Webucator Asks: Most Marketable Skill is Communication

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When asked in an email from the community manager of a website called Webucator what I feel is the most marketable skill, the answer was an easy one.

Communication is the most marketable skill. Employers are actively searching for people who can explain things orally and written. I see my peers struggle to form a coherent thought, often talking like they text or worse.

I majored in Communication in college learning the reasons for it, how to do it, and practiced it. I had papers, projects, discussion posts, and speeches that tested my ability to think critically about something and then effectively communicate that to my audience. 

I had to take an entire course on Multimedia Communication, which taught me to integrate technology and powerpoint seamlessly into speeches.

But I didn't just learn this skill in the classroom. I did two internships while in college. One was with a magazine and the other was at a publishing company. Both jobs required me to use the communication skills I had been taught. 

I also honed my communication skills when working in teams at my church. Working with others will reveal how good you are at communicating, for sure!

Communication is so valuable and necessary in the workforce because you have to be able to communicate or you won't succeed at any job. You can be armed with knowledge about teaching, photography, math, or social work. But if you can't work together with those around you - yes, even those with hot-headed tempers- you are in trouble. The ability to communicate is sorely lacking in today's society, which is why I think everyone should take an introductory communication course.

Communication teaches you how to best reach audiences of all ages, backgrounds, and ethnicities with ease. In my opinion, it is the most marketable skill because it gives you the tools to succeed in any environment. You might be doubting me, but if you can communicate, you won't have a problem finding a job. 

As a side note, Webucator is offering continual self-paced courses on Microsoft Word 2013. Go to this link.

Guest Post: The Secret to Having a Successful Blog

"The greatest oak
was once a little nut
who held its ground."

~Author Unknown~

A walnut seed, if it could feel, might start off in a huge forest totally intimidated by the walnut trees that stand high and have lived many, many years producing beautiful nuts. The hard shelled, tiny walnut seed that can fit in the palm of your hand may feel overwhelmed with the task ahead.

There are so many obstacles to prevent the walnut from growing into a mature, fruit bearing tree.

Fire.

Drought.

Hurricane.

Tornado.

Bugs.

Flood.

Man.

Animals.

Mold.

The list might make the walnut feel like giving up.

We are not, however, walnuts.

Sitting in front of a computer monitor that shows a totally blank blog can be daunting. However, bear in mind that every blog, no matter how large or popular, began the same way.

Blank.

Empty.

Zero followers.

No readers.

The secret to succeeding with your blog is to keep things in perspective. When you were just a small child, you went to school and started at kindergarten. You might have thought, "It is going to take forever to graduate," and it probably felt that way too.

Each year, as long as you did the work, you moved up a grade until finally the day arrived and you graduated. There you stood, holding it in your hands...the coveted diploma.

Accomplishment.

Your day had arrived.

Writing a blog is not much different than growing into a fruitful walnut tree or graduating from high school. They all require the same attitude and action.

Perseverance.

To become a successful blogger, you must keep your eye on the goal and continue posting in spite of obstacles, difficulties, lack of knowledge, or discouragement. The main ingredient is to be steadfast while moving towards a blog filled with exciting, thoughtful, interesting, informative, and helpful information.

Don't worry about the lack of readers, the blunders you will undoubtedly make while typing or coding, or the continual negative or pessimistic comments by others.

Just keep blogging.

Keep your blog well watered with new material and before you know it...

You will have a blog filled with post after post of information that attracts many readers, enhances the lives of others and is an outlet that provides a source for your creativity.

Thank you, Madison, for the opportunity to be your guest blogger today, but most of all for your beautiful friendship.

The Redhead Riter authors multiple blogs, a successful forum, and has a weekly series of blogging tips entitled "Woo Us To Your Blog" where you can also link your blog as a helpful way to increase your own exposure on the internet.

Guest Post: Laying Your Life Down

Today we have a guest poster. Some of you may read her blog Dance, Dance, Dance. It is none other than my mom. You all get to hear things from my perspective, but I thought I would let her share some of her thoughts today.

I know what your thinking I would lay my life down for my brother, mother, boyfriend, girlfriend and the list could go on and on. As much as we could comprehend that phrase we would. The year was 1989, and I gave birth to twins. They were three months early so this is where another part of my journey begins of me laying down my life. I had no idea at the time of their birth what would transpire over the next twenty one years. All I knew was that ever since I was a little girl I wanted children. I wanted the best life that I could give them. Since they were premature there was all kinds of complications. My son came home on a ventilator and heart monitor. My daughter had a mild case of cerebral palsy. The doctors told me all kinds of facts about premature children. I was determined for them to have the best life possible.


