• If they only knew

    As a farmer’s daughter—and now a farmer’s wife—I’ve watched my heroes struggle.

    I’ve seen my dad wrestle with rising seed prices, the unpredictability of corn markets, and equipment breaking down at the worst possible times.

    And more recently, I’ve watched my sweet husband face some of the hardest challenges we’ve ever known—more equipment failures than we can count, losing leased land to developers, and the crushing weight of rising costs on his shoulders.

    Yet when I’m in town, I hear the murmurs:

    “Why is produce so expensive these days?”

    “Why does meat cost so much?”

    “Farmers must be taking advantage of people.”

    I want to stop and say, If you only knew.

    If you knew the cost to produce that food.

    If you knew the heart it takes to feed your family and your community—while fighting just to keep the life of a farmer alive.

    Just five years ago, you could lease pasture land for around $500. Today? You’ll pay over $1,500—if the land hasn’t already been sold to a developer to build 104 townhomes.

    Yes, you read that right.

    We recently lost the lease on 10 acres where we kept 15 cows. A developer came in, offered more than any farmer could afford, and now the bulldozers are clearing the land. Soon, where those cows once grazed, there will be streets and sidewalks.

    It’s not the first time this has happened—and it won’t be the last.

    And since everyone likes to ask about beef prices, let’s break down the real cost of hamburger:

    ▶ A 1,000-pound cow these days brings about $2,000 to $2,500 at the sale (and that’s on the cheap end).

    ▶ Then there’s the processing fee—about $125.

    ▶ You only get about 60% of the cow back as meat. That’s roughly 600 pounds, and you’ll pay around $1 per pound of hanging weight—that’s another $600.

    So let’s do the math:

    • $2,250 (average cow price)

    • $125 (processing fee)

    • $600 (hanging weight fee)

    = $2,975 for about 600 pounds of meat.

    That works out to less than $5 per pound—before you factor in the daily costs of raising that animal.

    Things like:

    • Feed

    • Hay

    • Fly spray

    • Vaccines

    • Vet bills (which can start at $100 just for the farm visit, before any treatment even happens)

    • The cost of land or pasture rent

    So if a farmer sells that beef for $6–$7 per pound, they’re only making about $1–$2 per pound to cover all those costs.

    Now, ask yourself honestly—if you had a job where you were barely breaking even, would you keep doing it? Most wouldn’t.

    But here we are—because for farmers, it’s more than just a job. It’s a way of life.

    Young farmers are trying to make it—but it’s hard.

    Hard to find land to rent.

    Even harder to afford land to buy.

    A piece of property that sold for $200,000 just eight years ago now sells for $500,000—sometimes closer to $800,000—because of city growth.

    I know this is happening everywhere.

    I know it’s inevitable.

    But it still hurts.

    So, the next time you question why vegetables, meat, and homegrown goods are “so expensive,” remember this:

    Farmers are doing everything they can just to break even—to keep the lights on, to keep the tractors running—while making sure you still have food on your table.

    And honestly? You wouldn’t do the work, sacrifice the time away from your family, or carry the stress that they do.

    And the next time you see a tractor on the road, instead of speeding by or laying on your horn…

    Slow down.

    Wave.

    Enjoy the view.

    Because farmers—those proud, hardworking souls—are becoming harder and harder to find.

  • The Other Side of Just Wait

    When I was first pregnant with VJ, I heard it all—

    “Just wait until…”

    The sleepless nights.

    The pain and discomfort of labor.

    The struggle of setting boundaries with family.

    And on and on.

    And while I know those “just wait” comments were meant to prepare me for the hard parts, I can’t help but wish someone had prepared me for the good parts too—the moments that would take my breath away and make every single struggle more than worth it.

    So here are a few “just waits” I wish I had heard—and now I want to pass them on to you:

    • Just wait until you see your spouse’s face light up the very first time they see your baby.

    • Just wait until you’re holding that tiny new life in your arms, and your heart whispers, “This is it. This is my whole world.”

    • Just wait until you get to experience the magic of Christmas—or any holiday—through their eyes.

    • Just wait until you hear “Mama” for the first time, and you feel your heart physically melt.

    • Just wait until you see those first wobbly steps… and then, before you know it, they’re running.

    • Just wait until those little voices say “I love you” and you both erupt in giggles.

    • Just wait until you see your best friends love your little one like their own—and know that she’ll always have someone in her corner, no matter what.

    • Just wait until you see your parents and in-laws fall in love with a little person who is equally half of you and half of your spouse.

    • Just wait until you find yourself loving someone more than words can express, wanting nothing more than to give them the very best life.

