tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28173740402394059392023-11-16T09:32:57.010-05:00Well, There's Always Hope...and Hope does not disappoint usErinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.comBlogger202125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-21256733377358469942015-02-24T11:31:00.001-05:002015-02-24T11:31:57.378-05:00Thanking God that this sir FINALLY made it home to me. <br />
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Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-9279845637113345202014-12-20T00:16:00.002-05:002014-12-20T00:16:53.068-05:00Is it me, or are there a LOT of people writing 'open letters' these days?<br />
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And why am I still on facebook?Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-41802798997376330132014-09-23T17:08:00.001-04:002014-09-23T17:12:14.693-04:00Wild Nights Are Calling. Looks like Mellencamp knocked off an original.What’s that quote from Dumb and Dumber? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GV3E5e7fZ6M">“That John Denver's full of sh*t, man”?</a> That’s it, isn’t it? Gosh that movie. So hilarious. Or maybe I just think it was hilarious because it came out when I was in the 8th grade, the target audience for the film's the level of humor. Anyway, I mention it because the poet, John Denver is insulted as ‘full of it’ and I’d like to hold this up in contrast to a poet who nails it (no pun intended, read below) on another topic: Emily Dickinson’s <i>Wild</i> <i>Nights</i>. <br />
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When Jon is away I really tap into this space of … how would I describe it? Awareness? Noticing? Longing, for sure. But it seems like it’s something more than that. I tell people, and this is true, that there is a general underlying current of heightened emotion for the duration of deployment. This makes over-reacting a pretty typical experience, also tears are more common over small things. But longing offers me something too. It offers me a posture uniquely positioned to notice things, perhaps feel them more acutely.<br />
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And so Emily Dickinson’s poem. Right now, I feel these words. I embody them. This reclusive New Englander, dressed in white, pens three scandalous and spot-on stanzas that perfectly capture longing and desire for lovers apart.<br />
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<i>Wild Nights</i><br />
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Wild nights! Wild nights!<br />
Were I with thee,<br />
Wild nights should be<br />
Our luxury!<br />
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Futile the winds<br />
To a heart in port, -<br />
Done with compass,<br />
Done with the chart.<br />
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Rowing in Eden!<br />
Ah! The sea!<br />
Might I but moor<br />
To-night in thee!<br />
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Man, Emily, getting pretty racy, eh? The thing is, she nailed it: Longing, imagination, a heart’s desire. This is a new fave.<br />
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Many thanks to <a href="http://www.sunshinenaturalfoods.com/retailer/store_templates/shell_id_1.asp?storeID=BE13F02DA75B43948E927B7936AACC3B">Sunshine Foods</a>, the new health food grocery store in the neighborhood. I’ve been meaning to try it out for months and today I did. What luck: they offered my favorite chocolate bar, <a href="https://www.chocolove.com/">Chocolove</a> on sale this week. <a href="https://www.chocolove.com/">Chocolove</a> bars always include love poems on the underside of their packaging. Today Emily helped me express my longing for sweet Jon Horne. And I got to eat good chocolate. #WinWin! (Also, true confessions, I accidentally drooled on myself while eating the chocolate. I am a 33 year old adult. How is that even possible?)Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-84949536269834315882014-09-11T14:17:00.004-04:002014-09-23T17:18:06.404-04:00Stonehenge, Duh.<br />
Sometimes people give me grief for my obsession with <a href="http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/daysout/properties/stonehenge/">Stonehenge</a>. I have always found this place fascinating. Those who have visited say you have to drive a few hours to get there, and then you're made to stand behind a rope 100 yards form the neolithic monument<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">. But I would like to point out President Obama has always had Stonehenge on his Bucket List and recently took the entire Presidential entourage on a slight detour through <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 16px;">Amesbury, Wiltshire SP4 7DE, United Kingdom, home to The 'Henge.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy looks as about excited as I am about Stonhenge.</td></tr>
