Let’s enter into the holidays this season with a lighter step and maybe even a little extra cash in our pockets. There’s only one thing you need to do: Strategize.
Already some of you are cringing. But really, just a tiny bit of strategic thinking can make EVERY part of your holidays more enjoyable.
Come on. Let’s give it a shot. Obviously, there are countless way to prepare for the holidays. I’ve narrowed it down to these five . . .
This year I’ve put together a list, and it’s already made my trips to the shopping mall or across the Internet more fun, because I at least know who I am buying for. (And do not tell me you’ve never gone to the mall knowing you had to buy gifts but not having ANY idea what you were getting or who you were buying for.) This also can dramatically help you keep a budget and manage your time.
BONUS TIP: When you see that you can buy similar or the same things for different people, do it. You’ll usually save on shipping at least, and often there are discounts, such as “buy one, get one 50% off.”
You also don’t need to go crazy and pick up all new Christmas décor you see, either. You may be surprised at how little you really need to give your home that festive touch: candles (particularly white); evergreen branches from outside or from the neighborhood tree lot placed in large vases or along table runners; large cream-colored ribbons (or gold or silver) wrapped around pictures to look like gifts. And why not add a few little ornaments to your plants around the house or twinkly lights?
BONUS TIP: One of the easiest ways to bring the holidays to your house is with a festive smell. Around this time of year, I trade out all my regular candles and hand soaps and dish soaps for an evergreen fragrance. (Though peppermint or cinnamon work too.)
BONUS TIP: Because December tends to get busier, when you can, opt out of those normal activities to make space for the once-a-year events you don’t want to miss. It helps you—and those around you—from getting burned out and too tired to enjoy anything.
BONUS TIP: If you can, designate two outfits per special event, so you have some flexibility. This takes out one little stressor that can wreak havoc on the gatherings. It also alerts you that if you indeed need to go buy a new long skirt or boots to jazz up what you already have, you can do that now, while they still have your size.
BONUS TIP: I have found it valuable over the years to sometimes send out a “New Year’s” card to give me those few extra critical days to get the cards mailed. And some have even resorted to sending out a Valentine’s greeting to not have to add that to their already-busy December schedule.
Even if you only take one of these strategies to kick off the holiday season, you will gain a little extra time, money, and maybe even a quiet night or two on the couch.
Happy days ahead. Let’s do this.
]]>But as the days tick by, the priority of the card has taken a back seat—the way, way back seat. So here’s a handy little list to get those cards bought, written, and sent out the door before Valentine’s Day.
If you have a hard time enjoying this piece of it, turn it into a mini-party: grab your favorite drink and snack, throw on a holiday movie or Christmas music, find some lovely pens to write with, and you are all set.
Wait. That’s it? Yes.
And if you get hung up on getting just the right holiday cards to fit you, check out the Creative Farm Girl Holiday Card unveiling, beginning September 27, and running all week long. You’ll find peaceful candles, the loveliest Christmas trees, and merry cows. Obviously.
Is there a deal coming? Of course. I will be running a too-good-to-pass-up deal on all holiday cards for one day—Tuesday, October 5 (my dear mom’s birthday). After all, she was the one who instilled in me this crazy love for sending out cards each season. Details on the deal coming next week . . . .
Until then, enjoy your pumpkins and falling leaves (and the very first Christmas card the Creative Farm Girl was a part of).
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However, all those seeds of creativity will not grow on their own. They need to be nurtured, cared for, and especially, practiced.
Creativity comes in almost as many different ways as there are people. Some of my favorite friends in the business world don’t own a colored marker or pencil in their homes, but their problem-solving skills are outside of any kind of package you’d find in business school.
That’s creativity. It doesn’t fit in a box, including the one where we tend to stick all the musicians, artists, and writers.
I recently reconnected with a friend who embraces yet another unique spin on creativity—relationships. Janny (pronounced Yani) is starting her own business at 50 and is a natural coach. She’s recently been professionally trained and certified to work with those in the ministry, as well as those experiencing transitions of any kind.
As we discussed the idea of creativity in relationships, Janny said that she loves delving into conversation with people and figuring out how best to connect with them. Each relationship is a new opportunity to build and grow deeper as humans, both individually and corporately.
Where does your creativity lie? Could it use a little practicing? Next week I’ll be discussing how you can nurture those little seeds of creativity in a real and intentional way.
Until next time, keep on, dear people.
(If you are interested in finding out more about Janny’s innovative coaching techniques, go here: Frank 'n Sense (franknsense.co).)
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It’s alive, but stagnant. Sound familiar?
If you have found yourself in a season of not-growing, consider these signs:
If you are ready to pull yourself out of this season—and most of us go through times like this at some point—here are thoughts on how you can re-pot yourself to get not only growing, but thriving.
When was the last time you questioned your motives politically, emotionally, or spiritually? Do you believe what you do, because you are constantly seeking? Or did you land on what you believe several years ago and have been cruising since then?
When plants need to be replanted, their roots are often balled up and tangled. In order to start growing again, the roots of the plant need to be loosened and some of the old dirt shaken off. Hmm. Sounds like a people thing too.
Action tip: Read a book that differs in your own belief system. The point is not to create a whole new set of beliefs, but rather to remember WHY you believe what you do.
If the idea of trying a different work out, or eating a different breakfast, or meeting a new person, makes you want to head straight to bed until autumn, you may benefit from changing up your day-to-day schedule.
I do love routines, and they help me stay motivated and productive. However, if we are manipulated by what “we have always done” with no room for flexibility, you may be keeping yourself from growing.
Even when a plant is repotted, it’s important to add new soil to give the plant fresh nutrients it has been missing out on.
Action tip: As you go through your day, pay attention to details of what you are doing. This alone may spur on some new ideas for you to experiment with. If you spend much of your day alone, find a new person to meet (he or she may be as close as next door). On the other hand, if your days are filled with people and appointments, make a point to squeeze in one more meeting—with yourself.
When a plant is first repotted, it needs a little extra water and nutrients—same with people. While we all need at least a little change in order to grow, some of us do everything we can to avoid it. If you are one of those folks, be gentle with yourself. Take your time.
I know my little olive plant that has now been repotted is not going to become a willowy tree overnight. Nor should we expect ourselves to grow so quickly. It will be spending its time outside in the sunshine, while its roots now have a whole lot more room to spread and explore.
Now it’s your turn. Shake the old dirt off your roots, mix some new nutrients into your soil, consistently water, and patiently wait for the magic to happen. Time to grow, friends.
]]>This is quite an accomplishment for the Creative Farm Girl. (Though I admit I still have my share of faux foliage scattered around my house. Okay, and I have a couple fake ones outside, too.)
Now that I’ve finally managed to see some beautiful real plants not die under my care, I’ve come across a new problem.
They’ve stopped growing.
So, while they still enjoy the filtered light and regular water and keep their healthy green shade, their branches have not spread. I discovered that once a plant has outgrown its pot, it won’t grow anymore, so it stays in this state of alive-but-not-growing.
