One Scary Sunday Afternoon … and One Good Gift

March 5, 2017 Lindsey P. Brackett6 Comments

I certainly didn’t wake up a week ago, thinking, What if I die today?

I drank coffee with my writer-soul sisters and talked about a new book idea with my editor and mentor. I listened for all God might be telling me during this time away from my family. I heard him calling me to more–not to less. To something outside of just my career, to a greater good that He designed uniquely for me.

Something He no doubt planned for me long ago and has waited patiently for me to discover.

And no mistake about it, I believe God knew I’d reach a pinnacle last weekend, and He knew what waited on the way home.

Sometimes people come into your life and you can’t imagine they haven’t always been there. I feel this way about my friend Sarah. We met because we worked together at Splickety Publishing, but we are friends because God has knit our hearts together so intricately I can text her on a random day and find her dealing with the exact some issues of motherhood and teaching and writing and Christ-following.

There aren’t many people with whom I could go to the darkest and brightest places.

She’s one.

Last Sunday afternoon, a mere handful of miles from her home, we stopped in the traffic on the interstate and the driver behind us… well, he didn’t.

And in the week that has followed, I’ve battled fear and anxiety and elation and bitterness and joy and gratefulness.

It’s important to me that people get it–how horrific and frightening that moment was when the impact came and the car spun and we opened our eyes in the middle of the interstate with traffic still bearing down.

Because without grasping the severity of that moment, you might miss the power.

I’ve been a Christian since I was nine years old. But I’m not sure I was a believer until I opened my eyes last Sunday afternoon.

That time my husband had a heart attack or our journey through our daughter’s illness–I knew God carried us through those events. But I didn’t feel protected, I felt challenged. Expected to step up and live my faith. Even then, I still believed I had some measure of control. If this, then this. There was a plan, even if it was one I never hoped to enact.

I had no plan for Sunday afternoon. We were supposed to make carnitas and play with Sarah’s kids and stay up too late on our last night together before real life started again. And in less than thirty seconds, my plans spun completely out of my control–and were cupped and held safe in the capable hands of a Heavenly Father.

On the accident report, the officer marks all areas of the car that are damaged. Only two small squares aren’t marked on Sarah’s car. One is on the driver’s side. The other is on the passenger’s.

People prayed for our safety that day as we traveled. How often do we utter those prayers and not hear their power? We were kept safe.

Why?

My life is certainly not worth more than yours or theirs or the others who lost their lives on that same day in what were surely similar circumstances.

All I know is we were saved. And the driver who hit us spared the guilt of leaving six children without mothers.

And all I know is I have been given a gift–and there is no greater purpose than giving it back to the One who only gives good.

motherhood · writing

Big Little Lies, Milestones Testing, and Trump

May 10, 2016 Lindsey P. Brackett6 Comments

That shirt just says it all. Most of the time this little one reminds me that my only job is to take care of her. She’s struggled a bit these past few weeks.

Sometimes I’m not really sure what I think about this world we’re living in. Sometimes I just want to take my kids to a farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere and finally own that granola tag a college professor gave me years ago. Sometimes I want to keep them home with me where the only fear is that I might lose my mind if they fight one more time over a certain couch cushion.

Seriously, kids. There are FIVE cushions and FOUR of you.

But if I just retreat into our own little haven, I’d miss out on all the goodness that is interacting with live, three-dimensional people and telling my friend at the Farmer’s Market on Saturday, in between comparisons of kale types, about the latest book I read.

I’m supposed to be reading the Divergent series with my oldest, but we’ve both lost it on Allegiant and I’ve told her to stop because a) it’s just not that easy to follow and b) it’s definitely not appropriate for her. Line crossed. Instead I finished my book club read. We’re on a Liane Moriarty kick. So much so that we just had to make a rule that we wouldn’t read anymore of her books this year.

Big Little Lies was just perfect for this time of year and for this public school mama/former teacher who has had it up to here (picture hand over my head) with all the drama. We’ve never had a parent die at a school fundraiser (spoiler alert!) but if you want a good laugh at the caricatures of typical parents these days, read this book. It’s got a heavy, serious side as well and things are not always what they seem — for anyone.

I love, too, that it’s set in Australia and the glimpse into a different type of school system is fascinating. But you could pick it up and set in America, no problem. Just sprinkle in some labels determined by a test that ultimately means nothing.

No, he doesn’t have a concealed weapons license. And he’s a thief because that gun isn’t his. But a sweet boy said he could keep it.

Seriously. The kids and teachers did everything they were asked. My kids got a special snack and a cute saying everyday (“We’re CHEERing you on!” with the bag of Cheerios). We fed our teachers muffins, and said prayers for their sanity, and whispered among ourselves about whether or not we should organize an opt out movement that demonstrates disdain for this test yet shows support for our teachers.

And the state of Georgia can’t get it together so that the results are actually valid. Which just goes to prove our students and teachers are so much more than a test score. They’re volcano builders and story writers and stage actors and creative mathematicians. They’re kids who grow up to form their own opinions about the world and all it has to offer.

Sixth at state track in the 1600. She’s mad I posted this because she hates to be the center of attention. Guess politics aren’t in her future.

Of course, in America, what we have to offer now is Donald Trump.

I usually keep my political views to myself, especially since I don’t land solidly in any camp, and I’ve come to believe that my circle of influence doesn’t have to be large to be powerful. But I’m really not happy about this.