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And hello, just yesterday let's take a look at this article about the newly discovered expanding mystery of my most favorite place I have never visited. (I did however, in an attempt to get a feel for the real Stonehenge, vista <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foamhenge">FoamHenge in Natural Bridge, Virginia</a> in 2008, I think?)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foamhenge, Natural Bridge, VA #hilarious Just like real Stonehenge, only made of styrofoam and not stones.</td></tr>
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Link to Article: <a href="http://io9.com/archaeologists-have-made-an-incredible-discovery-at-sto-1632927903">STONEHENGE ARTICLE!</a> And another one, for good measure: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/science/2014/sep/10/stonehenge-teeming-chapels-shrines-archaeology-research">ARTICLE</a><br />
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Click these links. Read. Instantly get smarter. Good dinner party or happy hour conversation starter, and your conversational counterpart will think you're a genius + up-to-speed with current events. He'll definitely ask for your number.<br />
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Turns out Stonehenge is just the tip of the iceberg. Looks like there was a vast civilization connected to it at one point... thousands of years BC. I need to go there. That is all!<br />
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<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-78164879501396398842014-06-16T13:02:00.002-04:002014-06-16T13:02:52.827-04:00Marriage Makes A Person More Creative. Add It To The List.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56WhUBxcnrBauN_fNKtq3oageOcAsz1FwLk3AWZj2RrBsbwF-2xUoZCUX7gD1SJo1LD81RSLidXuSfTgK4MwCzJawOr16xtUQlZhlzmA7uaSUFXDHTMZ0-rxzOIko4RvB49vMBKtfocoL/s1600/pam-cooking-spray-6-oz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56WhUBxcnrBauN_fNKtq3oageOcAsz1FwLk3AWZj2RrBsbwF-2xUoZCUX7gD1SJo1LD81RSLidXuSfTgK4MwCzJawOr16xtUQlZhlzmA7uaSUFXDHTMZ0-rxzOIko4RvB49vMBKtfocoL/s1600/pam-cooking-spray-6-oz.jpg" height="320" width="92" /></a>There are a number of articles championing the benefits of marriage: more financial stability, live longer, satisfied in bed, less-likely to commit violent crimes, tax benefits, and the list goes on. In my few short years I have observed another benefit seldom cited, if ever: creativity. More specifically, I have noticed that marriage increases one's creative ability as it pertains to finding topics about which to fight. Way to go, marriage! I mean, before this week, it never occurred to me that I could, one day, fight with another human being about cooking spray. It turns out, however, it's possible!<br /><br />There I was, in the kitchen attempting to make Thai peanut dipping sauce. A man, known as my husband, faced me from about 6 feet away with a furrowed brow and one hand lightly resting on the handle of a very small, open cabinet door. "Where is my cooking spray I bought and like to use?” Truth is, I tossed those a few weeks back. At this point, I felt frantic, tried to play it cool and quickly weighed my options.<br /><br />Option 1: Answer honestly, “I threw that junk away because it is full of chemicals I cannot pronounce and god-knows-what-else. There are plenty of other options for greasing a grill currently residing in that too-small cabinet that drives me crazy and erupts every time I open the door. And by the way, why do you always come home with some unnecessary, absurd cooking spray can every time you go to the grocery store? It drives me crazy.”<br /><br />Option 2: Play dumb. Also, lie. Use sing-song voice and bat eye-lashes. “What, honey? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?”<br /><br />Option 3: Stare silently. Caught.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xJkyVJ9CXxzRJq4tsBQA_EjOaQOHcuipgELDGxOlKLeunTrLUrlMnUf7vA6DOGwTHWuJqw-zPYZbz-JNIVZqyc7W-rgEOubgXGLbLhnG7QM45a-q5BpYT33ZzbUo5DoCHpkiNibbN1n4/s1600/TraderJoes+iphone.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xJkyVJ9CXxzRJq4tsBQA_EjOaQOHcuipgELDGxOlKLeunTrLUrlMnUf7vA6DOGwTHWuJqw-zPYZbz-JNIVZqyc7W-rgEOubgXGLbLhnG7QM45a-q5BpYT33ZzbUo5DoCHpkiNibbN1n4/s1600/TraderJoes+iphone.PNG" height="320" width="121" /></a><br /><br />My recollection of the chosen response is somewhat foggy. Although, I believe it was an amalgamation of options 1-3, not well thought out, and somewhat aggressive. Admittedly, I’d been having, pardon my French here, a shit day. My eyes narrowed, a beat of silence hung heavily in the atmosphere, and I said very plainly to my now-adversary, “It’s gone.” Errr, eeehh. “I threw it away.” Tiny door shuts definitively. Adversary stares me down, turns on heel, marches defiantly out the back door. Door slams loudly shut upon noteworthy exit.<br />
