels and Toms scattered all over the floor.

You don’t care that I’ve never bought you a new outfit or that you have a plethera of aunts who like to dress you with Old Navy clearance and mama has friends who are done with baby boys and keep you from the possibility of ever wearing an old pair of Amelia’s jeans.

You love the “kit-tee” and the only times you’ll stand still are at the glass door watching the kittens play or the man across the street mowing his lawn on the big orange mower. You know the difference between a truck and a car and the other day I broke down and admitted you needed some toys that weren’t ponies or Barbie vans.

You have the most inquisitive nature and will walk around pointing and repeating “uh-uh” until someone figures out that you want the word for thirsty which for your little mind is only “cup!”

I’ve been trying to keep you my baby for so long but you’re straining out of my arms to be set free to learn and explore and discover that cat food doesn’t belong in the bathtub and your sisters will shriek if you push the buttons on the VCR that change the television channels when they’re watching a movie.

But most of the time, you only want me. You give the tightest, fiercest hugs and will climb all over me trying to snuggle. Sometimes I think it’s like you’re just trying to get back to that safe place inside where I didn’t have a choice but to hold you.

This summer your hair turned blonde and spun ringlets with the humidity. You’re going to have a scar on your forehead from falling into the brick hearth at the great-grands and getting five stitches. You’ve cut nearly all your teeth and your grin is irresistible.

Your sisters use the phrases “literally” and “anyways” and “I can’t believe” over and over and not always correctly, but you just laugh and peek behind your fingers and steal all their attention.

I fear a bit we will ruin you for anyone else.

But right now, you’re mine. You’re ours. You’re the promise of God to give me more abundance than I ever imagined.

Friday Five · motherhood

True {five minute Friday}

September 27, 2013 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

It’s Friday and that means it’s time to write for five minutes, no editing, no backtracking, no over thinking (I broke all these rules last week). 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 because “Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.” E.B White via Lisa Jo.

This week’s prompt is….

True

Yesterday I cried hot tears of frustration and guilt in the library parking lot and then I talked myself off the ledge and into the story hour and across town for chicken nuggets and my mama and a sweet friend who always gets it.

This morning was better, and I could feel it, the metaphorical turning of the corner in my soul. I could do this stay-at-home gig more and I could write and I could coordinate and I could feel God move.

Then the three year old tantrum woke up the seventeen-month old napping and the spiral downward started spinning. Frustration began to mount and the gulping drowning in the motherhood began.

Because I am never enough.

I am never good enough or strong enough or patient enough. I can’t make the right decisions and I can’t figure this out.

I thought it would be easy. I thought it would be fulfilling in all the ways it’s not.

I thought being home would make me a better mom. That’s the honest truth and it’s an honest lie to believe.

Nothing can make me a better mom except me and Jesus.

In case you’re interested here’s a little truth about getting a girl’s ears pierced at the mall.

faith · Friday Five · motherhood · reflections

Mercy {five minute friday}

September 13, 2013September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

It’s Friday and that means it’s time to write for five minutes, no editing, no backtracking, no overthinking (I broke all these rules this week). 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 because “Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.” E.B White via Lisa Jo.

This week’s prompt is….

Mercy

You know it doesn’t always have to be as big as a home in Kenya. That’s amazing and beautiful and makes me want to get on a plane tomorrow–

but I can’t.

Because it’s here too. In the small and the everyday and the ordinary. It’s in the open invitation to lunch so that everyone feels included and it’s in the understanding smiles you exchange without words to the mother who had the screaming toddler on the playground. It’s in the hands of the friend who took my tray one night at McDonald’s when I was seven months pregnant and three kids in already and so overwhelmed that a single milk spill unraveled my control.

I’ve found it in the quiet words of the secretary when she doesn’t chastise me for calling for the third time in a row to change pickup arrangements. Sometimes it swings loudly and shrieks joy and “Look at me, mommy!” after a morning of tempers and strong wills. I think it’s given in the simple, like the times we choose to know or speak or ask rather than assume or complain or judge.

Unfortunately we who claim to know Christ can give it least. We forget we were once all women at the well or thieves on the cross begging for someone to give us water that will truly quench our thirst. We take it for granted and we forget to give it away.

“Do justice, LOVE mercy, walk humbly with your God…” ~Micah 6:8

It’s an act, a verb, a command this love mercy is.

It’s what happens when we get past our version of what should be and start living with and loving on the version that is. Wrapping ourselves in the safe bubble wrap of But, I’m praying for her isn’t always enough. Sometimes people need the apology they don’t deserve and the hug that isn’t forced and the kinship that isn’t fake and the home that saves their babies.

Sometimes we forget how incredible it can be to show a little mercy.

*********************************************************************************

Confession: I almost didn’t write a post today. I tried and failed last night and if I’d been speaking I’d have said it was because my tongue was thick and clumsy and couldn’t form words, but I was writing so instead it was my fingers that couldn’t seem to find that magic moment with my brain to put what my heart was singing down into coherent sentences and imagery. So I gave up and went to bed and tried again this morning and gave up again. Then I went about my day and waited for God to speak. He did to me, and I hope he did to you too.

One of the reasons I was so finger-tied is because today’s prompt was written by Alia, who is one of my new favorite people. Between the praise I got from her and Lisa Jo last week, I figured I could retire from blogsphere a pretty happy little writer. I wanted to do justice to her words and to this cause because loving on and supporting new mothers from anywhere and from any walk of life is so near and dear to my heart. It’s why I coordinate MOPS; it’s why I’ll be pleading again for more workers because today in Chic-fil-a I didn’t invite moms because we don’t have the space for their children. That’s an awful feeling, to know someone might need the resources you have but there’s no way to offer them without more physical or financial support. I know most of you can’t come over my way and rock babies on Friday mornings, but you can click here and read about Mercy House and the amazing good it’s providing these mothers who are our sisters in motherhood.

And if you’ve been stalking Alia and me on twitter, you can find the recipe for fried okra right over here.