For a farm girl who has managed to kill practically every plant she’s ever had, the idea of replanting is terrifying. However. Being alive and not growing is rather terrifying, too, whether you're a plant or a person.
For those of us who are people, we may need to make a shift in the way we look at life. Or get out of our way-too-comfortable space and become a little uncomfortable. How do you know if it’s time to separate those balled-up roots clinging to our cramped pots and relocate to bigger quarters?
A few possible signs it may be time:
You think you might be ready for a bigger pot? Tune in next week for exactly HOW we can do that.
]]>I’d like to say comparing ourselves to others is the downfall of humanity, but that could be a bit of an overstatement.
Is it, though? (Eve and her hub became enticed by something someone else had and they thought they could become like God with it. "Come on, Adam, I want to be smart like that snake." )
I will never forget decades ago when Dear Husband said he could never be a composer because there were so many great musicians already. And yes, I had to agree, there were (and are) thousands of amazing musicians past and present in our world. BUT there are no composers like him. That is when I first realized how debilitating comparing ourselves could be.
And then I came across another awful repercussion from comparison: What if we strived only to be “better” than the person next to us? We would only try to be one step ahead of “the competition,” and thus may never realize our full potential.
Doesn’t that scare you?
It scares me.
I don’t care if you are a writer or an artist or a runner or a teacher or a magician or a cook or a candlestick maker, none of us should think that being better than whatever is out there right now is the best we can be.
As long as we are focused on “the competition” of this world, we won’t be able to envision where we could be headed.
My older son Drew was a runner throughout high school. He began running the summer he became a freshman. I was mortified for him because I saw these older runners who had so much speed and endurance and perseverance. How could Drew compete with these kids?
But as the season unfolded, I understood. Drew never compared himself against others. However, he worked endlessly competing against the only one who mattered—himself. When he raced, he was racing against that last PR he made. (For all of you non-athletes out there, a PR is a Personal Record.)
I adore PRs.
Because it is through achieving a PR, we can reach for that next PR, and before we know it, we may be dancing (or running) among the stars.
Michelangelo says it way better than I can (damn, I just compared myself to Michelangelo). He says:
Keep striving, my friends. Beyond the mountains, higher than the clouds . . . . let’s reach for that bright shining star, the one and only one with your name on it.
(Hey. Do you know someone who could benefit from these words? It's easy to share--just click the Facebook button below.)
]]>If you are new to this idea, let this sink in: You, me, all of us, were born with creativity in our DNA. As we grew, some of us were encouraged in our creativity, and others were not, so it was squashed down underneath a bunch of other stuff. And so now you think you aren’t creative.
Bah.
Not to mention, you get paralyzed at the idea of pulling out paints and a canvas or trying out for a play or cooking fun and nutritious meals from scratch.
Where then do you start? What’s the very VERY first step in getting creativity in your life?
That’s it. You don’t have to go audition for the next community play you see. First, go to the theatre and WATCH a play. Does it inspire you to see another play? Or a musical? The more plays you see, the better idea you will have on what you would enjoy performing in—a full-on comedy, a murder mystery, or even an improv. (And if you haven't experienced any of the countless ways artists are creating theatre on-line, check it out. Artists never stop creating; they simply find different outlets.)
Someone who has not read many, many books should never attempt to write one. I’ve heard several pros in the book industry say you should read at least a couple hundred titles of the genre that you want to write—before you write. It’s certainly good to write continuously as you learn and prepare, but don’t tackle your lifelong goal before you’ve even practiced at it.
So go to museums and art galleries, stroll around botanical gardens, eat at unusual restaurants, read stories that excite you, and definitely invest in theater tickets (as they begin to open up!).
I created this cartoon after visiting Florence, Italy. Museums inspire! (This was actually based on a real family where the mom was yelling at her boys for not appreciating the art. I thought that was funny. And I loved watching the husband.)
Experience as much creativity around you as you can. And before you know it, your very own creativity will begin to flow.
(Share this with someone who needs to be reminded of their creativity today.)
]]>I believe it is a mulberry tree, and its leaves also serve as the goats' favorite treat. That is, when it has leaves.
The first year we lived in this house, Darling Husband and Tate climbed the tree to cut its thin branches. After Husband almost sliced off Tate’s left arm, we decided the professionals would take over.
This is what it looks like when its bare.
I find it quite lovely. I have wondered how many years that tree had to go through its shedding and growing process before it was strong enough to hold this quite large tree house (with a door, window, and emergency exit slide).
For several weeks after its yearly trim, it looked dead. Nothing green to be seen.
And then suddenly--just like that--green buds sprouted all over the large tree. And within a short time, the tree was again covered in its springtime jacket.
But people don’t all work that quickly.
It may take months for a poet to write the poem that represents his exact emotions. It may take a few years for a writer to get that book manuscript published. It may take many years for that actor to move from ensemble to leading roles. It may take many, MANY years for the artist to hone her art into something marketable. The creative process can not be rushed, though if it is to grow, it must be nurtured.
This majestic mulberry tree was once a long, long time ago, a few twigs and green sprigs.
And so when I see fellow creators get frustrated when they are not where they want to be in their art, I think of my mulberry tree and how many years its owner must have cut its branches and watched the leaves return, until it was finally—FINALLY—large enough to hold something as magnificent as a tree house.
So I remind myself--and you, dear readers--to keep trimming those extra branches and keep nurturing those green leaves. It may take several of those cycles until you are strong enough to build your own tree house, but keep working at it.
Keep on. Keep on. Keep on.
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I still say it was the best job I ever had.
Today, as I pulled out my little battery-operated mower (yes, we Californians mow year round), I thought back to my days at the City of Loveland Golf Course. We greenskeepers had to be out on the course with our motors revving before the sun rose, to mow off the dew for the earliest golfers. Usually one of us took the front nine, while the other took the back nine, to get everything done before it was too crowded. Otherwise, we ended up “playing” dodge the golf balls (does anyone really need to be playing golf before 8 a.m.)?
As I finished up mowing my yard today, I realized that I will always find great satisfaction in a freshly-cut lawn (particularly when it's cut by me).
(This is my "before" picture, and while I do think it is quite lovely, it's not quite as lovely as a freshly trimmed yard.)
In my book publishing days, there was very little gratification in one day’s work. Seeing a book from its concept to its hard copy form took months, if not a couple years. By the time a book was completed, I was so immersed in the next ten projects, I never gave any individual project much thought.
When I transitioned into children’s ministry, that too, was not so much a job of accomplishments, but more a job to invest for future accomplishments, many of which I wouldn’t see.
But, all those years ago, every single morning when I finished mowing the greens, I could enjoy a job completed. And it was satisfying.
Most jobs are not made for instant gratification, though. They are made up of sweat and long nights and too many hours of hard work to keep track. If you find yourself caught up in work or a long-term project or a goal that is wearing you down and out, you need to do one thing: Mow your lawn.