    • Just wait until one day, you look around and realize—you’re living the life you once dreamed of.

    I know it feels like every time you turn around, someone is warning you to brace for the worst. (Honestly, I catch myself doing it too when I talk to first-time moms.)

    But I’m here to tell you—there’s so much good ahead. So much wonder. So much joy.

    And one day, you’ll look back and barely remember these exhausting, overwhelming days… because the best parts? They’re coming.

    And they’re better than you can even imagine

  • It’s Okay to not be Okay

    Have you ever had one of those days where you just don’t know how much more you can take?

    I had one recently. I was overwhelmed—housework, deadlines, motherhood… all of it felt like too much. Everyone seemed to expect me to be the upbeat, chipper Lindsey I usually am, but the truth is—I just wasn’t okay. I couldn’t even muster a cheerful tone, not even for VJ. I was short, frustrated, and emotionally drained.

    And the worst part? I didn’t even know how to communicate what I was feeling.

    On the way to a meeting, still fuming from a misheard comment that led to an argument with my husband, I found myself crying in the car. That’s when “Hey Mama” by Brittnee Kellogg came on. And it hit me—it’s okay to not be okay sometimes. It’s okay to have off days. To cry. To feel overwhelmed. To not have the energy to smile through it. It’s okay to sit in that space and feel what you need to feel.

    What I didn’t know was that the meeting I was dreading would end up being exactly what I needed. I connected with others who just got it. Someone handed me a devotional titled “For When You’re Overwhelmed” (because God knows what we need before we even do). I walked out of that room lighter. Calmer. Refreshed.

    Not fixed. But seen. Heard. And reminded that even in the mess—there is grace.

    So mama, if you’re having a hard day, week, month, or year… I promise—you’ve got this. And more importantly? It’s okay to not be okay. After all, without the storms, there’d be no rainbows.

  • What’s a normal day?

    If there’s one thing about my life—it’s that no two days are ever the same. Truth be told, I never really know what I’m going to get into, and honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

    Between the farm in Liberty, our house in Ruffin, marketing and designing for not one, not two, but three businesses (yes, I somehow thought that was a good idea), teaching dance, sitting with my favorite senior citizen once a week, and, of course, being a wife and mama—I stay on the go!

    Take today, for example:

    The morning started with pancakes for VJ and a mad dash out the door to spend time with our bonus grandma (aka the sweet older lady I sit with weekly). We spent the morning chatting and laughing before heading to town for lunch and some fresh air. We capped it off with a puzzle before I had to head out.

    Next stop: dance class! VJ and I were off to her first class of the day. After that, we had about 45 minutes before the next class I teach (that she’s also in), so we dashed home to start feeding animals.

    Of course, nothing ever goes quite as planned—today, I had a goat who wasn’t acting right and was super anemic. So there I was, giving sub-q fluids, deworming, and running through my anemic goat protocol… all while VJ decided it was the perfect time for an impromptu swim! That meant a quick rinse, costume change #2, and rushing back to the dance studio.

    We wrapped up class, grabbed dinner at home, and then it was out to help my husband with fencing, followed by a walk with our Aussie pup. Finally—finally—I was in bed by 10:30 p.m.

    What a day! But honestly? I wouldn’t trade this crazy, beautiful life for anything in the world.

    It’s days like today that make me extra grateful for the little vacation we just had. It’s days like today that have me questioning if the struggle—lost leased land, tight budgets, and long hours—is really worth it.

    And then I look around at the life we’ve built.

    Not at the things we have. Not at the number of livestock in the pasture or the equipment in the barn. But at this life—the partnership, the values, the memories we’re stacking up like firewood.

    One day, we’ll sit around telling our grandkids these stories—stories of crazy days just like today—and they’ll be worth every single second.

    Truth be told, we could sell it all—land, livestock, equipment—and live quite comfortably. But we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves. We wouldn’t be happy. And we wouldn’t have the stories, the lessons, or the values that have shaped us.

    And that? That’s priceless.

  • An Open Letter to the Ones I Let Drift…

    Have you ever looked back on a conversation—or a reaction—and felt that twinge of regret? That little voice that wonders, What if I had handled that better? Would we still be friends? Would our kids be laughing together like we used to, back when life felt simple and summers stretched on forever?

    I think about those moments often. Not because I’m unhappy with where I am—truth is, I love my life and the people in it. But sometimes, I really don’t love the way I acted back then. If I’m being brutally honest, I was a capital-B “female dog” in a few of those situations. I made things harder than they had to be. I let pride, stubbornness, or immaturity speak louder than grace or understanding.