Let's go forward twenty one years. My son drives and is expecting his first child in May. My daughter is in her third year of college. She has been in a wheelchair for the past few years, which has been a tough road for both of us. I commute her back and forth to college. Laying down means your life what it says, you lay down your life everyday for someone else. At times it has not been easy, but that didn't mean I gave up on my son or daughter. That just means I died to what I wanted even more.


It says in the Bible to live is to die. In doing this I have learned how to love on a whole different level. All the fruits of the Spirit have went to a whole new level in my life. When I talk about fruits of the Spirit I am talking about patience, love, my time and the list goes on. How much patience would you have if you didn't see any results six months or even a year? I have been in this place. I'm stretched everyday, and which is a good thing because it means I can keep on growing.


God sent his son to lay down his life for us. How much more should we lay our lives down for our brothers and sisters in Christ. I challenge you this week to examine yourself to see how you are laying your lives down.

Memories Rewind: Love at first Lick

Today we have The Blonde Duck from A Duck In Her Pond with us.

I remember barreling down the highway, squeezing Ben's arm. The night was crisp and cool, but I couldn't feel it. My heart was racing, a scream of joy waiting to burst from my throat.

I knew you would be there, even if I didn't know you yet.

And when we stepped inside, I dropped to my knees. Bounding across the floor, puppies streamed toward me. Cooing in delight, I opened my arms. How could I choose? You were all so cute, so cuddly, so full of fur and warmth...

But you chose me.

With one decisive paw, you climbed into my lap, curling up on my jeans. You pulled on my socks, pawing at my shirt, nuzzling your face to my breast. You nibbled my fingers, licking my arm. Two different methods, for two different puppies.

But you stole my heart.

Cuddling you against me, I looked up at Ben with shining eyes. He turned to the man and pulled out his wallet, a grin on his face.

The entire way home, I held you against me, your warm breath against my skin, wuffling into the folds of my stomach. Tears of joy streamed down my cheeks, dropping onto the two fuzzy heads below. You simply licked them away, licking away any last reserves I might have had in the darkest corner of my soul.

You were mine, and I was yours. And to this day, I'm still wrapped around your little paws.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks for sharing the story about your sweet puppies, Duckie!

(in)courage Post: Brokenness

My post is up at (in)courage! I'm seeing myself in a whole new light. I've had to face the truth today. It was a harsh reality, but it was also a life-changing truth...

Click here to read the rest of my post. We've all been broken, but the Potter can make something beautiful out of our mess if we let Him.

Coming Up: Guest Post for (in)courage

I will be posting over at (in)courage tomorrow. I'm very excited because it's a website that encourages women. Be sure to scroll through the Daily Guests section because there are some awesome stories that are sure to inspire. Even if you're just having a bad day, you will be feeling grateful for what you have. The best part, no caffeine is needed. :)

So, head on over there tomorrow to see what I have to say! I'll post a link to my post when I get back from my doctor's appointment. It will be posted in the Daily Guests section.

Memories Rewind: Kite Day

I've asked my friend Katie Griffin to do a guest post for Memories Rewind today. Go on over to Katie's blog The Greatest is Love and welcome her. She is finishing up college, so she hasn't had much time to blog. But I know she would love to read your comments. Enjoy!

As a seven year old little girl, the event of the year was Kite Day. My dad and I would go to the hardware store and buy the plastic, wood, paint and string needed to build a kite. Then my brother, Isaac, and my older sister, Lauren, would race us down to the basement to see who could finish making their kite first. It was never a real contest because there were three of us and only one dad, and we couldn’t do it without dad’s help.

As dad glued the sticks together to make the frame we would unroll the plastic and try to drape it across the wooden sticks just right so we could get to our favorite part of kite making- painting. We got to choose three of our favorite colors and mine were pink, purple and green. Last year we just had swirls of color on our kites but this year was extra special because dad helped us make stencils so that our names could be on our kites along with a few hearts and flowers. As my dad held down the stencils, I poured my heart out on that kite in colorful rows of pink and green. I saved the purple for the hearts and flowers that floated around my name. When the last dab of color had been added to the plastic we stepped back and both mine and my dad’s brows wrinkled as our eyes were wide with joy. “Good job, Kate” he said as we carefully picked the kite up and carried it outside to dry underneath the sun’s rays.