(I seriously think I just heard a moan.)
Let me rephrase that. Do an activity that you can see to the end in a matter of an hour or so. Make lemonade from scratch. Organize your sock drawer. Write a letter to a friend. Clean out a garden bed.
Then, ENJOY your accomplishment for that day. Relish it.
And tomorrow get back to work on the one that makes you sweat.
]]>My first inclination is to hammer in the importance of showing love to strangers—kind words, a smile (oh, what a genuine smile can do for someone!), a small act.
But as I mull over this most important idea, I think that some of us might first need to actually practice love in our own homes, with our dearest friends and closest family.
I know I do.
]]>Last time I talked about the importance of practice. The practice of practice, so to speak.
Have you all found something to be practicing at? If not, here’s one suggestion—one of the few things that every single one of us can do with our whole hearts.
Practice love. . . as in practice loving other people.
My first inclination is to hammer in the importance of showing love to strangers—kind words, a smile (oh, what a genuine smile can do for someone!), a small act.
But as I mull over this most important idea, I think that some of us might first need to actually practice love in our own homes, with our dearest friends and closest family.
I know I do.
Practice love with patience, kindness, protection, trust, hope, and perseverance. Practicing love is not envious, is not proud, is never dishonoring or self-seeking, is not easily angered, and it doesn’t keep track of who is right (paraphrased from 1 Corinthians 13:4-7).
And yes, I suppose that means I really shouldn't keep track of how many times in a row I'm the one to empty the dishwasher.
And if I can show love to my teenage son (who does not like hugs and kisses from his mama) by folding his T-shirts for him, I suppose I can do that occasionally, as well.
Practice love. Work to improve at loving those near to you and those not so near. Practice love because it’s fun. Practice love because you could change someone’s life.
And before you know it, so much love will be pouring out of you, you'll have to clean the kitchen floor.
]]>Growing up, I used to hear “practice makes perfect.” I thought it was dumb.
I still do.
How can anyone reach perfection in anything? To say that if you practice you will reach perfection suggests there will be a time when you can stop practicing. But to incorporate practice into your life regularly is sort of like deciding to eat mostly good-for-you foods most of the time. It's a way of living, not a short term project. Whether we have athletic dreams or creative aspirations or even financial goals, we all must set our minds to the idea of practicing for a lifetime.
Practice to improve yourself.
Practice to learn a skill.
Practice because it’s fun.
Almost everything we do can be looked at as an exercise in practice. (I would like to exclude laundry here and put it under a different category. However, I see how my middle sister has practiced this and has turned it into a beautiful-smelling, wrinkle-free art.)
Let’s look at the opposite of practice. Neither the thesaurus or dictionary stated its antonym, but to me, it is stagnancy.
stagnant: verb
1 a. not flowing in a current b. stale
2 not advancing or developing
Yep. That about sums it up. If you aren’t practicing, you are becoming stagnant, stale—dry bread, smelly pond, you get the picture.
I wish I could say that practice gets easier, but I don't think it does. Think of an endless set of stairs. At first it is hard because you are out of shape and out of breath, but as you develop stamina, the physical part gets easier. Then, the mental challenge kicks in and you begin to develop the perseverance to just. Keep. At. It. We are all pretty good at finding reasons to stop. Take a break, yes; temporary rests are needed. But stopping completely creates stagnancy. (Phew, and that smells.)
Next time here at the Creative Farm Girl we will talk about the MOST important thing we can practice. (And I will give you a hint: It’s not creativity—though I’d absolutely put it in the top 3.)
]]>Almost a year ago, I became the proud owner of two rescue goats. Their owner was a wonderful lady who loved them desperately, but just couldn’t give them the time and attention she wanted to. Five months later, I found two more goats that needed homes—babies, this time.
So I guess I’ve officially earned my title “The Creative FARM Girl.”
As I’ve moved from Non-Goat Person to a Fond-of-Goats Person (I’m hoping to not move into Crazy Goat Lady status, but I’ll let you know), I have learned a few things along the way that Non-Goat People often ask me.
Dairy goats are not born to be dairy goats. A goat must actually carry a baby and give birth to have a milk supply—like people. I was a bit disappointed to discover this, as I’ve always wanted to make goat cheese. But now that I have to find a hook-up for my one female goat and potentially become a goat doula to deliver the baby kids, well, I will remain content with my little supply of goat cheese from Trader Joe’s.
No. I have Nigerian Dwarfs, which are not that dwarfish. I mean, they are small compared to a mountain goat, but they aren’t exactly the size of the pigmy goat—which make up 90% of the cute goat yoga classes and videos everyone sends me. And yes, my goal is to one day have a pair of pigmy goats, thus potentially sending me to Crazy Goat Lady status. But I will not ever do goat yoga with them. It’s just too weird.
Never buy a single goat (thus, the pair noted above). Goats are companion animals, and unless you want to welcome it into your house as YOUR companion--which I highly don’t recommend--please always buy your goats in pairs or even trios, if you are brave.
Goats are pickier eaters than you might think. While Atticus (my oldest male goat) has been known to eat books and plastic bags, he snubs most green vegetables, as well as apples, bananas, and bean sprouts. (Dear Husband loves trying new foods on him.)
While goats are extremely low maintenance to care for, they must have their hooves clipped regularly. And they don’t like it (which is not apparent by the “hooves clipping” You tube videos where the goats stand passively, allowing their owners to clip away and talk AND shoot decent video). All I can say is the first time I tried to clip their hooves, I was reminded of potty training my almost-three-year old Big Boy. He ran through the house naked for about four hours, peeing on everything he could, before I waved the white flag—or in this case, white diaper—in utter surrender.
Along with the questions above, the one biggest question I get is:
My first and most honest answer has been, “Because I think it would be fun.”
And it IS fun.
And believe me, I understand if you don’t think having goats would be fun, but I implore you to find something for yourself that you do because it’s fun. And for no other reason.
Find something that doesn’t just make you happy, but makes you heart-happy. And then, spread that happy around, because Heaven knows we could all use a little more fun and happy and goats to make the world a little better right now.
(Cue the goats and their baaahhhh-ing or maaahhhing or whatever that sound is.)
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April 20,2020
Being tucked away in our little cocoons has taught me many things, but one of the best things I’ve observed is that we humans love to celebrate. Nothing—not even a world virus pandemic—can stop us from celebrating each other and events that matter to us.
Take birthdays, for instance. Birthday drive-bys have become a thing. The “party” goers sit in their cars and sing happy birthday— and even toss out gifts and cards as they inch by. Horns honk and well wishes are shouted as the birthday person watches and waves, receiving all the love from an appropriate distance. One 89-year old I know celebrated her birthday this past weekend with her entire family—husband, four kids, their spouses, and the four grandkids, via that remarkable app called Zoom. (Where has that been all my life, by the way?)
