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.

amelia · birthdays · clinically isolated syndrome · writing

A Six Year Milestone (for Amelia’s Birthday)

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

Dear Amelia,

Today you are six.

Once upon a time I marked these milestones pretty well with blog posts.

Well, I hit one and two and three and four… but there’s a noticeable gap for last year. I wonder if someday you’ll ask me why because you’ll have forgotten.

I’m not sure I want you to forget.

One year ago today, on your fifth birthday, we drove home from the Children’s Hospital of Alabama after meeting with a neurological specialist. We still had few answers and more questions.

You were just giddy that when you got home Ellie was here with her Gigi and had brought pizza and cookie cake and a big, giant balloon.

I remember your laughter the way I remember all the tears you’ve shed since the day of your very first scan. But, while I don’t want you to remember the trauma of an emergency CT or the IV or even the two days spent at Scottish Rite, what I do want you to remember is how very, very loved you are.

God told Moses to build an altar. A remembrance. A place to never forget the deliverance.

Your little life is my milestone in so many ways. You are my altar. My place where I laid it all down and gave it all over and you have taught me to sacrifice in so many wonderful ways.

Having you gave me the courage to believe I could stay home. But on your first birthday, the bank was closed and Daddy lost his job. By the time you were two, you had loved me through the unexpectedness of baby brother, and when you were three? You were all sass and sweetness with a big, beautiful smile. At four, you were content home with me after your little school had to close, and you let me savor all the little moments.

031dc-013 — I didn’t even know I had this picture. I think you’re two.

Then you approached five and all my fears came to light.

But even in the worst times, you never stopped smiling. Your tears always dried and that blithe little spirit returned.

But sometimes, that’s taken a little while.

It’s been the hardest part of recovery, you know. The times that are darkest are when you’re not my sweet, laid-back Amelia. When you’re struggling without the words to name your own fears and this erupts in tantrums and stand-offs and screaming when I leave you at the door of kindergarten.

242c4-015 — One of these days I’ll make a collage of all the pictures I have where you’re dancing in the rain wearing a bathing suit and waving a frilly umbrella.

The doctors think maybe we’ve turned a corner. You’re stable, they say. Maybe, maybe never you’ll be 100% well, but then again, is anyone ever fully well? Aren’t we all weak in some way? Yours manifests itself in the stiffness of that not-so-little hand that grips mine as we traipse the steps to clinic at UGA.

You cling to me for dear life, because by the end of the day, you’re tired and balance is just one more challenge you’ve learned to compensate for.

You hold me tighter.

And, baby girl, I’ll never let you go.

Happy Birthday, Amelia Hope!

faith · just write life · organizing · Photos · pinterest · writing

Sometimes You’re Just Making Life Too Hard

February 17, 2016February 17, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett2 Comments

I knew exactly where this precious gem was. In my Winter 2016 Album.

I had a revelation the other night.

Something my husband’s been telling me for awhile.

I make things too hard.

For months, he’s listened to me whine about how digitally cluttered my life feels–especially in regard to photos. (Sometimes I actually miss film. Then, you see, I was forced to print in order to see the photos, and even if stuck in a box, at least I knew where they were and there was potential for an album.)

I went on and on about how I don’t understand how iPhoto is importing my pictures and the Cloud and the Dropbox and my Phone won’t sync properly and it must be because I had to buy a $6 replacement cord because I left mine at the lake SIX MONTHS AGO and because of all this it takes me 15 minutes to blog and at least ONE HOUR to post and I know I need to figure this out because then I can streamline things and it won’t take so long but I don’t have time to ORGANIZE PICTURES when I should be WRITING and MAKING MONEY–

Breath.

At which point he calmly said sometimes you have to do the menial task so you feel better.It’s not hard. It’s just time consuming.

Humph.

Just to prove him wrong I sat with my computer for 30 minutes on Sunday night while he and my girls had an epic piano battle with some game they all love on their electronic devices that are not the television because we gave that up for Lent.

I went on Pinterest. Stay focused.