A few hours later we had changed from our paint-covered clothes and put the dry kites in the back of the truck and were on our way to my favorite event of the year. We arrived at our church and unloaded the food and the kites and made our way through the crowd. Adults and children alike eyed my prized kite. The wind picked up, blowing my blonde curls all in my face, and I knew it was time to set this kite free from my grasp. Dad helped me hold it as I readied my hands on the spool of string. I watched as he took off running and then released it into the hands of the strong wind. For just a moment, I panicked, but then saw that it was flying just fine in the wind. Its colorful tail danced back and forth above me and in that moment I was completely content. I began running across the yard not taking my eyes off of that kite for a second.

A gust of wind came from the opposite direction and suddenly my eyes were staring at the ground where my broken kite lay. Tears filled my eyes as I carried it’s corpse up to where dad was and he assured me that it could be saved. I thought it was beyond repair, but he took it to the truck and pulled out some tape and glue and before I knew it he turned around with my beautiful kite completely fixed! I stared at him in awe because I realized that my dad could truly fix anything. After thanking him a hundred times, we released it back into the sky and I was once again completely content as I watched my colorful diamond flutter across the big blue sky. Kite Day had once again been a success.

I’m 22 years old now, married, and living two states away from my dad. But looking back on that day, I realize that I no longer can run to my dad when my heart gets broken or I get disappointed. Now I run to my heavenly father, usually with tears pouring out of my eyes, and He does exactly what my dad did years ago- He fixes it.

Memories Rewind: Towering Stacks of Treasure

Hello, readers! Madison invited me to do a guest post for this week's Memories Rewind, and I was very excited for the opportunity to share with all of you. My name is Tanya Hudson, and I was Madison's junior English teacher a few years ago. (She was an excellent student and, of course, an excellent writer, as I'm sure you could've guessed. :p) Now, I'm a school librarian in Athens, GA, and I thought I would share one of my favorite childhood memories: summer trips to the library with my Mammaw.

We didn't have much money when I was growing up; my parents had me and my little brother, Dave, when they were teenagers--just kids themselves. Despite their limited means, though, Mom and Dad always made sure we had books at home, and they always encouraged us to read--but I was ravenous for more. I even read in the bathtub, squinting to decipher the microscopic print on the lime green shampoo bottle.

Enter my Mammaw, who kept Dave and me in the afternoons during the school year and in the summertime while Mom and Dad were at work. Often--sometimes twice a week, sometimes every single day--Mammaw would pack us kids into her clunky blue station, along with her bulky black handbag and a canvas sack full of books to be returned, and we would ride across town to the library. (I don't mean for the ride to sound long; "across town" in Hartwell, GA is never more than a few minutes away.) When we arrived, she would head over to the large print adult fiction (she didn't see so well) and inevitably choose a handful of trashy romance novels to peruse while Dave and I made our choices.

Now, honestly, I don't remember the first time I visited the library, probably because I was too young to remember most things yet, but I do remember the sense of awe I felt every time I saw those shelves upon shelves of books. They were all treasures, all full of magic and wonder, packed with people and places I didn't yet know but yearned to visit.

I started, of course, with the picture books, like most kids do. Sometimes I would take a towering stack of those over to the lounge chairs by the window and read them right there in the library before choosing even more to check out and take home. I had my own library card, but kids were only allowed to check out three books at a time, and I just couldn't abide by that silly rule; instead, Mammaw would check out my books on her card so I could take eight or ten at a time (stuffed, of course, in one of her faded canvas bags).

When I got a little older, I moved two shelves over, from the E-for-Easy area to the J-for-Juvenile-Fiction section, where the books got thicker and, in my opinion, much more exciting. I learned that Encyclopedia Brown was smart enough solve any mystery, followed the Boxcar Children on many adventures, envied the girls in the Babysitter's Club books (who seemed so mature to me at the time), laughed at Ramona Quimby's antics, cried with Wilbur the pig when his spider friend, Charlotte, took her last breath. I read my favorites over and over, and the librarians (who, of course, knew me by name) would always let me know if they'd gotten in a new book that they thought I might like.

Now that I'm a librarian myself, I get to experience the magic from a whole new angle. When I read a picture book to my kindergarteners and see them smile or laugh or stare in disbelief, it reminds me of when I was their age, just starting to realize the wonder of reading. When I recommend Mary Downing Hahn's Wait Till Helen Comes (one of my childhood faves) to a fifth grader who wants a good scare, and when that kid comes back a week later saying, "That was so good! Are there more books like this one?"....well, pardon the cliche, but it warms my heart. When we order new books, I bubble with anticipation, just waiting to show them to the kids next time they come in. And sometimes, I even plop down in our story corner with a big stack of picture books and just sit there, reading, letting the stories whisk me back to those summer days in the library.