In fact, I’d venture to say that celebrations have become an even bigger deal because we are all looking for something to celebrate.
Celebrations are beautiful. They mark important events. They create memories.
When I brought over a cake to the little 89-year old and left it at her front door, she called soon after to thank me. Her voice shaky, she said, “You make me feel so special.”
And THAT is another reason why we celebrate--to make people who matter in our lives feel special.
So as discussions continue about graduations and how to honor graduates and their achievements (regardless of grade), the emphasis needs to be on CELEBRATING their achievements, not just recognizing them. You would never have a wedding without a bride and a groom, nor should there be a graduation without at least the opportunity for the graduates to gather to celebrate at some point (ideally with teachers and parents, too).
How can YOU turn this time of “sheltering” into one of celebration? You don’t need a big reason. My family celebrated us all being home on a Saturday night by playing Seven-Card Stud, Man or Mouse, and other games that took my money.
So celebrate something. Every day. Any day. But most of all, today.
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The last two weeks, I traveled around the once-mighty country of Liberia. Visiting a young family who works with Water4, planting freshwater wells where needed, I was able to experience much of Monrovia, the capital of the country. We also spent a few days out in the bush, where the terrain is more tropical jungle, than African savannah.
Did you know that Liberia was once a prosperous, booming country? Of course, it had its issues, which probably began in the 1800s, when freed slaves from America were transplanted back to this African soil. The freed slaves took what they had learned from America and created their own caste system, by enslaving the natives there.
By the 1980s, the tension between the classes had grown so severe, fighting, then ultimately war broke out in 1989. This war lasted more than two decades, with a brief couple-year break from 1997-1999.
Now, almost 20 years later, most of Liberia, Monrovia in particular, still runs on the thinnest of threads and breathes in despair as its main source of oxygen.
Many of the people I saw never smiled, and it was clear that the mortality rate hovers in the mid-50s to early 60s. I wondered why so few people had wrinkles—it was because people don’t live that long in its deplorable environment. The health conditions are poor, poor, poor.
Nowhere did I see a more clear picture of despair than in the once-five star hotel and gem of Monrovia, the International Ducor Hotel. Perched high on a hill, today the Ducor is a constant reminder of how life once was, what it became, and what is now left.
When we arrived there my last morning in Monrovia, my friend bribed the security guard to open the locked and barbed-wire gates surrounding the hotel. This was really nothing more than an entrance fee, as we ran into other “trespassers” also receiving personal tours by security guards. (And that’s Liberia.)
It was in this abandoned, destroyed pile of cement blocks where I felt my first tinge of fear during my two-week stay. Led by a security guard and the tiny light on his flip phone, we climbed eight floors up narrow cement stairs with no railing, to reach the roof.
The views were spectacular; I saw all of Monrovia from shore line to the furthest stretches of neighborhoods. Though today if you were to view this at night, there would be no street lights or store fronts shining back as there is no central electricity in the entire country.
I poked my head into one of the luxurious suites and every single piece of hardware and wiring that could be removed had been, as well as every single spec of furniture and carpet. The walls had all been scraped down to the bare cement as people tore through the entire building, finding wire, pipes, anything salvageable.
Despair. The despair of the Ducor had crept into my bones. I could feel it. That’s where my fear had come from.
As we slowly drove down the pot-holed street back into the bustle of the capital city, I swiped through my cameral roll of pictures I had taken earlier that morning.
We had just dropped off the 4-year old at preschool when loud band music was heard from down the street. Not just any band music--marching band, complete with drums, horns, and whatever other instruments you logistically can march with.
Cheerleaders with pompoms pranced behind them.
Before I go any further, I have to confess that before I could actually enjoy the sight, I had to get over the shock that this festive parade on a Friday morning in the school week was literally sharing the road with oncoming traffic. (Again, that is Liberia.)
Following the band and cheerleaders, were all sorts of teams of dancers, small ones with their mamas, big ones dressed in traditional costumes, and many in between. It went on for several minutes.
I didn’t move from the spot until the entire parade had passed, and the traffic had resumed its typical somewhat controlled chaos. (Which is almost as fun to watch as a parade, as long as you are not on the roads yourself.)
I had not only witnessed a colorful array of students celebrating their church’s 10th anniversary, but I had watched Hope dance before me.
Despair may have stolen center stage of Liberia with its destroyed buildings and streets, economic havoc, and corruption all over. But Hope is in the wings, behind the curtains, waiting for its turn to take the spotlight.
And with every organization like Samaritan's Purse, Water4, and Orphan Aid Liberia that comes, they bring a little bit more hope to this struggling world. And with every Liberian student who goes to school and learns to read and write and is encouraged to pursue their dreams, more hope is created. And before we know it, this country could once again be overflowing with hope and promise and goodness.
To Liberia: May your Hope always defeat Despair.
(For a quick, entertaining journey alongside my travels in Liberia, check out The Creative Farm Girl on Facebook or on Instagram (or #whitegirlinliberia), which started on March 11.)
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This weekend, I will be “closing” shop for two weeks and heading halfway around the world to a little country called Liberia.
I have the honor of visiting a young missionary family who has been there for a couple years, traveling to remote villages to dig freshwater wells. I’m packing along all sorts of food items they can’t get there, such as Annie’s Mac and Cheese, medical prescriptions, nuts, minced garlic, dried fruits of all varieties, and the like.
It sort of reminds me of that Bible verse--2 Timothy 4:13--when Paul says to Timothy, “When you come, be sure to bring the coat I left with Carpus at Troas.” Though a coat is probably the last thing this family would ask for, as Liberia is a humid, hot jungle. (At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ll let you know when I get there.)
Several people have said to me, “Aren’t you scared?” I’ve been tempted to google “Why I’m Scared of Liberia,” so I can understand why I’ve been asked this so often. But now I realize it makes sense that people have asked about my fear level, because it is likely they have never thought about traveling to this country, officially known as the poorest in the world.
For me, though, this trip has been in my heart for more than a year, and I kept it there until several months ago. When I knew it was time to start discussions, first I spoke with Dear Husband, and then of course, with the family to see if they even wanted someone traipsing a very long way to share their small apartment and floor space for two weeks.
Going to Liberia was something I sat with for months, prayed about, and prayed some more. So, it makes sense that fear never entered into my equation. It still doesn’t. (Though I worry a bit if I’m bringing enough Dramamine for the many flights back and forth.)
Every day people I know do things that would give me heart palpitations: a friend who stepped up to direct a local child-trafficking organization; a childhood friend going to school to get her realtor’s license after working in the home for more than twenty years; several guys in my church who are or have been firefighters.
All these things SCARE me. But God has never put those things on my heart to be a part of, so that makes sense, too.
If there is something you are feeling called to do and you are terrified, you may want to listen a little deeper. God may want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable or nervous or nervous-excited. But He never gives us fear—in fact, He’s the one who takes fear away.
