Monthly Archives

October 2017

Family, Friendship, Gifts, Grace, Hope, Laughter, Love, Prayer, Renewed

Friendship – The Real Stuff

For the times in life where I have struggled to catch my breath, friendship has served as my inhaler. Stressed? Better call the besties, because friendship can literally breathe life back into a weary soul.

Learning how to breathe is in direct response to calming my spirit. Calming my spirit is in direct response to letting things go, and accepting that there are just some things I cannot control. Who wants to live like a fish out of water, not knowing where their next breath is coming from? This is called anxiety – the feeling of standing on unstable ground. During these shaky moments is when we reach for support.

Recently, our family went through a true crisis. I sent a text out to my friends asking for prayers and advice. They recognized that I was at my capacity for handling the situation, my spirit was stretched and about to bust. What friendship did in that moment, is show up. Showing up isn’t always literal, but it is always emotional. Sometimes it’s driving two hours to sit with you at the hospital, a phone call, a simple text checking on you or a funny meme to lighten your mood. Friendship is the scaffolding that supports and holds us up during the rough patches.

A gathering of friends for my 30th birthday…just a few months ago. Or 9 years. Same.

We were made to represent the love of God for our people here on earth, that each person we journey with may have a deeper understanding of God’s love for them. It has been said that we are all just walking each other home. I couldn’t love that thought more, healthy relationships remind us of the goodness of God, by bringing more divine into our lives.

Friendship can never be authentic unless you are honest and vulnerable. True friendship is the real stuff – not the artificial sweetener that attempts to taste like the real stuff. True friendship is the pure cane sugar of life -messy calories and all. When you find that tribe member, the building of a friendship begins. Growing up, I never had a clubhouse, but this is how I picture the home of friendship. When one shares something vulnerable, it’s as if she is handing you a brick to add to the building of the clubhouse. You, in return, share or confide by handing her a stone to build on. This goes on, in no specific time frame or rhythm, and one day you look up and realize your clubhouse is built. It’s not a perfect clubhouse made of one single material or straight lines, but it is beautiful. It is a place for both parties to be nourished under the shelter of friendship.

When one shows up for another, it’s like having a decorating meeting inside your well-loved clubhouse. Pitchers in hand, ready to pour into whichever soul needs it at the moment. If you look for fault in your friends, you will find it. We are all human. But if you continue to only look for the lovely, that’s what you will see. If one can’t be there today, be thankful for the one who is. They all have their own purpose in your life. Your friendships will show up in all different ways, like a gorgeous rainbow.

There are few things better than a can’t-catch-your-breath-laugh with girlfriends. Recently a group of us drove south to hear a beloved author, Jen Hatmaker, speak at the Austin Bass Concert Hall. Afterwards, we walked outside to wait on our requested Uber. We stood out front, waiting on Thor, chatting about where we should eat dinner. I glanced up and saw Jen Hatmaker herself walking out of the building with her entourage, I really wanted to run and tell her specifically what her writing has meant to me, then I remembered the chapter called “Fangirl” in her latest book. She encourages us to fangirl Jesus and our friends instead of famous people who we don’t know. Inwardly, I rolled by eyes, whispered “fine”, and turned back to fangirl my gals.

Perfect timing, as a minivan pulled up, the driver got out and the automatic minivan doors opened. What service Thor, you have earned yourself a rating of Uber excellence young man. As Kristy and Patricia started to get in, the side door jammed while in auto mode, which caused a constant dreadful sound, kind of like a possum was stuck in it. All four of us looked through the car to the driver, who was standing by his door just staring at us. “Sir, what’s wrong with your door?” Blank stare. “SIR, can you come fix your door? Something is wrong with it.” At one point, Marlo pushed through the other two and started trying to shove it open while saying through clenched teeth, “Oh. I. got. this!” – a word for each shove. Resolved that we weren’t climbing in on that side, we all went to the drivers side, got in and was buckling up when a random lady came over and said, “What have y’all done to the door?” Not knowing who she was or what business she had in our night, we stuck to the Stranger-Danger rule and ignored her, continuing about the task of getting into our Uber. Stranger-Danger-Lady wouldn’t give up with the questions though. Sweet Patricia just kindly smiled at her as the rest of us ignored her. She said something like, “This is my car.”, Ugh, lady…go away. In really slow talk so she would understand and quit asking questions, we replied, “No ma’am, this is our Uber, Thor is our driver.” Done with the shenanigans she yelled, “THIS IS MY *&$%ing CAR and you broke my door!” She was further thrilled when we sat there staring at her, as the situation took some time to soak in. The situation of mistaking the valet guy for Thor, our Uber driver. No wonder the Thor (who wasn’t Thor) just stared at us without words when we ask him to please fix his door. Just as we climbed into the poor sailor-mouth-lady’s car, we piled back out. Back out into the rain to once again, to wait for our Uber – in the Valet line.