Thank goodness I don’t put all my hope in this world where we can tear each other down and forget to build one another back up. My hope lies in a place where we no longer believe the lies we tell ourselves, where we no longer measure our kids by their performance, where we no longer divide ourselves into two opposing camps of right and wrong.

And that’s a great big truth.

What are you reading lately? Did you kids take the test? And if you dare, feel free to talk politics, but I’d rather talk kale recipes.

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?

Uncategorized

3.1 Things I’ve Learned from #31Days

November 1, 2015 Lindsey P. Brackett1 Comment

c904b-mvc-100s — That’s my now 11 year old baby in the pumpkins her first Halloween. Time doesn’t fly, y’all. It sprints on ahead and dares you to keep up.

I truly love the #31days movement. Really, I do.

I just can’t do it.

I managed it (somehow!) in 2013. 31 posts in 31 days on one topic. I was proud of that effort. So maybe that’s why I just don’t have the heart for it here anymore. For one thing, this space for words competes with all my other spaces. Like the Splickety Publishing Group, where I get to edit really great stories and work with really great people. Or the short fiction world which has welcomed me so warmly already that I fear there’s a slew of rejection slips just waiting for my name. Or the hometown newspaper that puts my words in real ink and paper print every other Friday and makes me feel like a real writer every single time.

I love those places. Together with this place, they’ve helped me find my writer’s voice. And they’ve helped me define what I want my blog to be.

I want a writer’s space. An author’s page. A site with a little encouragement, a lot of thoughtfulness, and a dash of humor. This is my place to brand myself in a way that lets me still be myself–in whatever way I feel that day.

So what did I learn from #31days?

I don’t have the capacity to post everyday. Writing is emotionally draining and this month alone I’ve written (and had edited) two short stories, two newspaper columns, and all these posts. There are status updates and tweets and all that Slack convo with my fellow Splicketeers. I’ve edited eleven flash pieces and articles, led my Word Weavers group, and drafted new versions of my info pages. I have to remind myself of all these things because I need to realize it’s okay for my blog to not be updated more than twice a week. And that’s about all I’ve got.
I bore easily. I’ve always known this but it’s even more evident when I have to stick to one topic in my writing. This is probably also why I really like short stories. I get to write one theme, one way, and then move on to the next round of folks rattling around in my head.
Sometimes I would rather watch When Calls the Heart or Friday Night Lights or Friends than write. And that’s ok. Writers are readers, that’s true. I’ve read voraciously my whole life. But you’ll be hard pressed to find a writer who doesn’t also appreciate a well-written television show or movie. This month my girls and I have fallen in love with the love story of Jack and Elizabeth, I’ve learned a few football terms from Coach Taylor and embraced my inner Tami Taylor with a pair of boots, and when I’ve needed a laugh, Central Perk has always been the place to be. The point is, when I indulge in the stories of someone else, I actually become a better writer.

and that .1? I really like reading other people’s posts. My favorite for this season of my life? Jessie Kirkland’s How to Snag an Agent. Real, timely advice for aspiring writers.

November crept in this morning. Here Sunday dawned drizzly gray, and a new challenge–the infamous National Novel Writing Month–buzzed through my social media feeds. I might be there, but I promise I’ll be back here with snippets of our days and in pursuit of my quest to Just Write Life.

31 Days: Fear

Overcoming the Fear of Not Good Enough: 31 Days

October 22, 2015October 22, 2015 Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I have this problem. Maybe you have it too?

I sometimes say yes to things because I fear no one else will. And because everyone is looking at me. Sometimes I say yes because I want to direct that play or write that post or read that book, but I don’t consider if I’m really ready to handle that situation in my current life.

Then I realize–I’m in way over my head and I’m not equipped to do this thing. Whatever it may be.

That happened when I took the position as MOPS coordinator for our local chapter three years ago. I had a new baby, had been staying home a year, had served already on the leadership team, was the only member of the sponsor church left on the team…of course I would lead this group because I needed it so badly in my own life.

It’s really hard to serve when you want to be served yourself. Just so you know. And I kept being told that God equips the called, rather than calling the equipped. While I do believe that, I also believe that sometimes God is shaking his head when I’m nodding mine.

I can look back on those two years of leadership now and see God’s hand. That he let me be a bridge leader that helped the group transition to the amazing ministry it is now–and not that it wasn’t great then. But He let me lead during a crisis time when everything felt unsettled and He let me see that even when I know I’m not equipped, He is. So he gave me people on my team who buoyed me up, met my soul-hungry needs for spiritual support, and helped me find where my gift truly lies.

It’s not leadership.

And I can be okay with “not being good enough” at that because I’ve found where my spirit truly quickens.

I am a writer.

Saying those words took a lot of over coming that big not-good-enough lie too.

I haven’t published enough.

I don’t have enough followers.

I can’t understand all the lingo.

No one’s really paying me to do this.

But I’m doing it. I’m saying it. I’m claiming it.

I’m believing that I am good enough for whatever I may be called to do with this gift. And I’m learning everyday that I can do more than I ever imagined.

I’d encourage you to ask yourself–is it that you feel “not good enough”? Or is the true wrestle in your soul coming from the feeling that you’re not where you’re supposed to be?

Because when we let ourselves be planted where our roots can grow deepest, that’s when we become strong and spread ourselves wide–

and are always good enough.