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I’m not proud of the events that ensued. They involved several caustic exchanges. I lobbed a few condescending “You’re taking this way too personally” and “Is this really a hill to die on?" grenades his way. I received a sucker-punch or two of a few founded accusations about my being wildly inconsistent when it comes to all-natural/organic/local culinary stances combined with, say for instance, my more than occasional consumption of gummy peach rings, pizza, and weekly trips to Half-Price FroYo night down the street. I can’t blame the guy. The most consistent thing I’ve got going in my life is that I am... “consistently inconsistent.” Ultimately, I apologized. But it wasn’t one of those good, responsibility-taking apologies: <br /><br />“I mean, I am sorry throwing those away made you so upset. If I had known how you’d react, I would have put them someplace else. It was not premeditated on my part.” True! "I got fed up cramming junk into that dumb, teeny cabinet and was like, 'Oh to H with it! I’m throwing some of this crap away.' Your contributions to the cabinet were easy targets.” [BEAT] "Can we still eat dinner together?” And we did. In silence. At the kitchen island. #marriage #hillstodieon<br /><br />In our defense (no pun intended), we are merely days away from Jon’s seven-month deployment. (National defense - get it?) Emotions are running high over here. Little things, big reactions. Most notably, creativity is heightened! Perhaps another perk to deployment?! <br /><br />Really scraping the bottom of the barrel to find perks...Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-36542728906279761222013-11-22T11:47:00.000-05:002013-11-22T11:47:37.063-05:00Fifty Years Ago Today in Dallas<br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span>It is difficult for me to grasp the weight of President Kennedy's assassination in 1963. Largely because I was not alive at the time. As I get older, I can begin to think more seriously about the complexities surrounding such an event, but still... true understanding evades me. A few things are helpful, though as I try to wrap my brain and heart around the shock, fear, and turmoil surrounding that time in America's history, not to mention the deep sadness that enveloped our nation following President Kennedy's death. Today I read this recollection from a friend, Coach Bob in Virginia Beach:<br />
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<i>"<span class="userContent">November 22, 1963. I was 9 years old, in 4th
grade at St. Augustine Catholic School in Newport, R.I. – the same city
in which John & Jackie Kennedy were married just ten years prior.
Among the many indelible memories from that horrific we<span class="text_exposed_show">ekend
is the image of our teacher, Sister Mary Carmel - who most of us
considered the meanest and most cold-hearted human being on the planet –
sobbing and unable to speak as she came back into the classroom after
receiving the news in the hallway. We were told by the Mother Superior
moments later over the school’s PA system. The overwhelming grief we
witnessed from Sister Carmel that afternoon, perhaps more than anything
else, helped our young minds understand the enormity of the national
tragedy our nation had just experienced. Hard to believe half a century
has gone by since that day…"</span></span></i><br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">- Bob Schniedwind</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.esc9.net/pages/uploaded_images/jfk-jr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="irc_mut" height="200" id="irc_mi" src="http://www.esc9.net/pages/uploaded_images/jfk-jr.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="148" /></a><span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span><br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">And I listened to <a href="http://storycorps.org/listen/glenda-and-larry-rike/">THIS MEMORY</a> from StoryCorps. Simple, interesting... This has me thinking of Jackie O as a young widow and single mother of two.</span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">I was born 17 years after President Kennedy's assassination. My childhood context for his death included these two images of his son.</span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">The first, I was young and watched an old recording of this young boy saluting the flag which draped his father's coffin. I clearly remember my dad telling me, "See that? His dad taught him to salute the American flag every time he saw it, so there he is at this dad's funeral procession, saluting the flag as he was taught."</span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">In the late
eighties and early nineties America was obsessed with JFK Jr.'s dark
hair, strong jaw, and dashing good looks. I remember, as a kid, being
at my grandmother's house with my uncle, when I commented that
People Magazine </span></span>declared JFK Jr. "America's Sexiest Man." He quipped back, "that's just because they haven't met me yet."