To be clear – the next car we got into was the correct one – Cliff’s car. Which sounds a lot like Thor…

Send kindness out in big, generous waves, send it near and far, send it through texts and e-mails and calls and words and hugs, send it by showing up, send it by proximity, send it in casseroles, send it with a well-timed “me too”, send it with abandon. Put out exactly what you hope to draw in, and expect it back in kind and in equal measure. Sow seeds of affirmation and goodness and grace into others, and you will reap the devotion of well-loved friends.” Jen Hatmaker – Of Mess and Moxie

Put simply – it takes being a friend to have a friend. I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum. My first years into adulthood were some of the loneliest. I was in a growth gap, past who I was and not yet grown into who I was becoming. I don’t like the thought of growing out of a friendship, I’d rather be grateful for the season that we had it. Not all relationships will make the duration of your journey, some are just meant for a season.

Pay attention to those who show up in big and little ways. Pay attention to those who support you, who defend you, who encourage you to rise above and be better in this moment. Surround yourself with honest and loyal people, those who know when to push you and when to encourage you to pivot. Nurture your friendships, show up for your people, love on your tribe, and preserve that beloved clubhouse – it can always use another brick or decoration. We cannot do life alone, we were made to connect.

Life is brutal and life is beautiful. The brutal doesn’t break us because the beautiful sustains us.”

October 30, 2017 by texturedsoul

Character, Clothing, Courage, Fashion, Gifts, Grace, Laughter, Lessons

Clothed in Congeniality

I’ve been shopping all of my life and I have nothing to wear…

Growing up in a middle-class family with two little sisters didn’t allow for many frivolous shopping sprees. We didn’t need for anything, but we could always selfishly find a want for more clothes. I always looked forward to new outfits for our church conventions in the summer and a few at Christmas time.

The Christmas that I was in 7^th grade, my precious grandmother made all of her granddaughters a sweatshirt. These weren’t just regular threads. Allow me to walk you through this fashion statement, so you can fully understand the beauty of it. My sweatshirt was deep purple, on the front there was a vine made from a thin, green ribbon, with a line sewn down the middle to create ruffled edges. On the vine were different colors of pink flowers, made from ribbon as well. These were special flowers as they were VELCROED on. Yes ma’am, no foolery here. I had the option of pulling a blush-pink flower off the vine on my shoulder, and trading places with the bashful-pink flower on my stomach, or the hot-pink flower on the other shoulder. The front was beautifully covered with floral goodness. I could not wait for Christmas break to be over, so I could wear it to school.

Seventh grade is so awkward. I don’t have to explain this to you, as it is a fact of life. My middle school years were a tad more cumbersome. Due to our religious beliefs, I wore skirts every day for modesty. Middle school is not the place you want to be different, but it grew my character and created a funny bone. The first day back to school, I woke up early and couldn’t wait to get dressed. You know that feeling of assurance – your day will be good because your outfit is rocking. I clothed myself in a long, blue jean skirt, penny loafers, and my new 3-D floral sweatshirt. Boom. Watch out world.