So, lean in—it’s hard to hear God’s voice amidst the text pings and running here and there and checking off all those long to-do lists that never get to-done.
Quiet down. Listen closely. And hear what our Father has to say to you. You know it's going to be good.
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I’ve been obsessed with wood lately . . . and drilling holes into wood. If you haven’t done it before, you may want to try it, but wear your goggles (or your readers if you prefer). And don’t wear your ugg boots as the sawdust is really hard to get off of them.
As I was drilling my latest wood bud vases, my head went to other things I could make with wood and holes. Of course, napkin rings were the first thing I thought of, because I've been rather obsessed with napkins as well--the cloth kind.
Anyway, prototype No. 1 was quite bulky and rather looked like a 2 x 4 sitting on the table. In all fairness, it was a 2 x 4 trimmed down with a little paint thrown on it.
I looked through my wood scraps and found something thinner with potential. I quickly marked out some rough cut lines and headed to the tool headquarters, also known as Dear Husband’s “overflow” room.
From there, I cut the pieces to size, drilled the holes, and sanded out the splinters. And I learned a wonderful trick along the way: If you are drilling a wide hole all the way through the wood, put another piece of wood under your block to be drilled, so the drill bit doesn’t freak out when it hits the small metal stand. You never know when this information could come in handy—hold on to it.
After painting the sample pieces, I hit a little stump. WHAT would I stamp on them? For my vases, I added a single word that was important to the individual buying it. But napkin rings were a whole other thing. Yes, you can always add the words that everyone plasters all over: love, believe, faith, hope . . . blah blah blah. Now I do love those words too, but I also like words that are more unique to a particular occasion.
So I thought it would be fun to use words that you would say to someone when you invite them to a table . . .
Thus, prototype No. 2.
Will I make more of these? I have no idea. Sometimes we need to let our imaginations play and see what we come up with.
Everything we spend time on should not have to be for school, or for work, or for money, or for any reason except for the pleasure of creating.
We were made to create and explore. And then create some more.
So . . . what are you waiting for?
]]>I am the girl who used to scotch tape my sock hole (now I throw them away). I also used to staple my pant hems if the cuffs were too long (now I let them drag).
My sewing talents have not improved over the years, which I am ok with. However, when my dancing boy Tate said he needed help sewing some of his costume together, I knew I was going to need to step it up.
Granted, all he needed was a blindfold. Yes, a blindfold. How hard can it be to sew together a blindfold? Let me tell you.
Do you see why this seemingly SEWING 101 project gave me heart palpitations?
Since my two stand-bys—scotch tape and staples—were not options that could hold up to a dancing teenager, I headed to Joann Fabrics to see what I could find. These days they not only had fabric glue, they had fusible webbing that you stick between two pieces of fabric and IRON TOGETHER.
Now, while Dear Husband believes that I don’t know how to use an iron, I actually have used one a few times in my life. And it was about to become my “sewing machine that don’t need no stinkin’ bobbin.”
Even though I messed up the straight line of the fabric, I figured I could fix it after ironing the two pieces together.
And voila!
One of my very favorite aspects of creativity is problem-solving. Are you one of those people who doesn’t think they are creative? How many problems have you figured out this week? Yeah, I thought so.
We are all a bunch of creative geniuses walking around not even realizing it, because you only look at creativity as something you see, or play, or listen to.
The next time you are faced with sewing together a blindfold or some other tricky task, look at how creatively you can solve it.
That creative genius is just bursting to come out. Let it!
By the way . . . I was a little nervous to use the "sewing with a tube" as I wasn't sure if the glue would be a good thing to have on top of one's eyeballs. Though, seriously, how creative is the gal who came up with this one??
]]>Find a place where you can do a little dreaming. Make a little mess. Explore on paper or explore in your head. I am lucky enough to have a whole little room dedicated for my craziness. Or creativity. Sometimes you can’t tell the difference. But for the longest time, I didn’t have anything more than a desk. And that works just fine. As does a front step, a cozy chair, or a corner in the kitchen.
The place doesn’t have to be the only spot where you are creative; it is just to have an area, regardless of its size, designated YOURS.
And when I say space, it means finding space in your day, your week, or at times it may be simply in your head.
When your schedule is packed from morning until night with things to do, people to see, or tasks to accomplish, anything creative in you potentially will take a break. Certainly there are periods when the creativity must take a back seat. But if you haven’t done something creative in the last month, your brain needs it. (I really want to say if you haven’t done something creative in the last four hours, but I’m working on being realistic.)
Why are little kids so creative? Because a large portion of their days have space for just that. As they get older and they (or their grown-ups) put more pressure on them with outside activities, the head space for creative adventures shrinks.
If you are already overwhelmed by the idea of having to squeeze another “thing” into your day, don’t despair.
And throw that “overwhelm-ness” out the window. Creativity is not about that. It may be about discarding something in your day that is not filling you, possibly even draining you.
Here are some words that I associate with grace: mercy, pardon, approval, favor, unmerited, non-judgey. That last one—non-judgey—is the only one I could not find in any definition on grace. (I know, shocking. But I did find it on the Internet, so it must be real.)
Let’s face it: we can talk ourselves out of being our best selves with just a few negative words in our heads (or negative words from others). One of my favorite Bible verses is Romans 12:2, which says: Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—His good, pleasing and perfect will. Not only do you need to ignore the world’s negativity, you need to pay attention to the good things—no, the GREAT things—about you, and remind yourself every day.
Embrace the creativity you have. Embrace the gifts you are exploring. Embrace it all.
Some of you may be doing these things already, and you think, “I still don’t know the best me! I still don’t know what I’m good at.” That’s okay. Just keep at it. We know from Philippians 1:6 that if we are faithful in setting aside time to practice our gifts, our Father will be faithful, too: Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
So go to it, friends. It's time.
(You can see the video version of this on my YouTube channel at the Creative Farm Girl.)
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I've been creating cards for many years. It grew out of this desire to celebrate special people in my life in a personal-touch kind of way.
Over the last few years, I've grown that passion into selling my own line of cards. But regardless if my cards are for one person or hopefully countless persons, there is one thing I've always done with them:
That may sound strange, but if you look at cards (and signs) out there, you will see many that use famous people's quotes like from Shakespeare or the Bible. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that--clearly, famous words sell cards (and signs). However, I felt that using my own words was one way I could set my products apart from others.
And then I met a guy whose words I'd never seen anywhere except in a tiny little old book, and I wanted to share him with the world (or at least my little world).
His name was Brother Lawrence, actually Nicolas Herman. At 18 years old, he entered the French army and fought in the 30 Years' War. After a life-changing experience, he became a Christian and then dedicated his life as a monk. His writings were pieced together after his death into a little book called Practicing the Presence of God.
What's so incredibly enchanting about this book is that Brother Lawrence shares time and time again how he practiced living in God's presence. And there was no big secret or magic formula. He just practiced doing it, and like almost anything you practice, he got better at it.