(How's that for confidence?) Interesting though, President Kennedy's
legacy, to me, were these images of his son, who died tragically due to an
aviation incident when I was in high school. The older I get, the more I
come into the realization that his legacy perhaps has more to do with
his symbolic election, one who championed minority rights, worshiped
as a Catholic, and brought his young family into The White House. I am left hoping that the current rancor in the American political system and the hotbed of ideological division plaguing us in these days won't erupt as terribly as it did in 1963. I am also hoping that if we could navigate those divisions 1960's we can find a way to mend the fissures in our America of today.</span><span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-45379680266391733882013-11-20T03:53:00.001-05:002013-11-20T04:02:43.180-05:00Maybe My Last Peppermint Mocha, On Principle<br />
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<img class="rg_i" data-sz="f" height="320" name="_jCW-l7mM84E4M:" src="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" style="height: 186px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: -5px; width: 186px;" width="320" /></div>
<br />
Then one time Jon Horne was such a champ suggesting we hit up Starbucks for a tandem study date. Off we go from the hours of 8-10pm, he with his missiles and flight tactics, me with my Greek textbook. We arrive. I grab a table, he orders the drinks. Thanks, honey. After an hour or so nestled in and studying hard, we have a chat about our now-finished beverages. Somehow this happens:<br />
<br />
I'm like, "blah blah," and "and of course mine was decaf." <br />
His eyes go suddenly wide, "Oh no. I forgot."<br />
<br />
And ta da! Here I am. It's 3:51am EST, and let me tell you. I have been one PRODUCTIVE person since 11pm. So far I have succesfully fastened a new slipcover on a couch, ironed and steamed new slipcover, cleared out our ten-month-long junk room, moved furniture, hung a picture, tranferred and set up TV, Roku, etc. to make a new den! I vacuumed the front room and spent A LOT of minutes searching for coffee tables on overstock.com, wayfair.com, tuesdaymorning.com (major disappointment), worldmarket.com, target.com, and ikea.com. Then I watched two episodes of New Girl in the new den. Now I'm trolling facebook clicking on links to dumb blogposts and certain articles about spaceships, child predators (horrifying), and wait for it (that's right, you guessed it) "Ten Foods Americans Eat That Are Banned In Other Developed Countries." #whyisthefdatryingtokillus?<br />
<br />
Tonight, Starbucks won. Come to think of it, so did Jon Horne. He's been in bed since 10:30. Wait! So did I! I've been increasingly plagued by that depressing junk room - and now.... it's gone. Win Win Win!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-13227776886946266302013-10-24T07:21:00.000-04:002013-11-20T04:05:37.139-05:00A dear friend once said to me:<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I am convinced you can only love God as much as you love the person you love the least."</span></span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Dorothy Day</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then she said, "Ouch. Thanks, Dorothy." And I agreed with her. </span></span></div>
Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-25684869220145256402013-09-17T23:54:00.002-04:002013-09-17T23:54:53.426-04:00Awake My Soul
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62ME_5mHW8LPGK7Uw-CSwJ2xnC5npR0SqmUglTuMb9Acafy7cZEZIdHH4GJgT8G1DGq-9fls81watQVHkwshXq1qFC6W4FE8Y0UCx0Aunds6gYvU9E3zOsG6aQ8xoHa77YYchp4BHEaNN/s1600/mumford.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62ME_5mHW8LPGK7Uw-CSwJ2xnC5npR0SqmUglTuMb9Acafy7cZEZIdHH4GJgT8G1DGq-9fls81watQVHkwshXq1qFC6W4FE8Y0UCx0Aunds6gYvU9E3zOsG6aQ8xoHa77YYchp4BHEaNN/s640/mumford.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
The thing is, I cry a lot.<br />
<br />
Also, the other thing is, that truth is ... well, it hits you square between
the eyes sometimes. And other times it appears as a soft dawn, the sun
rising around those light pinks and soft colors until glory! The orb of
light is so bright it makes you squint a little and also makes you so glad you
got up that early (always a tough sell). It's difficult to watch a
sunrise without a sense of awe... even for a real jerk. For anyone,
words always seem inadequate to describe the
beauty and grandeur contained in a sunrise. <br />
<br />
In addition to the crying, I am easily excitable. I love loud music
because I can rock my head back, throw my arms up, close my eyes and
wale. Also, to me, dancing is just about the best thing.<br />
<br />
Last weekend my heart and eyes filled with gratitude at the Mumford &
Sons concert, outdoors in St. Augustine, Florida. The evening was
summery. (Sure it's September, but this is Florida, people). There was a
lightening storm flashing bright and beautiful jagged light nearby but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i> over top us - sweet
provision. Plus, I love this band. The music is incredible.