Throughout the day I discovered my flowers were a tad difficult to stay on the Velcro vine, so I adjusted how I carried my books – normally tucked to my chest, now held at my side with one arm. Whatever, change is good. After lunch, I was walking down the hall and heard, “Hey! Hey girl in purple! Hey…Girl that wears skirts! Skirt girl!” I finally realized it was me they were yelling at, and turned around to see the most popular 8^th grade boy, who every girl had a crush on. Hoping he had a glass slipper for me to try on, I answered, “Yes?”

“One of your flowers is in Hallway A.”, he said, then turned on his heel and walked into the lunch room. I looked down and sure enough, one of my floral buds had fallen off, leaving a white square of Velcro showing. I never wore the sweatshirt to school again. I decided in that moment to aim for Miss Congeniality and focus on having a good personality. I couldn’t control my looks and clothing. My personality and ability to let things roll off, would serve me better. While you can’t control your outer life, we can always control our inner self.

Cut to adulthood – I still believe and operate on those principles, and I also love clothes and fashion. Like, I could marry them.

Hubs and I were getting dressed to go out the other night and he joked, “Hey, let’s pick each other’s clothes out.” Then we both roared with laughter at the thought of it. He laughed because he made a funny. I laughed to cover my horror at the mental vision of walking out of my closet, clothed in threads chosen by my groom. Flashbacks of middle school made me shutter. Here is where I emphasize that it is healthy for love to have boundaries. Clear lines.

It’s no secret that I love to travel, yet hate to pack. Partly because I need to bring it all. Or at least a couple of choices for each day, as I don’t know what mood I’ll be in upon awaking. Somedays I feel like being Sporty Spice. Others, I can’t wait to be all fancy and stoic like Posh. Most times I would welcome imitating Baby Spice by staying in my pajamas, aka “yoga pants” all day. Bottom line, I don’t know what I really, really want, until waking up and checking the pulse of my day.

You can imagine how sad I would feel if I brought the outfit for Sporty Spice, and Ginger Spice showed up that day for dressing. Awkward. I’m making it sound like I have a plethora of outfits to choose from when in actuality, my style walks a pretty basic line. My friend Jessica refers to it as “classic”, when I’m almost positive she means boring. But once she compared my style to Jennifer Aniston, so I forgive her.

At one time, I clearly had too much time on my hands and stitched a favorite quote for my closet. “I like my money where I can see it, hanging in my closet.” Perhaps it was a warning label, framed for my husband. “This girl does and will buy clothes, think of it as an investment, with a return of happiness.” Here are a few things I like to have in my closet to make me feel warm and safe:

White/neutral shirts. I don’t care if it’s a t-shirt or a blouse. I am like Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory. He felt compelled to buy the book ‘Catcher in the Rye’, over and over. I have the same pull to white tops. I breathe easier with an assortment. This also applies to blue jean shirts, one simply cannot have too many.
A good pair of comfy jeans. I mainly wear Seven for all Mankind, because they fit me well. Also, to avoid the mental agony of going to try on another brand that may or may not love my shape. Dance with the one that brought you. Side note – 7 for all Mankind’s website always has a 40% off sale at the end of the season. Be patient friend. This ensures you won’t have guilt for buying two pairs. If you are local, run to Mainstream Boutique and grab you a pair of Mac and Me jeans. They are cute, trendy jeans with a secret, inside waist band of ELASTIC. No one wants to admit they are throwing in the towel and going straight stretchy pants, but if we can secretly do it? Yes please.
Platform wedges. Everyone in our house is now taller than me. They love reminding me of this, and I play the game only because it makes them happy. I’ve never wanted to be any other height than I am. Truthfully, I’ve never paid attention to height until I had teenage boys. I wear wedges because I like the look of them on my particular legs. Never to be taller. Own your inches ladies, no matter how many you have in each direction. The elderly ladies in the gym locker room remind me every time I’m getting dressed, “You won’t be able to wear those for much longer!” So, rock ’em while you can Sister-Lou.
Layering pieces. Which means light-weight sweaters or jackets in Texas. Even when it is hotter than heck outside, I freeze in the office. Layers speak love to me, it’s like hugging your body.
Fun accessories. This is where I will throw out the class and get crazy. Belts, jewelry, etc. The funkier, the better. It balances the boredom of a white shirt or all the neutrals that I wear.
“Movement clothes”, a phrase coined by my friend Casey. This basically means pajamas, but without the commitment of calling it that, just in case someone thinks you mean yoga or workout clothing. As soon as my feet enter the door of our home, I’m headed to my closet to change into movement clothes. I love comfort. I could never have a reality TV show, simply for the fact that I would never be dressed appropriately for the camera. They would have to ask me to get dressed daily, and I would reply with a deadpan stare and point to my surroundings. In our home, we wear movement clothes.

