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It was December 2011. First Boy fought to do his 3rd grade homework and I wrestled with coming up with a new blog post. We both wanted to give up—but instead our struggles collided—in a good way. I set the timer set for 15 minutes and we began our separate assignments. First Boy was to write 16 spelling words into sentences for homework and I was to craft those same spelling words into a blog. Writing without lifting my pen these 3rd grade words took on a life of their own. When the buzzer sounded I only added the last line and have left it as is–unpolished. By the way, First Boy was done in only five minutes. (Spelling words are in bold) The unexpected surprise was not only was this fiction—but I think I know that little girl…

Farmer blog collage.jpg

How do I begin?

How does one retell a story of an unhappy girl who found life through the friendly Farmer? Her life was desolate, desperate, and despairing. But what He said…caused her to feel hopeful.

Hope was a foreign thought and feeling. She, the scrawny girl with the scraggly pig tails. The one always shamed and treated unfair by the cross Mrs. Rally and deemed unimportant to most of the townspeople. Unlike the others, this same girl was accepted by the Farmer.

She remembers that day vividly.

The sky darkened by heavy clouds pouring out buckets of rain to the town. The dirt roads were wet, and soon her boots, the ones worn through at the toe, were splattered with mud. Even the hem of her dress was covered with mud.

The rain and mud would not stop her. She promised the town seamstress to deliver a package. Mrs. Rally said if she was a good helper she would give her one quarter—a shiny one. One whole quarter would give her milk and oats for a week. She must be careful as to not slip in the mud and drop the package.

She walked slowly. The rain pounded down on her. Clothes soaked through. She was almost at her destination—the Farmer’s house. Just a few steps from His porch lightening flashed and peals of thunder shook the sky. It frightened the poor girl and she jumped at the noise. Sadly, she lost her footing and landed in a pot-hole—filled with mud.

Unhurt, she stood up. Tears mixed in with the raindrops as she reached to pick up the package from the mud. Silently she wept. The package wet, soggy—completely ruined. She stood there for what seemed like hours as the rain pelted her skin.

“How will I ever remake this package and make it new again for the Farmer?”

She thought of the shiny quarter. The milk. The oats. She wouldn’t have any of it. Only be shamed once again by Mrs. Rally.

The porch light suddenly lit up the porch and the door creaked open. She looked down. Pretending to be invisible. Pretending it was just a dream.

The Farmer spoke.

“What have we here, Little One?”

His voice was kind. He gently took the package from her grip. She dared to look up.

And when she did…

She saw Him looking at her…

with kind eyes and a smile.

And she knew.

Everything was going to be okay.

little girl and farmer

{little me 1977}


And it’s true. ~L