    So this is my open letter—to the friends who faded, the relationships that ended messily, and the people I hurt along the way:

    I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown. I’ve healed. I’ve learned that life’s too short to hold onto bitterness and too beautiful not to look back with both gratitude and grace.

    I know everything happens for a reason, and maybe we were meant to walk different paths. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think of you. I see your posts, your families, your joy—and I smile. I’m genuinely cheering for you from afar.

    And maybe, just maybe, one day we’ll drift back into each other’s lives—this time with our little ones in tow, creating new memories on four-wheelers, horses, or boats, just like the good old days.

    Until then, know this: I’m sorry. And I wish you nothing but the absolute best

  • What does your day look like most days? Is there a schedule? Do you ever actually know what your plans are?

    If you’re like me, it’s a big ol’ nope to both.

    Sure—I know what needs to get done:

    🐄 Feed the animals.

    🍽 Cook dinner.

    🧹 Try to straighten the house. (That’s a BIG try)

    🛁 Get everyone ready for bed.

    🗓 Prep for tomorrow.

    But the order? Random.

    The chaos level? High.

    The interruptions? Constant.

    Some days start with a full breakfast and a smile.

    Other days? A goat escapes and I’m instantly behind schedule.

    Some nights I’m folding laundry while sipping tea.

    Others, I’m Googling “Why is my cow acting like a diva?”

    There’s no color-coded routine, no flawless rhythm. Just a whole lot of winging it, loving hard, and getting it done—one muddy boot and messy kitchen at a time.

    And then, just to add a little spice to the madness, I lost my planner.

    Somewhere between packing for a trip and unpacking from one (I’m still not sure which), it vanished. And if you know me, you know I live by my planner. So the past few weeks have been chaotic, to say the least.

    But surprisingly? It’s also been freeing.

    I’ve had to go with the flow. I replaced my old planner with a new one—but I’m not clinging to it like I used to. I’m learning to live in the moment, not just for the next one.

    Because the truth is…

    ✨ The tasks may be the same.

    ⏰ But no two days ever are.

    And somehow, by the grace of God and a little grit, I look around at the end of each one—whether it ran smooth or went sideways—and think:

    “We did it. Again.”

  • The Village behind the Vacation

    Vacationing in this chapter of life looks a whole lot different than it did five years ago.

    Back then, it just took packing up the dogs’ things, tossing a bag in the truck, and heading to my parents’ beach camper for the weekend. We’d relax, unplug, and not think twice.

    But that was before the goats. Before the rabbits. Before the dogs who aren’t exactly “beach material.” Before the cows needed daily check-ins. And of course—before VJ.

    Now? Vacations come with a lot more lists, a lot less sleep, and a whole lot of laughter. They’re not as restful as they once were, but they’re filled with toddler squeals, sandy toes, cousin giggles, and overtired nights we’ll laugh about for years to come. Truth be told—VJ might be ready to move here permanently. (Hint hint, Daddy!)

    Still, let’s be real: the prep before we leave is no joke. Farm chores don’t stop just because you want a tan. There’s always a mountain of things to handle before we even hit the road, and that little voice in my head asking, “Did I forget something?” never quite goes away.

    That’s why I’m so thankful for our neighbors. If you live this kind of life and don’t know yours yet—make that connection. I don’t know where we’d be without the sweet family just down the road. They step in so we can step away, and knowing our animals are loved and cared for while we’re gone means more than they’ll ever know.

    I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone (and I was kin to half of them!), so that sense of community came naturally. But moving to a new place? It was a little scary. Thankfully, our little hometown has welcomed us in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Whether it’s helping feed animals, keeping an eye on new livestock, watching VJ, or just showing up when we need it—they’ve been there.

    We may just be neighbors on a map, but to me, they’re a lifeline. They’re the quiet comfort when my husband’s at work, the extra set of eyes when a baby goat is due, and the village VJ is growing up in.

    So if you’re needing a reason to say hey to a new neighbor—this is it. You never know when you’ll find your next best friend, a piece of wisdom, or a helping hand you didn’t know you needed. I know mine have taught me some incredible lessons over the past seven years—and I wouldn’t trade this chapter for anything.

    Romans 15:2

    “Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up.

  • Don’t Marry the Fun—Marry the Foundation

    Like most girls, I was a daddy’s girl. There weren’t many things that ranked above my daddy—and even now, that list is still small. But it wasn’t until I had a daughter of my own that I truly understood why my dad was so important to me.

    Through her eyes, I began to see just how much it mattered who I chose to be her daddy.

    The one who comforts her when she’s upset.

    The one who makes her belly laugh.

    The one who teaches her right from wrong—not with anger, but with love.