No matter what threads cover you, your outfit will go a lot further if you are clothed in congeniality. Even if it is attached to you with velcro, wear it proudly. Especially if it was stitched by your grandmother.

October 16, 2017 by texturedsoul

Character, Courage, Empathy, Family, Friendship, Grace, Hope, Lessons, Love, Uncategorized

Growing Bigger Souled

Life is made up of little moments, pieced together to create our whole journey. Slots of time filled with joy, sadness, and all the emotions in between. The hope is at the completion of our pilgrimage, there will be a balance of the light and dark, with more gladness than sorrow.

Years ago, we took a family trip to Cabo San Lucas with the boys, they were around seven and ten years old. We indulged in all the ridiculously expensive, touristy experiences; massages, swimming with the dolphins, parasailing, shopping, deep sea fishing, beach days, etc. One night we treated ourselves to a big family dinner at a fun restaurant – right on the beach in Cabo, where the tables are literally set up on the sand. As we were laughing breezily and stuffing our faces, a few locals on the beach quietly attempted to get our attention and sell us their goods.

One young boy and his sister looked to be about the same age as our boys. He came up holding a bundle of colorful bracelets, offering to personalize them with names woven into them. Looking at him, I wondered how it was that my boys ended up as the ones on vacation and he was a local, peddling homemade jewelry. It made me sad, sometimes I just don’t understand this life. I performed the cheesy tourist role – acting as if I couldn’t decide which beauty to choose, so I mentally counted the kiddos in our neighborhood and told him that was how many bracelets I needed. I took him up on his offer to weave Mason and McCray’s names into their bracelets. While he and his older sister sat in the sand to craft our jewelry, McCray couldn’t keep from watching them. At one point, he looked up at me with eyes full of sencerity and said, “Mom, even if his jewelry wasn’t as beautiful as it is, would you still buy it?”

I replied yes. He nodded, looked back at the boy and quietly said, “I would to.”

I will never forget the look on his face that night. His little mind recognizing that they weren’t that different and his little heart not understanding the unfairness of the situation. They were the same age, yet a country apart in their life experiences. McCray has always been my sensitive thinker who seems to feel things deeper than most. The boy selling jewelry could have been as happy as a clam with his life, but that encounter was used for a gentle teaching moment in my son’s journey. That evening, with our feet in the sand and our bellies full, he learned what compassion and empathy feel like.

When empathy is present, apathy cannot exist.” Jessica Honegger

We are not all that different. Don’t we all have the same core needs? What if we could just lean in to those we don’t understand, our neighbors who are experiencing life different from us? What if we could stop filling our lives with the perfect moments, situations, etc – and leave some margin to lean in and meet some of the needs that are right in front of us? Empathy can fill in a lot of gaps. Sister Joan Chittister tells us that “We are either growing or collapsing at every moment. We are becoming bigger souled or smaller souled at every moment.” Every single minute – not one wasted. She believes that the purpose of a human experience is to grow into God. To go beyond religion and become a prayer, by becoming a filter that sees our Creator in everything.

B-e-a-utiful. Oh, to live a kind of life where we see the Divine in everything. To grow bigger souled in each moment. We will slip occasionally, as we are human. Yet, we have an opportunity in every moment to grow, to lean in, to work at understanding and loving those who we deem different than us. We are not as different as it sometimes feels. Jesus was the greatest teacher of this, as he was always expanding his table to accommodate more hearts. We all have the same underground river running beneath our feet, the water of grace. Reach down and splash some on your neighbor.

