Because Hurry is No Posture for Anyone

March 2, 2016March 2, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett8 Comments

Unless there’s an emergency. Hurry is allowed then.

I spent last week in the company of great writers at the Florida Christian Writers Conference (you can head over here if you want to know why I go to writers conferences).

Our keynote speaker was Robert Benson who can talk eucharist and Yankee baseball in the same sentence. My only quandary after hearing him speak is which book to read first. I’m leaning toward Living Prayer because a review says Benson “makes the ordinary events of life seem mystical and the mystical seem ordinary.” Which is the consistent cry of my heart and probably why I was moved hearing this man speak about life and art and writing and Jesus.

“Hurry,” he chastised softly one morning, “is no posture for a writer.”

Everyday I get out of bed and stumble over to the preset coffee maker and pour a cup. I nestle into a corner of our couch and I study and pray and journal. Sometimes I blog or read or socialize with others awake in the dim light of dawn.

Then my kids wake up and rush, rush, rush and hurry, hurry, hurry become my mantra. Somewhere between the turning over of the clock from 6:29 to 6:30 my slow easy morning becomes a winded sprint and there’s yelling and fussing and so much stress.

Hurry is no posture for a mother either.

When I hurry–when I push and prod and pull my kids through our morning routine–I set a tone for the rest of our day. I wake them with the notion that we are already behind and we must rush to catch up.

What if instead I woke them with the notion that we have a whole day of discovering God’s goodness upon us? What if I saw the morning as a filter through which the rest of our moments, our comings and goings, sifted through? What if instead of posturing hurry, I postured slow?

Sometimes I let them sleep in until almost seven. I make pancakes or oatmeal and hot tea for little sore throats. I pack up my computer so it’s not taken out until my work day has resumed and I listen when they chatter and I smile when they laugh.

I promise not to yell.

We load the banged-up minivan and we run through the day on the short drive to school without actually having to run.

And the only difference between when we get to school on these days and when we get to school on others is me.

Me.

My actions didn’t change. Lunches still got packed. Shoes still got lost and then found. Breakfast dishes were left on the table and the cat might have been left in the house.

But my attitude said slow down. Savor. Sip. Stow away the goodness and the glory in the mess and the broken.

Hurry, my friends, is no posture for anyone.

Slow down. Look around. Catch your breath.

You’ll get there no matter the route you take. But the difference will be in the journey.

Robert Benson with me on the last day of conference.

faith · family · motherhood · writing

In the Broken

February 10, 2016March 2, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett2 Comments

The little pink porcelain cross hung over her cradle. Strength it read. For me, more than her. I kept it in her keepsake box and rubbed it like a talisman more than once last year when all the unknowns piled up because of her little brain and inside my sleepless one.

She broke that cross the other day.

Now it sits in a corner of my kitchen counter, waiting for superglue or hot glue or some other miracle.

Last week Joshua repaired three broken toys and a decorative teapot Annabelle got at a yard sale.

And I’ve told you all about my peeling paint van that often needs more repairs than there are digits in the emergency fund.

Yesterday the little man tried to be helpful. He climbed onto the open dishwasher to unload the cups for his whiny sister and strung-out mama. Never mind that I have said DO NOT CLIMB IN THE DISHWASHER a ridiculous amount of times since he became mobile nearly three years ago.

He fell and used the top rack to break his fall.

So, yeah, my life is pretty much full of brokenness.

I had a friend tell me this week that–

brokenness can be beautiful because it’s in the fall our need for Jesus is most magnified.

And oh, how I need.

My husband traveled this week. Not a big deal, I know. He’s home more than he’s gone and when he’s here, he’s all in. For that I’m grateful.

But sometimes the timing of his trips and the timing of my sanity just don’t match up.

Broken.

He got the sobbing-don’t-ever-leave-me-and-don’t-ask-me-to-manage-the-budget-and-these-kids-are-too-much phone call yesterday while he was at the LAX airport.

In my defense, the threat of snow had closed school two hours early and I don’t know about yours, but for my kids, transitions are the hardest part of everyday. If I ever homeschool one reason will be because we get along better with less transitions.