    The one who puts her and her mama first—not his habits, not his stress, not his pride.

    And in those moments, I realized just how blessed I’ve been. I grew up with that kind of steady, selfless love—and now, my daughter gets to grow up with it, too.

    When you’re choosing a spouse or significant other, don’t just look at how fun they are or how much money they make. Look at who they are when things are hard.

    Do they disappear?

    Do they drink their stress away?

    Are they only present for the good times?

    When the power’s out in the middle of the night, are they the one making sure the generator’s running before heading off to work?

    If even one of those questions makes you uneasy—pay attention.

    Because butterflies fade. And real life doesn’t wait for everything to be perfect.

    I’m no marriage expert—but I do know what love looks like when it shows up.

    I have a husband I could survive without—but I don’t have to.

    I don’t have to worry about frozen pipes or a dark, cold house.

    I don’t have to carry the weight of motherhood, farm life, and daily chaos all by myself.

    I don’t have to lose my mind just to be heard.

    I have a partner—one who shows up in the messy moments. One who carries the load. One who takes pride in protecting our peace, not just reacting to pressure.

    Are there stressful days and disagreements? Absolutely.

    But are they resolved with calm and care—most of the time? Yes.

    That’s the kind of love I pray every little girl grows up watching.

    That’s the kind of person I hope every woman waits for.

    And that’s the kind of soul I pray I’ll one day welcome into our family when VJ finds her person.

    So to the women out there still searching—don’t settle because it’s easy. Don’t stay because it’s comfortable. And don’t choose someone just because they’re there.

    Choose the one who shows up.

    The one who stays steady.

    The one who makes your hard days easier and your good days even sweeter.

    Because your forever shouldn’t be built on butterflies—it should be built on backbone

  • Living the Dream… On a Budget and a Prayer

    When I was younger, being rich meant having more than $100. I mean, the amount of things $100 could buy back in the early 2000s! It felt like a fortune.

    As I got older and started thinking about a career, I first landed on becoming a veterinarian—partly because I loved animals, and partly because I thought they made good money (you know, maybe after all the student loans). But somewhere along the way, I realized biology wasn’t my thing… and more importantly, I wanted to do something I enjoyed every single day.

    That’s when I found recreational therapy and senior citizens—my “extra grandparents,” as I lovingly called them. I loved every minute of it. Did it make me rich financially? Not really. But I was oh so happy.

    Then came my favorite job of all: Mama. Becoming VJ’s mama changed everything. That’s when it hit me—being rich isn’t about a dollar amount. It’s not your paycheck or what’s in your bank account.

    Rich, to me now, is seeing life through a little girl’s eyes. It’s dance parties in the living room, cuddles on the couch, holding her daddy’s hand on the porch, and making memories that don’t cost a thing.

    Do we worry about bills? Of course we do. But I also know that somehow, it always works out. And she only gets one childhood. I’m not going to miss it chasing someone else’s version of “success.”

    It’s true what they say: money doesn’t buy happiness. Because it can’t.

    Happiness is handmade—and until you realize that, you haven’t truly felt rich

  • All the titles…but one identity

    This past week in church, the sermon focused on our true identity—not the titles we carry. And afterward, I found myself reflecting on the many labels I wear each day: daughter, sister, wife, mommy, dance teacher, event planner… the list is long!

    Do those titles consume me sometimes? Absolutely.

    Do I love them? Oh, every bit of them.

    I love waking up next to my husband and watching this life we’ve built unfold. I live for the morning giggles from VJ. Twice a week, my heart melts when tiny voices call out, “Mrs. Lindsey!” I cherish the moments spent working alongside my parents and sister, pouring into our family businesses and serving our community.

    But every now and then, I pause and wonder:

    Where does my title of Christian show up in all this?

    Do I reflect the patience of Job? The unwavering faith of John? Some days, maybe. Other days, the chaos of schedules, tasks, and responsibilities wins out. I become more of a doer than a disciple.

    But here’s the truth: my identity isn’t rooted in what I do—it’s rooted in Whose I am.

    When all the titles fade—when the events are done, the toys are picked up, and the last dancer has left the studio—I’m still a child of God. That’s the title that never changes. That’s the one that carries me through every other role I hold.

    So this week, I’m challenging myself to pause more. Pray deeper.

    To let that title—the one that truly defines me—lead the way.

    Because before I’m a wife, a mom, or a teacher… I’m His.

    And everything flows better when I start there. 💛

    Maybe you needed that reminder too:

    You are more than the hats you wear, the tasks you juggle, or the roles you fill.

    You are seen.

    You are known.

    And you are His—on the good days, the messy ones, and every moment in between

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