Their lyrics are steeped in meaning and life. With my head back, arms up,
excited little heart beating and mouth moving, I was deeply struck by the
voices of 25,000 people around me singing meaningfully these words:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i><span style="font-size: small;"><i>In these bodies we will live, <br />
in these bodies we will die<br />
Where you invest your love, <br />
you invest your life<br />
<br />
awake my soul...<br />
awake my soul...<br />
awake my soul...<br />
For you were made to meet your maker</i></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You were made to meet your MAKER<br />You were made to meet your MAKER</i></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVOgUeeyVOLr5XXUaI4Kkw4ZFiyfayuEYIw-jqCwKRlqW34RoSR8hhfvBNl5nrNnv9kc2rsU7Maf-7SI4yi-8CWH8zFa-J_DuXH9oCdYnjf1OpEF30uelDBmA48FZ-gOy4QXSkbylIV6C/s1600/photo-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVOgUeeyVOLr5XXUaI4Kkw4ZFiyfayuEYIw-jqCwKRlqW34RoSR8hhfvBNl5nrNnv9kc2rsU7Maf-7SI4yi-8CWH8zFa-J_DuXH9oCdYnjf1OpEF30uelDBmA48FZ-gOy4QXSkbylIV6C/s640/photo-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
And I cried! #shocker<br />
<br />
And I just prayed, "Lord Jesus, these people! Do they even know
what they're singing?! They were made to meet their Maker!
Gah!" I struggle to express that deep oompff: that Spirit of ache
and hope and longing and life... to translate things of God into words of
men. How do I express what I don't fully understand? In that moment
of realization the truth rose in me like the dawn and the burn of the sun
continues to glow and perplex me. I still feel like I am squinting into
that truth... but I am so excited by it, a little in agony over it. And I
don't necessarily even know why. I find that perplexing times call for
soothing measures: of truth on truth. I Corinthians 13:12 "<span class="text1cor-13-12">For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we
shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I
am fully known." And the best beauty that precedes this? Verse
8: "</span><span class="text1cor-13-8">Love never fails." While
eloquence escapes me, I can love. Where I
invest my love, I invest my life.</span>
<br />
<span class="text1cor-13-8"> </span>(But I still want all those other souls to awake!
Ah!)<br />
<span class="text1cor-13-8"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="text1cor-13-8">Photocred: </span><span class="text1cor-13-8">
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--></style></span>http://spotted.staugustine.com/images/100008/photos/2013/09/14/gallery/2733273.jpg, Instagram: ayyitscasey, </span></div>
<span class="text1cor-13-8"> </span><br />
Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-81958320676402598422013-09-17T08:30:00.000-04:002013-11-20T04:05:11.922-05:00Sad DayToday I learned a man I never met died at the Navy Yard in DC yesterday. I know people who loved this man and this lets me know he was one of high quality and personal pedigree: a kind one with a big heart. A man who sought to give and to love. Prayers for this man, for his family. And for the others hurt by the events in DC yesterday.Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-80570580929949249902013-07-23T15:52:00.003-04:002013-07-23T16:39:02.458-04:00The Way I Evaluate PeopleA friend, Denise, is in tune with life and has taught me much. One of the best gifts she ever gave me was a used copy of Lynne M Baab's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sabbath-Keeping-Finding-Freedom-Rhythms/dp/0830832580/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374608907&sr=1-1&keywords=sabbath+keeping"><u>Sabbath Keeping</u></a>. Now Denise is offering gifts again. I needed this today. Glad she posted it on her facebook wall.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (Something humorous? She shared this photo from a Facebook page entitled
"Just because I don't talk to you anymore doesn't mean I don't Love