This introduction of the girls into the space that is not usually theirs and was already full with my to-do list and my thought that if they were home they could at least do their chores, made for a harder than needed to be afternoon.

The dishwasher incident broke me.

And I cried in the closet and my eleven year old tried comforting me and said (this is wisdom, really), “Having a conversation with you is like that conversation I just read with Gale and Katniss. You know? When he gets mad at her because he thinks they’re running away together and she thinks they should save Peeta’s family too?”

Well, the night before they had tried reading Bible stories with me, so I guess she figured Hunger Games might work too.

It kind of did.

See, Katniss and Gale fought because they had different expectations.

And my expectations are not at all the same as my children’s.

They expect some attention, and a little freedom to turn flips on the trampoline, and a snack, of course.

I expect them to be excellent readers because I was a reading teacher (and I love reading). I expect them to not only help, but to do so cheerfully, without complaining ever (apparently I’m the only one allowed to complain). I expect them to get along and love each other and listen to me all the time.

I think I forgot they are children. And they are broken and sinful and selfish.

Just. Like. Me.

They are also imaginative and compassionate and patient with their crazy mama. They are loving and kind and generous. But, they do not always meet my expectations.

I wonder if I meet God’s?

I think, yes. I think He doesn’t expect anything more of me than to come, broken, kneeling in my closet, weeping, begging for a little calmer heart.

He expects me to let Him handle this.

He’s my glue miracle. And he’s in the business of repairing the broken.

Books · family · linkups · motherhood

Raising Grateful Kids (review and promise)

January 26, 2016January 26, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett4 Comments

The very thing most parents long to give their kids— a grateful heart—is destroyed in our attempt to simultaneously give them the world On a rainy December Monday just before Christmas, I spent my “work hours” in the waiting room of a Honda dealership getting our infamous 2004 Odyssey fixed of all the recalls that had filled up our mailbox. And I told them to figure out what was wrong with our doors, change the oil, and give it a general inspection.

Needless to say, this was an all day process. Luckily my mom came to my rescue and we Christmas shopped and went out to lunch. Smack dab in the middle of my Panera Autumn Squash bread bowl, the service department called. All those recalls—airbags and starter switches—fixed free of charge. But they’d evaluated all our other… issues and those came with a $2500 price tag.

For a van they’d give us $500 on trade-in value.

We almost bought a new vehicle that afternoon. I had that moment of “this-is-ridiculous-and-it’s-not-safe” followed by the overwhelming truth: I really, really want a new van.

And I don’t want one because of the work this one needs (which we actually are getting done in stages for half the price at local mechanic shop). I want a new van for one primary reason—the recall I most want fixed, Honda won’t honor. The peeling paint.

That’s a cosmetic issue. Not a safety factor.

My friends joke how much they love our van—they always know it’s me! And while I truly don’t believe anyone who knows and loves us judges us, I still have to swallow a whole heaping mouthful of pride every Sunday I park in the lot beside much nicer and shinier and newer vehicles. At Ingles, I duck my head in shame and make sarcastic comments about Honda when the bag boys bring out my groceries. I beat others to the punch when giving directions to our house—just pull in the drive with the paint peeling van!

Clearly, I’m really, really bothered by this. And I could raise my voice and shake my fist and fight a fight with corporates who don’t care (because I’ve tried); I can rage against God how unfair it is I always manage to pick the lemon of the group; I could just throw down the tax return on a new paint job and be done. But I won’t get to go to the beach this year or make another dent in our debt.

Truth is, while we do need a new van, it’s not a dire need. We can drive this one (and we intend to for one more year while we save). I can be grateful that it gets us everywhere we need to go, and I’m not devastated when Gus pokes a hole in his Chic-fil-A cup full of Sprite on the way home. (Seriously, every single time.)

So one of those kids isn’t mine. But this van is big enough for all of mine plus a couple extras. And this is Gus just before he spiked a fever. Fun times.

But I’m convinced I’m entitled to a new van because this one, to be honest, just makes me look bad. And I’m so tired of looking bad.