That's it.
Here are my cards.
You can also check them out at my store by clicking right here.
And while I don't plan on breaking my "Use My Own Words" rule very often, there's almost always a good reason to break a rule every now and then.
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I'm excited to share with you the latest series of cards with the Creative Farm Girl. In my head I call them simply the Courage Cards, for these are the cards you pull out when your friend or loved one is in desperate need of a good dose of--you guessed it--courage.
And I'm not talking Cowardly Lion-Give-Me-a-Medal here . . . no, it's the kind of courage you need at times to just get through a day: when a marriage disintegrates, or a parent dies, a forced move away from everything familiar, a job loss, a very disheartening medical diagnosis.
All of those events call for courage on a whole different level than most of us experience day-to-day.
You may look at these cards and say "Can't you just call them condolence cards?" Well, yes. You are absolutely not wrong in that. However, as stated above, we humans have many, many places in our lives when we grieve, and these cards fit a range of crises.
Grieving is a part of life--sort of like birthdays but not near as fun, and usually not accompanied with special frosting. All the more reason to send just the right card to let your friend know that one is never alone in this world.
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Along the way, I found several things I was missing, as well as much I never even knew I had.
However, the unexpected bonus that came from cleaning out my “cards and letters” drawer was how completely loved I felt as I went through it. So many good wishes, so many kind thoughts, so many beautiful words. Familiar names and new names, names I talk to regularly and names I haven’t spoken with in years.
It felt as if I was sitting in this timeless room surrounded by people saying nice things to me, over a many year spread.
How many texts and emails are you able to peruse through from past years?
I’d say few to none.
I highly recommend this exercise to anyone who is feeling a tad low or needs an attitude adjustment. You may not be quite the hoarder that I am. Your “cards and letters” cabinet may be a small box or part of a desk drawer. You may even stick them on a bulletin board so you can be reminded often (I do that, too).
But there is something else, even more critical to this exercise that I highly recommend. Pull out an unused card from your stash and write someone a note. It doesn’t have to be all about how wonderful they are, but a few encouraging words here and there that they can enjoy now and in years to come would be appropriate.
In fact, I’m so eager for you all to help build other people’s "I really like you" note collection, I’m offering both my sets of valentine/love cards for $10 through the weekend. One set has 10 cards with 2 designs, and the second set has 12 cards with 4 designs. Here’s what they look like:
(You can get a much better view of the individual cards here.) Yes, I have a lot of cards, and I would like you to buy them. But more than that, there is a lot of love in this world and we need to be spreading it around as much as possible.
So let’s get to it.
]]>Everyone loves a good Christmas card. Especially me. Even if you hate to send them, you always love getting them. While I always love receiving them and have kept them in boxes, I particularly love the ritual of creating one and sending it out.
Since I was little, I loved the photo Christmas cards. My mom did them, and now I do them.
The only rule I’ve ever placed on my Christmas cards is that I don’t HAVE to send one out each year. It’s just too much pressure. Once that pressure was taken off my plate, the full enjoyment of the Christmas Card has been mine. Of course my favorite part of the card is figuring out the photo. But this year was different . . . .
Usually, the perfect time for us to get a Christmas photo is around Thanksgiving. (I’m driven to wait as long as possible in the year in the chance that my older son will decide to cut his hair.) However, not only did Drew not cut his hair, he would also NOT be home until December 9, so I decided that this was a year of the No Card.
But, ugh—I’m a card person. It’s what I do. I couldn’t not send one. With Mike on a business trip from December 10-13, I had no choice but to do a photo without the parents.
But where would we take it? What would the boys wear? These things were important when you were putting together a piece of “high art,” at least that’s what Drew once called it, no kidding. I chose to believe he was not being sarcastic, by the way.
We’ve utilized some great spots in our backyard in previous cards, so I moved to the front yard. And there it was.
My vision.
We recently had to cut down two gigantic trees from our front yard, leaving stumps. I wanted to keep the stumps, in case I thought of something cool to create with them. Well, now, I knew. They’d be the foundation for the Christmas Photo.
We had exactly between 4:10 and 4:20 when the lighting was decent and the boys were both home. I shouted, “White T-shirts and jeans. That’s easy. Everyone looks good in white T-shirts and jeans.”
Drew replied: I have no jeans.
Me (incredulous): You have NO jeans?
Drew: Not here.
Me: You have jeans in Hawaii?
Drew: No, not there, either.
This could not be true. I scoured his room, then Tate’s room for good measure. Not a pair in sight. I was losing good sunlight.
Me: Fine. Wear whatever pants you can.
In my head I thought, the picture will be black and white, maybe it won’t be noticeable. (It was.)
As we walked out to the front yard, my Canon around my neck, I told them the plan. “Okay, so first I will take a picture of you each on separate stumps, and then I will get one with you together with Tate on Drew’s back, like he is helping you fly.”
Tate: That’s NOT happening.
He shook his head, too, and used his I’m-so-annoyed -I-might-just-leave-voice. And there were the eye bullets, like he was trying to kill me, or at least maim me.
My whole vision was that the boys, as they are beginning to fly from the nest, are first not far from the ground –thus, the stumps. THEN, the Moment Picture would be them laughing together as Tate throws his arms out to his side, while on the back of his brother, who is holding his legs in a I-got-your-back kind of way.
So there. Maybe my vision was not realistic. Maybe it made no sense. Maybe it would have looked ridiculous. But it was my VISION, and they wouldn’t even try to consider it. And yes, I stomped my foot, but only because they wouldn't even TRY it, not because it was an awful idea.
When I attempted to photograph them on separate stumps, they wouldn’t fit in the (damn) camera lens. By this time, I was as done with this photo shoot as they were. And we had barely started.
Looking at the shadows and the sun fading into the horizon, I said, “Get on the same stump. Just do it. Yes, you will both fit. Just do it.”
And here it was.
There was a better picture of Drew where he actually looked sort of happy, but Tate looked like he was intentionally trying to make an ugly face so it had to be cut.
I now look at this card titled “Happy Christmas” and I think, Yes, it IS a happy Christmas. Despite wardrobe flaws and hairstyle choices and faces that are either grimacing or irritated or . . . mocking?
So I did what every desperate card maker (or mother) might do: Throw out a second picture of them on the back when they were so cute and adorable that whatever else was there, well, it didn't really matter.
They may not look much happier as babies, but believe me, whether young babies or old teenagers, they were indeed happy on the inside. They were just annoyed with their mother who sometimes tried too hard. (Wait, what?)
May you all have a very blessed Christmas and New Year! I will be back in the new year with more of everything—cards, blogs, and videos—but hopefully a little less of the irritated teenager.
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It should not surprise any of you that I love words, writing, words that are handwritten, thoughts that are typewritten—anything I can read, I am on it. This past Thanksgiving my parents each loaned me some very special documents from their archives, meaning old stuff buried under tons of other old stuff from deep within those desks that hold everything you don't need but still want to keep.