you." HA! Let's hear it for emotional health and boundaries.)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/1001677_494318623982942_175117397_n.jpg" style="height: 611px; width: 460px;" width="240" />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-46329362525691467842013-02-25T01:02:00.003-05:002013-02-25T01:02:53.322-05:00Oh SheeshMaybe I should just have a special link to StoryCorps. Seriously. <br />
<br />
This story is drastic in its uniqueness. The relationship reflected in this short piece is deeply moving. Love is a fierce thing, while still retaining it's softness. You must listen. You must. Even Robert Siegel loses his composure. I MEAN....<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.npr.org/2013/02/08/171382156/a-life-defined-not-by-disability-but-love">CLICK HERE</a><br />
<br />
<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-61652467791705914932012-12-31T00:36:00.002-05:002012-12-31T00:43:09.307-05:00Hail To The RedskinsI'll tell you what ... I like <a href="http://www.redskins.com/">The Washington Redskins</a>. I really like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RGIII">Robert Griffin III</a>: his demeanor and the new life he's breathed into our hometown team. But you know who I really, really like? (besides Jon Horne)<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Rookie and 6th Round draft pick, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Morris_%28American_football%29">Alfred Morris</a>. COME. ON. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvJ0dNqSBcrGUnKQxxQlOi3fhec64SpiOevNU619OloidgCahOFZRoRAyQIkHfsSWZa-npPE3z19ZaDXyHJJ9IACI4Tb4R1qpC0cH77j4Snn6MLriX72DKCcQYrkv5QC_gkYXD1x5udAn/s1600/Alfred+Sports_Morris_Alfred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvJ0dNqSBcrGUnKQxxQlOi3fhec64SpiOevNU619OloidgCahOFZRoRAyQIkHfsSWZa-npPE3z19ZaDXyHJJ9IACI4Tb4R1qpC0cH77j4Snn6MLriX72DKCcQYrkv5QC_gkYXD1x5udAn/s320/Alfred+Sports_Morris_Alfred.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We beat the Cowboys tonight to win the NFC East and I liked him immediately while watching his post-game interview. Unassuming, grateful. What a humble sir! Evidently he broke some record for rushing tonight, but he didn't seem phased, just expressed that this whole experience was more than he could have ever dreamed. HOW.REFRESHING. I looked at my dad with my hand over my heart and Glenn goes, "Yeah, according to Ryan he's a real nice kid."<br />
<br />
And so in this day and age what does one do to satisfy a celebrity curiosity? Duh, I googled him.<br />
<br />
He instantly catapulted to the top of my "Most Favorite Famous People" List. Look at the man's car.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHokuQQ9sevaBSB7xmVAhzgmnRgS2Iw1Tms2Th5IHah6dDcLKn9yTCVv0KK55yTJcPHm-VwT99wE7BI0MDfDGzbWB0Wo97SsBCwNRyJ3ThBVpDJkAyu2waofqpvfz5gU8_b_GcBTDDCqf/s1600/img_2640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHokuQQ9sevaBSB7xmVAhzgmnRgS2Iw1Tms2Th5IHah6dDcLKn9yTCVv0KK55yTJcPHm-VwT99wE7BI0MDfDGzbWB0Wo97SsBCwNRyJ3ThBVpDJkAyu2waofqpvfz5gU8_b_GcBTDDCqf/s400/img_2640.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The bloggers calculated that he made well above the necessary funds for a new car down payment, but our Mr. Morris said of his 1991 Mazda 626:<b><a href="http://blog.redskins.com/2012/09/19/alfred-morris-wont-give-up-his-bentley/"><i>"It has some sentimental value to it now. It just keeps me grounded, where I came from and all the hard work for me to get to this point. So that's what helps me." </i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Redskins Blog</span></a></b><i><br /></i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBni0rBlM36s4_Lqm1ACVPwTlXLg5-2X9TM4hAQghi1sq8sbuH-kZpqiiV7au-4CyhcKPRBE9FIpcCE_OGt4up6yQLYVZ8_dAT1JzkrzpOCgvhA1xRg-5PG70T_7E3FTvja0BWA0dzunzh/s1600/Alfred-Morris-Juan-Eye-On.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBni0rBlM36s4_Lqm1ACVPwTlXLg5-2X9TM4hAQghi1sq8sbuH-kZpqiiV7au-4CyhcKPRBE9FIpcCE_OGt4up6yQLYVZ8_dAT1JzkrzpOCgvhA1xRg-5PG70T_7E3FTvja0BWA0dzunzh/s200/Alfred-Morris-Juan-Eye-On.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>That's it. New favorite. </b><br />
<br />
Even <a href="http://articles.washingtonpost.com/2012-10-06/sports/35501137_1_morris-dimples-darrel-young">The Washington Post</a>
wanted 'in' on this unusual, awesome story. Turns out Morris bought