Then my daughter tells me she needs new jeans. Because she only has one pair of jeggings and she needs more. Oh, and her shirts aren’t cute and can she go to camp this summer and when is she getting a new bike?

But she doesn’t actually need any of this. Which is what I say.

And you don’t need a new van, whispers that still small voice. I know what you need and when you need it, and I promise I will provide.

Unless my pride gets in the way first.

This last month, I joined with over 300 other bloggers and people of influence to read and generate interest in Kristen Welch’s new book, Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World. To be honest, I had to walk away from it early on because of this:

Entitlement didn’t start with my kids. It began with me. I entitled them because I was entitled. (p. 10)

Ouch.

Truth is, I can’t raise my kids to be something I’m not and grateful probably isn’t the first word that comes to mind when people describe me.

I complain. A lot.

I gripe. A lot.

I want things. A LOT.

But I have everything I need.

What I love most about Kristen’s voice in this book is how real she gets. She relates their mistakes and failures along with their successes and she humbles herself over and over to say, she knows she’s not always getting it right–but she knows there’s a better way.

There’s a better way to raise our kids than to just give them the world. Because this world is temporary and it is not our home. This world is harsh and it is not forgiving. This world is broken and we are called to heal.

And gratefulness starts the same place as entitlement–in my home, with me.

So that’s my review and here’s my promise:

If you buy this book, Kristen’s not going to tell you how to fix your kids. She’s going to give you some words to ponder and apply to yourself first. Then, when you’re ready she’ll give you some practical advice that will help you raise grateful kids and your own grateful heart.

I promise you won’t feel the same after.

If you read it (you can get it here on Amazon of course!), drop me a line! I’ll be posting some more thoughts with #raisinggratefulkids on my Facebook page. I’d love to have you join in the convo there, a little mini-book club for the late winter blahs…

and the days when raising kids is hard, hard, hard!

amelia · motherhood · Uncategorized

Looking Back and Moving Forward

December 7, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

Found this sitting in my drafts folder from almost exactly a year ago.

When our diagnosis was still AVM, when we were still being told surgery would be an “easy fix” (don’t you just love doctors’ optimism?!?) and had no idea that one year later, our daughter would still struggle.

There are good days and bad days and in-between days. Sometimes I still sit in the school parking lot and cry. But this line breaks my heart when I read back over and remember our darkest moments of this time: I can’t suit up for this fight with everyone watching. I think the biggest lie I bought during that time was the idea that I had to be strong. Instead my kids have learned more about trusting God from my inept brokenness than I ever could have taught them by faking my way through the fear.

Yesterday started with Amelia refusing to wear shoes to school. We’re in the parking lot of her tiny little Christian school at a tiny little church in the middle of the country with the mountains all around and I’m throwing her backpack and saying, “Well, fine, then. Stay home. I don’t care.”

Except I really, really did.

I don’t know how to walk this line. How to parent her through this time in our lives without caving to every little whim (she ate gummies for breakfast by the way). I don’t know how to discipline my child with the “slightly bleeding arterial abnormality” in her brain. I don’t want to yell, but I still need to be the mama. I don’t want to be selfish, but I still need a little bit of time for myself. I can’t suit up for this fight with everyone watching.

She didn’t go to school. Of course it was my one four hour block in the week where everyone goes to school and I keep “office hours” with the free wi-fi in Chic-fil-a and try to write. But another mama came to my rescue. Hers weren’t going either. They all played hooky at her house and ate funnel cakes at 10:30 a.m.

Don’t judge us. Sometimes everyone just needs a little break.

{Maybe I should insert here that our Sunday School Christmas party was the night before and it was at least 10 p.m. before anyone went to bed. Sort of explains the morning meltdowns.}

But when that break is over, reality is still there. My big girls are still in need of attention, the dishes still have to be done, and we’ve got a plumber bill coming to go with the new pipes in the bathroom.

And then apparently I ran out of steam…

What moments from this past year are you dwelling on as Christmas draws near?

amelia · clinically isolated syndrome · ePantry · motherhood

Why I’m Terrified of Viruses (and a $10 EPantry Credit!)