I typed “organize iPhoto”. I got a site. Hmmm…organize my pictures in 10 minutes or less? I’ll bite.

This girl’s name looks familiar…oh, she was consulting with me about my blog redesign last summer. Okay, she’s credible.

Read post. Really? I didn’t know iPhoto had that feature. (i.e. I’ve never bothered to look.)

Followed instructions.

Voila! Photos impeccably organized into years and seasons just the way I like.

Approximate time? Ten minutes.

Okay…I didn’t want to give away that he might have been right, so I looked at some other pins. Maybe I could solve the import problem. There’s this???

Screen Shot 2016-02-17 at 10.01.50 AM — My “connecting camera opens” was checked No Application.

Still skeptical (and too lazy to get up), I borrowed daughter’s handy iPod charger.

Over 300 photo and video imports later, my phone stopped telling me my storage was full.

And that, my friends, made my life seem a tad bit easier. Or at least less cluttered.

It’s really, really easy to get overwhelmed. We live in a digitally driven, social media noisy, always connected world. Our brains are being rewired to require constant stimulation, when our God tells us He made us to crave rest.

Rejuvenation.

Respite.

Relaxation.

And sometimes, we have to stop and just do the menial task. Because that one calm act–making the bed, washing the dishes, organizing the photos–brings cosmos into our chaos.

And peace into our souls.

What one thing can you do today that will bring a little calm?

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.

1000 gifts · favorite things · linkups · writing

What’s Saving My Life :: Winter 2016 Edition

February 1, 2016 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I adore that Anne of Modern Mrs. Darcy says this about the Saving My Life posts…

The idea comes from Barbara Brown Taylor’s wonderful memoir Leaving Church. In it, Taylor tells the story of when she was invited to speak at a gathering, and her host assigned the topic: “Tell us what is saving your life right now.”

This is one of those six-degrees-from-Kevin-Bacon moments. (Did you ever play that in high school?) Barbara Brown Taylor is a professor at a local college here, so I see her and read her writings in the way that frequent small towns do–without much recognition that greatness lives among us. I haven’t read her memoir, but I might add it to my #60in2016 Reading Challenge.

But anyway…

Saving my life right now doesn’t look much different from last year about this time when I penned a post for the same link up with the same theme. But this time last year I was drowning in fear over my daughter’s neurological diagnosis and every moment seemed a blessing in disguise.

This year I’m aiming for renewal–of my soul, my hope, my joy, my focus. Last year was hard on us emotionally and many times, the year was as crushing as it was uplifting. For all the strides I made publishing-wise I still found myself floundering for my purpose, wondering how I could really be called to much beyond these four little souls (who try my temper daily) and making sure everyday physical and spiritual needs are at least acknowledged.

But there’s a call to not just write but share. And I hope that’s what this little corner means to you–that it’s a place I share the real and just write life.

Saving My Life Right Now :: Winter 2016 Edition

The Trampoline. Seriously best Christmas present ever. Keeps them all occupied with something that’s not digital for longer than 20 minutes. Netflix, you’ve been replaced.
My Reading Challenge. I love this group that came about because so many of you said you wanted to read 60 books in 2016 with me. I’m six down: Gone Girl, Dear Mr. Knightley, Jane Eyre, Raising Grateful Kids, The Extroverted Writer, and Restless which leads me to…
On the nightstand for February.
Scripture. Which, I know, is the point of believing the Bible is God-breathed, but when you’ve been a good church girl your whole life, like me, you run the risk of letting the familiar become… familiar. Which is why I read Restless and why I’m exploring some verse-mapping ala Kristy Cambron (and also I’m an author blog stalker). Also why this one is on my reading list.
My Better Life Bag. An early birthday present (twenty days until I tip early-thirties and into late-thirties) from my patient husband who appreciates a specific request. And, you know, a list for him that’s been commissioned as a blog post.
This boy and his trucks. He both saves me from days of uninterrupted computer time, which would undoubtably result in back spasms and poor eyesight, and drives me batty because we’re trying to sell the house and piles of dirt and rocks don’t exactly say curb appeal. But that grin? It’s kind of irresistible.