When Less is More

One day in college, I sat in a group at the feet of a long-haired, bearded student who was talking about something so intellectual and deep that I could not understand him. Perhaps it was me just not being smart enough. When he was finished, I went up and told him how I felt. He graciously received my comment. 

Normally I'm not this bold. I shocked myself and that's why I remember this little snippet.

But I think writers and speakers really want to be understood. Is it insecurity that makes us sometimes get so lofty with words? In the 70s, there was even an "accent" hippies would use to sound brainy. 

Just tell me your stories. Teach me through word pictures. Come into my space and make me feel part of your space. That's how I learn.

It was at that moment with this intellectual guru that I realized everyone doesn't think like me. I do respect and honor you if you're different. But I also want to speak up for those of us who feel less is more.

Check out resources for writers on my website at www.christinetracy.com

The Imaginative Mundane

I tallied it up and now I know why I'm so tired of doing dishes. 

I've done dishes at least 18,250 times. Figuring there are five pots and pans every time, that's a total of washing 91,250 pots and pans. This is a conservative figure, factoring in my age and not including the first 22 years of life.

Lately I've been wondering where they all come from. There are just two of us now. My husband, kindly, gives me a break when he's not working.

All that said, I have had something remarkable happen. There are actually some days I enjoy doing the dishes. The process is therapeutic - the hot water; the time just to think without other distractions. It's during these moments my brain is free to imagine. Ideas form when I'm scrubbing gook. They also come when I'm cleaning bathrooms, watering flowers, and walking the dog.

Can you guess how I got the idea for this post? Answer: Stirring the rice in the pan I will soon scour. I'm almost convinced these mundane tasks are secret life incubators that birth creativity. Almost.

Find my devotional, The Art of Writing, on Amazon.

When Gifts Become Stars

Stars now pepper the pages of my journal. I have decided to intentionally watch for daily gifts and write them down, marking them with stars, so I can remember how wonderful my life is.

It's easy to dwell on the hard stuff. These little star gifts change my brain patterns to make my whole life feel better.

For example, here are some of the stars:

* Rick had a good grandpa talk with grandson today.

* A girl at the McDonald's counter said I was the "coolest grandma" she'd ever seen.

* One of my authors called to tell me our Zoom interview had 800 views.

* The drywall and taping are done on our flip house.

* Daisy (dog) is all better after being sick for three weeks.

* I got to spend time talking to one of my favorite authors.

* Son and grandson came to help Rick with the flip house.

* Someone told me I "carry peace."

• Daughter texted that a robin red breast in her yard reminded her of me.

• I have a new friend.

There are so many more. They are small, yet they are so big to me. There is at least one star for almost every day this year. Just going over these now makes my heart swell happy. If I hadn't written these down, they may have been forgotten or lost behind doom thoughts.

I'm so thankful for each day and each star.

For more on my writing life, visit my website and You Tube channel. www.christinetracy.com.

What is Beautiful to You?

Social media makes us strive to want to be things. Lots of loud voices vie for our attention making promises of wild success. Lately, doesn't it feel like the volume's been turned up? The more they tout classes and workshops and webinars we shouldn't miss, the less I want to be:

Wildly rich and successful

An influencer

Popular

Wealthy

Famous

More beautiful

Younger

A superwoman

Skinny

A world-changer

I don't like feeling coerced into believing things that are contrary to who I am. I'm simply me. I'm happy. I love my family, friends, dog, and nature. How that works itself out through what I love to do is what I'm aiming for. I won't spend more money or time on things that I never finish; things that make me feel like I have failed at what everyone else seems to be successful at.

That said, I'm planning to offer a writing class this summer. Take it only if you're seriously wanting to practice the art because you love it.

Love, Chris

Photo is shorebird prints in the sands of Port Aransas Beach, Texas. One of my three happy places.

The Pregnant Pause

Have you ever been tackled by a pregnant pause?

Speakers sometimes use it after they deliver something profound. This pause gives us, well, pause. To ponder. To digest. To wonder.

When musicians use it, we lean forward; pay attention; wait for the resolve.

Artists offer the pause as space on the canvas; a photographer in the rule of thirds.

Writers use style; a one word sentence; they break the rules if they know them well enough.

The pause teams with life and revelation; breathing space; the aha!

Artists take from inspiration and prepare a meal with colors and texture. The pregnant pause is the fine wine that stimulates hunger for more.

Now that I'm aware of it, I wonder if I really ever serve up the wine. I think, honestly, I'm most happy just dancing on the grapes.