September 24, 2015September 30, 2015 Lindsey P. Brackett4 Comments

Amazing, isn’t it, how something unseen can bring you to your knees?

One dreaded word gets thrown about like parade candy this time of year but with less enthusiasm.

Virus.

Respiratory. Hand-foot-mouth. And every mother’s nightmare that often appears at 3 a.m. and never quite makes it to the toilet.

Stomach virus.

Our nightmare with the lingering effects of a virus began long before my five year old’s diagnosis of Clinically Isolated Syndrome. Our first brush with just how tricky viruses can be happened in May 2013, a month most folks in my circle are happy to forget existed.

That’s when my husband presented with heart attack symptoms and was eventually diagnosed as having perimyocarditis. Likely caused by a virus like Fifth’s Disease which the kids had a month earlier.

Then, last fall, the stomach virus descended upon us with a vengeance. We don’t know, doctors don’t know, there’s just no way to know if three subsequent rounds of this virus triggered Amelia’s autoimmune reaction. Maybe the virus and its dehydrating effects worsened an underlying condition. We don’t know. But I do know and believe this whole heartedly–

The last time I remember feeling like a normal family was September a year ago. The last month we experienced with no virus, no sickness, no doctors visits.

So when the school starts sending home the warnings, when my girls tell me who got sick in the hall (or on the lunch table!), when all I want to do is wrap a bubble around our life and get away from it all–I go to my knees.

And my kitchen sink. Because maybe I can’t prevent Amelia from being sick, maybe I can’t keep everything at bay, but I can make sure my kids have clean hands.

We started an ePantry trial over the summer because I jumped on an offer from Modern Mrs. Darcy. Pretty sweet. Free candle. $10 credit. I ordered all purpose cleaner, sponges, and hand soap. Going greener and cleaner has been heavy on mind as I research all I can to help keep my daughter well.

There’s no guarantees anything will work, but if reducing harsh chemicals and enjoying the scent of basil all year long can at least help prevent a relapse, I’m going to try.

ePantry has been awesome. The products are excellent quality, but better than that is the customer service. When I realized my VIP trial was about to run out and I hadn’t placed another order, they gave me an extension and a discount. They respond to email–as in real people with names and personalities respond to email. They want to make this experience easy and affordable, and this company is dedicated to reducing waste and improving our environment.

Really, it’s a win for everyone.

Here’s a little snapshot of what I’m getting next time:

For almost three years, I’ve been making my own all-purpose cleaner. That’s been great, but it’s never worked all that well on wood, and like I said, with virus season upon us, I’m all for anything “disinfecting”. So we’re going to try these products from Method and Seventh Generation for dusting and bathrooms. What I love about trying them from EPantry versus Wal-mart is this: if I hate it, EPantry will take care of me. I’m a person to them, a customer.

How ePantry works

Take advantage of this exclusive offer by clicking here or on one of those great pictures.
Answer a few simple questions about your home, cleaning schedule, and preferred products. ePantry will make suggestions based on your answers.
Customize your basket! Add, delete, tailor it to your family and your budget.
Including your FREE hand soap and $10 credit, your total must come to $20. Free shipping too! (This minimum is for first time only.)
When you’re done, click Finish and Pay. Easy peasy.

Here’s an example of what I’d recommend for a first-timer’s basket:

1. Your FREE soap (and get another while you’re at it).
2. All Better Balm because winter dry skin is coming. I’m always searching for great hand cream.
3. Those sponges that make my kids want to wash the dishes.
4. This organic hand sanitizer. Because that other kind is gross.
5. Everyone loves a good, natural body wash.
6. Dish soap that won’t harm your septic system or your hands.
7. Our favorite multi-surface cleaner. The girls spray this everywhere and on everything. It ruins nothing. And my house smells like Basil all the time. Perfect for when we stick the For Sale sign in the yard again.

A lot of you have asked how I get my kids to help with chores. I’ll post about that next week along with a free customizable chore chart, but in the meantime, place your order and get ready for fall housecleaning.

Just don’t welcome any viruses in with your pumpkin spice.