One of the items was a travel journal written by my dad’s great grandmother with handwritten additions from my grandpa, as well as great grandfather, great aunt, and great uncle.
It told stories, though not the kind with good guys and bad guys and hearts won, then lost, then won again. These were stories from their lives.
As I began reading through the journal, written in a nubby pencil on stained paper, though more likely, the stains came much later, I was thoroughly caught up in the Hanson journey from Nebraska to Colorado. It was April 1930 and my great grandmother was writing to “some good folks;” she never said their names, but her intention was to fill the notebook with their travel adventures then send it to them. My grandpa and his siblings each wrote a page, as did my great-grandfather, Pappy, we called him.
But most of the journal was filled with tales from my great-grandmother Hazel, driving through Colorado in a Buick, whose lights cut out one night on a mountain road, and she had to closely follow my great-grandfather as he navigated the roads in a truck, working as headlights for both vehicles.
And it was among these stories, that these words popped out at me in the most beautiful way: He felt a little blue last nite but after a bath & shave & clean clothes he thought the world beautiful.
I could not continue reading until I did something with those words, those thoughts, those emotions. And so I made this:
It will go to someone special this year. Someone who may need to hear those words (though I think many of us could appreciate them).
Have you ever come across the most normal sort of writing, but it pierces your heart in a way that must be remembered?
Another time I came across this xerox sheet, penciled “card” that my older son made when he was 8 or 9. I loved it because you could tell he spent all of 2 minutes (if that) putting it together. But the words. The words! They struck me so deeply, well, maybe because who wouldn’t want to be compared to a poem, right?
As you sit down to read a letter or a story or something else from the past, don’t just gloss over it. Don’t skim it and think “I’ll read this more closely later.” Take the time today. You never know what absolute treasures you may find.
And when you find those treasures, do something to breathe life into those words again.
Yes, bring those words back to life.
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Occasionally, I get obsessed with shopping for the “perfect” blankity blank. One time the search for raw silk ribbon had me wandering up and around the streets of downtown LA. I’ve bought at least 12 different types of body scrub, including something that looked and smelled like coffee grounds. But I’m sure most of us have all been on that search for the perfect jeans.
You need a pair you can dress up. A pair that is comfortable. A pair that makes you look good. Something different.
So how excited I was when I found a pair that fit all the criteria above at a favorite store, their online side. What set them apart from any pair I’d ever seen was it had the most adorable flowery embroidery on the bootie.
This past weekend the jeans arrived. I eagerly tore them out of the bag and slipped them on.
Score.
They were soft. They were comfortable. And they fit! The jeans had a higher waist, cute buttons down the front, and of course, the unique embroidery.
The next morning was church, so I scoured the closet to find the right top and the right shoes for these perfect bottoms. Today was such a great day. (Don’t tell me you haven’t been so excited to fit into a pair of jeans/ a dress/ any other outfit that makes you feel so wonderful? When it happens, you have to relish it, right? Well, I had about another minute to enjoy my moment . . . )
Anyway, I did a quick final hair spray of the hair and started to head out to get to church on time, which is always a remarkable feat when it happens. My husband, who walked in the room to brush his teeth, let out a sort of gaspy grunt laugh. The kind that only causes one response from me: irritation.
“Do you KNOW what your jeans say?” he finally said.
“Of course I do. They don’t say anything. It’s a beautiful flower garden.” My irritation level was creeping up as my potential to get to church on time was fading.
“Uh, no.”
I looked at him with the don’t-mess-with-my-new-perfect-jeans, Sir.
“Your butt says, ‘Your ass is grass’!”
And it did.
And in my searching and my excitement and desire to be done searching, I never once saw any lettering on the backside.
I believe many of us can be a bit blinded this time of year. We give, give, give to our friends and family, but forget the lady next door who lives by herself. Or we fail to extend a little grace to the overworked folks behind every cash register in December, only thinking of the next place we need to be and how dare they make us wait an extra 10 minutes.
As you are rushing about this season (and hopefully enjoying every minute of it), remember the Creative Farm Girl and her inability to see what was so clear to others. Find those things in your day where you can make the life of another a little better . . . even if it’s as simple as pointing out inappropriate words written on their behind as they are heading to church.
]]>A week later, these emotions and thoughts still fit, though the power of the Holy Spirit has begun his healing on many (Psalm 147:3).
November 8, 2018
I’m not a news watcher. Until my community became the feature on every news station and social media outlet.
Sadness overwhelms me. The victim list has not been released, but whether I recognize a name or not, each one is a brother or sister to me. We are all in this together. And I see that more than ever, especially as people line up around the block to give blood. As kids stand outside their school to honor the passing of a fallen police officer. As friends from all over the country (literally) send their condolences to me and others who call Thousand Oaks our home. As our community gathers for a prayer vigil outside the city buildings early this evening.
We are all in this together.
But all I want to do is hide under the bed. And then all I want to do is bring home all the kids I love so much who are away at college. Bring them home and . . . stick them under the bed with me?
The enemy wants exactly that. For us to hide. To cower. To shrink from everything—the intimidating, the challenging, the terrorizing.
We are all in this together.
So together we stand. Stand against what is not holy, not righteous, not loving. I came upon this verse yesterday, oddly enough, and it continues to play in my head:
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10).
I’m not going to pretend to understand the ways of our heavenly Father; just as I can not begin to understand the ways of a troubled/disturbed young man.
Please, though, do not run and hide. Do not cower. Do not fear.
This is the time to expose our love to the people. Love to all.
(The sweet bird of hope pictured was drawn by an elementary school student and sent along with classmates' stars to give peace and hope to our community.)
Please know that I read every single comment posted; however, this program does not allow me to respond on the site (or at least this Creative Farm Girl has not yet figured it out).
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Survived another Halloween. Barely. While there is nothing I really enjoy about this “holiday,” I have never lost that excitement for putting together a costume that is not me and getting to play at being someone else for a while.
This year my younger son was Spider Man. (Actually, I do believe he thinks he really is, so don’t burst his bubble if you run into him.) I thought it would be fun to wear a Spider Man t-shirt, since the two of us were scheduled to work together at our church’s harvest party. But he said I should be Wonder Woman.
Well, that is one superhero I’ve never even attempted to emulate, but for my 17-year old, if he wanted his mom to be Wonder Woman, then my goodness, I’d try. So I put together a very G-rated sort of Wonder Woman costume.
As I made my construction paper arm bands, I couldn’t help but feel a little more powerful. Why did my insides feel smarter and stronger and just plain better as the iconic female super hero?
Because when we are playing pretend or dressing up as a super hero, we rarely stop to think about any of their flaws. We focus on how awesome/funny/cool the character is.
So, why can't we do that with ourselves? As we slip into our regular clothes for the day and go through our routines, let's focus on all those amazing qualities that set us apart from each other.
