Friday, May 28, 2010


I love thunderstorms. As I write this, I'm sitting outside waiting for one to approach.

With thunderstorms comes the memory of my dad and me sitting in our old garage for hours, watching the rain beat on the pavement. We'd sit there and count the seconds between lightning strikes and the soon to follow thunder. And maybe we'd make a few jokes here and there about God bowling in heaven again. We'd talk about our days, and I'd listen to his musings about the future and "adulthood."

Some people say that young people don't take advantage of their youth, or that they forget to value the simple moments. But I think even then, at my young age, I knew the worth of these moments. And I held on to them tightly...

So that ten years later, when I'm stressed about the future and anxious about where my life could take me, I can think about dad and me: relaxing, contemplating and dreaming. And that beautiful rain hitting our tree-tops.

We always made it a big deal, our escapades in the garage, but really it was just our excuse to hang-out together.

I think the Lord knew I needed that reminder of the kind of peace and blessing I felt from Him in those times, so I could cling to it again now.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010


Today I am missing these gentlemen...

And this place..

and this run...

and sleeping in this house...
even on those occasions when my body woke me up at three in the morning demanding that i walk creepily into the pitch-black night from my basement cellar room to the upstairs bathroom, all-along praying no crazy British late-night "pubbers" were out...

i even miss that.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


There are days when I assume no one will ever get me again. By "get" I mean, understand. By "understand" I mean take the time to discover more.

I've given it thought.

Yes, I too have spent time staring at the pictures containing love-struck faces with matching looks of endearment to go with their perfectly placed interlocking fingers. And it makes me feel a bit nauseous. And it's not nausea surfacing from the giant hearts dancing along the added border of the already unmistakable photo. I'm disgusted at the idea of that happening to "those people" but all along praying that I'm next.

But when the time comes, and I'm standing there with mixed emotions, displaying a perfect medley of both tears and smile, waiting for the moment when we say that that which was once our own is now shared...

I know that he'll "get" me.

(But in the meantime, I have people like Becky Renko to get me through. :D)

for me

Forgive me Lord, that at times I must remind my soul of Your sacrifice.

For me.

For Al.

Friday, May 14, 2010

happy birthday, pup.

That's right. It's my little Gracie's birthday today. To some shallow people this may mean nothing at all, and you may find yourself asking the question, "Who the heck is Gracie?" But for those of you that have spent more than fifteen minutes in the Hurndon home and claim the liberty of calling me your friend, this is a big deal.

OK, so I'm a bit biased, but this awkwardly large, fluffy-haired pup of mine is one of my favorite beings on this earth. And today is her tenth birthday! That's a milestone, people!

The festivities today include "puppy chow," the peanut-butter chocolate goodness that dog's are definitely not allowed anywhere near, a pink and purple jester-like collar only pulled once a year for this occasion and the presentation of a new toy. Excitement for sure.

Well, I gotta get back to the jubilee! Our honorary guest Becky Renko is calling for my attention, and this blog is embarrassing me by the minute. Well, maybe you fellow dog lovers can relate.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

i need this

I remember the last time I wrote in an online blog -- my Xanga account. It was that attempt in high school to be cool and trendy. At the time, blogging seemed like a good step in that direction, though I'm pretty sure my thoughts and ramblings were on the consistency of the food in the school cafeteria or my attempts to steal an extra chicken finger from the lunch lady. Pretty deep stuff, I know...

After all my English classes throughout college, all my lessons on writing and the importance of it, all my lectures from Dr. Cotton on the ways in which writing allows one to understand one's self: I'm just now getting it. I think it's because I need it. At a time in my life where nothing is consistent. Friends are scarcer. Job hunting, and I mean "grown up" job hunting, carries with it this weight disguised as responsibility. It's funny how I used to dream of the day I was on my own and responsible for me, myself, and I, but suddenly I'm dying to be that little blonde girl whose daily challenges included finding the biggest box turtle possible and making her bed.

Oh what I wouldn't give to be that girl again on some days.

At times a familiar scent or action takes me back to those moments just for a second and I linger on it in order to forget the importance of my life's decisions in the present. Half of myself is ready for the newness, while the other half cowers in the corner at the slightest movement towards change.

So for now I'll ramble on in my writing. Hoping two things: I'll make sense of all my mess. And maybe my writing will improve.

Goodnight Auburndale. It's 1:11 and I'm wanting that wish.