A sweet memory in Cabo with my M&M boys

October 9, 2017 by texturedsoul

Family, Lessons, Love, Parenting, Prayer

The Endless Titles of Parenthood

Actual conversation in my house this morning. Before caffeine or centering prayer.

Child who lives here, “MOM! Someone took my short, black socks that were tucked inside my shoes.”

Mom-trying-to-wake-up-and-channel-the-patience-of-Jesus, “Like who? Which shoes? When?”

Child, “I dunno, but they were there, and someone took them.”

Mom, “Bud, no one else wears those type of socks. I highly doubt someone broke into our house this morning, while you were brushing your teeth, to steal your coveted socks. Go look in your drawer or the pile of clean laundry on the couch.”

While throwing clean clothes all around the couch, “Nope, they aren’t here. Someone took them.”

Child finds another pair of short, black socks and heads to school. Twenty minutes later, mom finds the socks on the kitchen table, where he left them. Text a photo to the child of irritation, for him reply, “What are those?” At that moment I was just thankful he was at school, under the protection of his principal, as I wanted to gently wring the bones in his cute little neck.

Bless my soul. Bless your Momma soul, since I’m pretty sure this type of conversation happened all over the globe this glorious morning. Today, I am completely over my bratty children. Tonight, I will gush over how precious they are. This is Motherhood- the real kind, a perfect balance of adorable and frustrating. A combination of zealous, superhuman love for the darlings and a continuous prayer line of inquires, and the occasionally begging of patience. Parenting is a love so big that it requires the grounding of both feet just to manage it.

My darlings refer to me by several names; Mom, Momma, Mother Dear, Madre, and Brooke. I don’t particularly care what they call me, just as long as I get to hear their sweet voices. And that it is respectful, let’s be clear. Momma’s not raising thugs. I don’t necessarily need one politically correct title, this job is too important to be limited to one name.

I think God feels the same. Father, Abba, Most High, Highest Power, Yaheweh, Jehovah, the Alpha & Omega, and so many more. I think God would rather have our hearts reach for Him, than to have us tangled up in the specifics and rules. God is into simplicity, and is too big to be packaged in just one name. I don’t believe He cares which name from the list that we use, just as long as we call him.

I use Creator a lot, the thought of the Divine creating me to be exactly Autumn Brooke, is soothing to my heart. On hard days, it’s also restoring to my soul. I won’t pretend to understand the adult acne added into the package, but whatever.

A few years ago, my mind was flooded with uncertainty and questions. This doubt was so unsettling that I drove two hours north to discuss it with the pastor from our “home” church. I loved belonging to that church, something about entering those doors brought me a wave of peace.

I recently found the list of questions I took to the pastor. Not that it was missing, as I’ve kept that paper tucked in my bible bag since that meeting. The list resembles questions that perhaps a kindergartener might ask. I got down to the basics and worked my way up. He patiently answered my queries, never making me feel guilty for my doubt. One answer he gave calmed my qualms and infused my faith, “I don’t know, but I’m kinda glad I can’t fully explain God and his mysteries.” He went on to explain if God was a force that could be explained completely, then we would be able to put him in a box. If we could understand everything about Him then we would know as much or more than He does. Who wants to learn from someone that knows less than you do? Who wants a Creator who can be bottled like a genie?

Not this girl. As much as I loved dreaming of Jeannie and her master, I want a larger, most divine Master Designer. With this in mind, I think I’m okay with not having all the answers. I’m content being a small part of this grand plan. Even on the days that I collect more questions than answers, I believe that God is okay with my questions, frustrations, and sorrows. Even my anger. I’ve even been known to throw up a prayer asking Him to please help me find my lost keys (aka short, black socks). He is gracious enough answer without an eye roll, and will gently lead me to exactly where I left them. Usually in the car.

He can handle it. Because I am conversing with Him. Talking and listening, giving and receiving. It’s a relationship. He can handle our words and labels, as long as He gets to hear our sweet voices and have our hearts. Call Him what you will, just call Him beloved.

October 2, 2017 by texturedsoul