Rather than pursuing that movie star image of Wonder Woman or Lynda Carter’s classic presentation (depending how old you are), I need to create my own version of Wonder Woman; not the Woman who can save the world and rock the skimpy outfit, but a wonder of a human who can share her gifts with generosity and without comparison.
So this Halloween was actually not so bad. For as I searched out the perfect super hero costume, I discovered that I have a super hero already living in me.
(And you do, too. So go find it.)
Please note: While I absolutely LOVE and READ and sometimes memorize each and every comment written, this site does not allow me to respond to them. (At least I haven't figured out how to do so.) So please comment if you feel inclined . . . and know in your heart I've taken IT to heart.
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It’s not a secret that I love grammar and anything that deals with writing. Not that I’m flawless, but I am constantly honing my skills by getting to read any number of essays, website material, printed matter, and even letters that come my way via friends who would like me to “take a look.”
And I always shout, “Of course!” To me, every piece of writing that I can improve in even the tiniest way makes me happy.
So I feel I need to take a small time-out from my regularly scheduled notebook entry to write about probably the MOST misunderstood grammar rule I’ve come across in writing today, regardless of what type of writing or age of the writer.
Here we go . . . .
(And there goes half the crowd.)
“The Creative Farm Girl and many other reliable sources state that the period always goes inside the double quotation marks.”
However, if they are not part of the quotation, then they fall outside of the marks.
Did the Creative Farm Girl really say, “The comma is wishy-washy”?
The statement about the comma is not a question, so for the love of Webster’s, do not make it a question by sticking the question mark inside the quotation.
So anybody out there still reading . . . anybody? Ok, well, possibly my mom and dad, so here’s one more rule for you.
So there. I’m done. I hope the writing world has a little less red-marked space for awhile. And please feel free to double-quote me on anything.
Just use the proper punctuation.
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Ideas and thoughts were never meant to live in our heads. They are meant to begin, to be birthed, in our heads. But then, after we have time to mull them over, we have three choices:
And, that’s where trouble begins. I’m not saying we shouldn’t think through things. However, most things get downright ugly if we think them over too much. The dough gets chewy. The cheese gets moldy. The wine gets—I’m not sure. I never have one around long enough, but I know it’s not pretty. The thoughts bring on more thoughts until the thoughts have taken over your head, and you are unable to have a clear thought and now you are sinking in a mire of somewhat stinky thoughts that are getting more toxic by the moment.
Maybe it’s just me. And frankly, if it is, that’s fine. I feel like I need to learn how to keep the baby monsters from growing up in my head and taking over. (Think “Stranger Things,” not “Monsters Inc.”)
And while I’m including creative ideas in this mix of potential muck, I want to give special attention to the thoughts in our heads that get so bad, they destroy people.
Ouch. If you haven’t been hurt by your own thoughts, you certainly know someone who has been.
So how can we combat this? Simply this: Don’t let a thought live so long in your head. Get it on paper. On canvas. On a piano or guitar. Or share it with someone else who can help you do this, or at least help you get it out of the place where it’s trying to claw in and hibernate.
Our thoughts are beautiful. Many are the seeds for acts of creativity, kindness, and love. But YOU are the boss of your thoughts, not the other way around. Take care of them, nurture them, and always be in charge of them.
“We take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ.” 2 Corinthians 10:5
Please note: While I absolutely LOVE and READ and sometimes memorize each and every comment written, this site does not allow me to respond to them. (At least I haven't figured out how to do so.) So please comment if you feel inclined . . . and know in your heart I've taken IT to heart.
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October 4, 2018
Hey Paul.
You scare me. I have to say that up front because I know everyone is thinking it. You are so, so INTENSE. Like when you talk, you must wave your hands a lot and your voice gets loud and you probably spit a little when you emphasize certain words. And that’s when you are feeling joyful.
I marvel at how you were raised to head down one very distinct path—everything you learned was to fight for the cause, to take down that new religion of following Jesus. And yet, yet . . . Paul! You figured It out. (Granted you had quite a bit of help from the blinding light, which caused you to lose your sight for three days. Yes, I think that could snap even the hardest hard-hearted people into seeing Truth.)
But I marvel even more at your perseverance through the crap after you “saw the light” so to speak—the beatings, the prison terms, the shipwrecks, the thorn in your side (you’ve caused quite a stir with that one), the snake bites . . . the loneliness, the rejection.
I ask how you managed it and in the very same breath I know exactly how you managed it. You tell us in your letter to the Philippians: “One thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
You were able to forget what was behind you? You make it sound so simple. It must have been easier back in your time when there wasn’t so much pain in the world.
But your life did carry pain, a lot of it, I know.
And you pressed ON. Paul, thanks for pressing on. Because you had a choice—when you were in chains, you literally sang songs of praise. When you were imprisoned, you wrote letters of encouragement to the early churches.
You strained forward to what was ahead—and that was Jesus. Thank you. Thank you for not giving up, so that we today have a real chance to not give up, too.
Grace and Peace, brother.
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dedicated to tiffany m. who asked about it
A few weeks ago I posted a video about a surprise I had found in my front yard. (Check out the pumpkin video under Video Inspirations.) Each year for the past three years at the end of summer a huge vine has grown in our front garden area. This pumpkin vine always started out so beautiful with huge green leaves and a few orange flowers, but as far as bearing any real fruit . . . well, that never happened.
So when the vine grew again this August, I didn’t think much about it. One afternoon I went to delicately move it out of the way so I could mow the lawn (I have a hard time pulling ANYTHING green out of my yard—even when it is a pumpkin-less pumpkin vine, because, hey, it IS living, which is not easy for any plant to do at the Farm Girl’s house).
As I lifted the vine, there before me was the cutest little green pumpkin ever. Every mom thinks their newborn is the cutest ever; this pumpkin was no exception.
While still beautiful, it has now become as orange as the pinnacle point of a brilliant sunset.
So naturally, whenever anyone stopped by, I showed them “The Pumpkin.” My latest visitor was a 4th grader who paused to admire it, or so I thought. I blurted, “Isn’t it amazing? It’s so beautiful, right?”
He said, “Yeah. Looks like the 15 pumpkins we have at home in our garden.”
Why don't you just knife me in the gut, you little . . . professional pumpkin grower?
That next week, I visited his pumpkins, and yes, there were many—and they looked a lot like mine, but they also all had their individual characteristics. For as no two snowflakes are a match, every pumpkin is also its own.
I suddenly felt a bit silly for comparing my pumpkin against his battalion.
Because, dear people, we don’t live in the pumpkin patch of competition. It’s not how big your pumpkin is or how many you grow or how long they last. Everyone’s patch is a little different and should ALL be celebrated.
This week I encourage you to embrace the pumpkins in your patch (whether literal or figurative). As I proudly hold my little guy over my head, because yeah, he’s about 2 pounds and I can do it, I will cheer you, cheer you, cheer you onward.
Long live the pumpkin! (Ok, I just went too far. Sorry about that.)
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