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For info on my books and writing life, go to http://www.christinetracy.com

Flowers in My Genes

When I was very young, my dad had a beautiful garden. There was a rose bed with several kinds of vintage roses; and there were annual beds with dozens of different species of happy, colorful flowers. Tulips, Iris, and Daffodils lined our shrub gardens all around the house in the Spring. I loved working with him in the garden, tilling soil and picking off dead flowers. One by one, he taught me the name of every flower. To this day I remember them all. I have many in my own gardens now, and I love to compliment them every morning. The Texas winter is difficult for them. Short days and cold temps threaten. But somehow the strong survive and how happy they make my heart when they bloom on sunny winter days.

They show me how to celebrate even through dark, cold seasons.

We Have Powers

I used to design résumés for people. I'd start by interviewing them and getting a sense for what their passions are and what their character is. Then we'd go over their experience and education. I'd try to find out what kind of job they were looking for and the qualities they might bring to the job. I'd ask them to tell me about their life when they're not on the job. What do they love? Then I'd develop a résumé that highlighted all their attributes. Often they would be surprised and a bit uncomfortable at how great they sounded on paper. 

We have all been taught to dismiss ourselves; to not brag or pump ourselves up. We call it humility. This has caused us to not even be aware of the powers we carry. We need friends to pull those powers out and show them to us. For example, my friend Cindy has a brilliant business mind; wants to help people find success; and is so generous. She does not see these things in herself - they are just a natural part of who she is that we all benefit from. Another friend, Vanessa, is compassionate, ultra-creative, and a wise comfort to her friends. She, too, thinks she's not that different from others, but she is.

We need to start calling out each other's powers. When someone tells us what they see in us, we need to believe it; receive it in our hearts; then release it to others in humble confidence that we really have that ability to change someone's life.

Today, treat yourself and ask a trusted friend what they see in you.

For more about my writing life, connect with me on my website at www.christinetracy.com.

When I Was 29

When I was 29, I invited Jesus into my heart. But I have come to realize he invited me into His heart long before.

Most of my life I've been desperate to know Him more. Now I see He lives in me and I've known Him since forever.

I hear Him now. It's not that he just started talking. It's more that I stopped talking. I embraced a moment, asked a question, and listened.

My path has taken me many directions, but now I just come to this very personal, very quiet thought. He is with me and it makes all the difference.

John 14:20: So when that day comes, you will know that I am living in the Father and that you are one with me, for I will be living in you.

For more about my writing life, see www.christinetracy.com.

Hugging Happy

I walked under dark clouds yesterday.

Threatening ragged storm clouds held wind and coming rain. I was trying not to think about anything; just be present in the sound of my feet on dirt, and the quiet steps of my dog friend. 

This forest is my happy place in Texas. When I’m here, hard thoughts are not permitted. I only remember the sunshine; glimpses of laughter and play. I talk to the air and believe God is  listening. I remember sticky fingers, snowy adventures, and times with friends.  I think about things I’d like to write, and I dream a little.

The present is a good place to walk. It's a good destination for any day; embracing a moment like a beloved child; hugging happy.; finding peace.

For more about my writing life, see www.christinetracy.com.

70s Girls

I had to paint this and get it out of my mind where it resided since the night before when I saw it as I drifted to sleep. It means something and I’m contemplating that. I wonder what it might mean to others. What these girls are tossing are a bunch of seeds. These are 70s girls. That means we grew up in the 1950s and 1960s and gained our independence in the late 60s and 70s. We were special.

Embrace the Moment

So, we're eating breakfast, listening to heavenly music by The Piano Guys and talking. I tell him, "we need to find a place to listen to beautiful music like this." (We love live music.) But then I realize, it's right here right now. I'm in my sunny kitchen, eating good food, cooked by my cute chef, and listening to piano and cello which were recorded live. Even my little dog gets to be here. All I'm missing is a bouquet of flowers.

Am I Enough?

While walking in the woods, I wonder about purpose. I have lots of labels. Writer, photographer, creative, lover of books, mom, grandma, aunt, wife, homeowner, Texas resident, senior citizen, hippie, spiritual, flower grower, graduate, journalist, mountain girl. They describe me. But why am I these things? I think there is something deeper. Who am I really? This poem came from that pondering. I purposely did not finish it, because I believe God will finish it for you if you, too, wonder like me.

Am I Enough?

Am I enough?

A daughter

On daddy’s lap

Swinging in his arms

Being helpless. Homeless

Without you?

Am I enough?

A heart that loves

But breathes unsure

Of where I fit

Or if I’m pure

To relate enough

Or listen true

To your voice

Your thoughts

Your whispers of affection?

Am I enough?

Do I do it right?

Sing my songs

Believe it all

The way you want?

Can I just be me?

Afraid and lost

Tucked secure

Tight against your heart

Trusting your strength in me?

What is enough?

Is this enough?

Am I enough?

A beloved daughter

Sitting with you?

Find out more about me, my books, blogs, and how I help writers at www.christinetracy.com