the car during his junior year at Florida Atlantic Univ. Incidentally,
the team went 1-11 during Morris' senior year. Makes me like him even
more.<br />
Look, I don't pretend to know a lot about football, but I was reared learning <i>Hail To The Redskins</i> alongside <i>The Itsy Bitsy Spider</i>. And I do love the 'Skins. A few years ago I ran into a very kind, older gentleman when I was working in DC and had an entire conversation with him. Walking away, I commented that he "sure was a nice guy." My friend, Andy rolled his eyes and said, "Erin, that was Joe Gibbs." <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEWEdIRkt9uth1OA6iF8SL3H3hKgTO41OGXkWy9owwCAewJ1If4ZGDgBJ7d29jaFjlzTPSRSBxalr1CMIclBPfxhfDETUnL6OgSNTByaL48tO8tjviOjcLcctximPHhOkW850ZMiV7QB5/s1600/Alfred+with+car+m031349397491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEWEdIRkt9uth1OA6iF8SL3H3hKgTO41OGXkWy9owwCAewJ1If4ZGDgBJ7d29jaFjlzTPSRSBxalr1CMIclBPfxhfDETUnL6OgSNTByaL48tO8tjviOjcLcctximPHhOkW850ZMiV7QB5/s320/Alfred+with+car+m031349397491.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>FIGHT FOR OLE DC!!!</b></i></span></div>
<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-3027259635139853832012-12-21T08:00:00.000-05:002012-12-21T23:48:07.210-05:00It Doesn't Change WHO He IsThe holidays seem to act as an amplifier. If things are going generally going well in life, around Christmastime, they're going great! If you're in a season where things are a bit of a downer in general, Christmastime can send sharp pangs of "what is not" and feel as though "will never be."<br />
<br />
A week ago I had the privilege of attending a memorial service for a woman I never met whose <a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/willistonpioneer/obituary.aspx?n=bethaney-swanson-gooding&pid=161685448&fhid=16366#fbLoggedOut">life and legacy</a> will live far beyond her time on earth. I sat and listened to stories of deep and kooky love for others, a heart and mind committed to serving, and hilarious tales of a woman who seemed, for lack of a better term, "a force." I got the impression that her community is grieving deeply for the loss of this pillar. In a short google search, I found <a href="http://tinkmakesart.com/2012/05/16/bethaney-swanson-cancer-fund/">this article</a>, which confirmed my hunch.<br />
<br />
Her children each stood and eulogized their mother with depth, poise, and laughter. They were honest about the heartfelt sadness each is experiencing. For me, the most poignant moment came as her fifty-ish cowboy husband, tall and lean, spoke to God and opened the service. His voice thick with emotion, he offered these measured words:<br />
<br />
"Father, we're pretty tore up down here. [Beat] But that doesn't change who ya are."<br />
<br />
If only I was able to lean into WHO He is... To receive my identity. To let go of things that do not matter. To walk in His acceptance. For the ability to love beyond irritation and disappointment and anger. To follow through with things that feel tiresome. To receive the truth that I am NEVER alone.<br />
<br />
I spend a great deal of time attempting to reconcile what I know of God's promises with the blaring reality of pain and backwardness and loss on earth. But perhaps they just don't reconcile. The truth remains that things are 'pretty tore up down here' and yet also, He does not change. All that He is and all that He promises, <i>ARE ALSO TRUE</i>. For the past couple of years I've been pretty into the idea that life is not a 60/40, 80/20 even balance of light and dark, pain and joy. Rather, I believe that life is 100/100 of opposite entities crashing into and swirling around one another. It is in this reality that Jesus comes. Emmanuel comes. His presence nor His character CHANGE with shifting circumstance.<br />
<br />
I thought about this a little more. Thing above and things below do not reconcile. And this then is the beauty and power of Emmanuel, who is "reconciling the world to Himself" where truly, the world cannot overcome its own. [2 Cor. 5:18-20]<br />
<br />
And so as the holiday season amplifies, I think of dear friends who are navigating deep loss. A community in Connecticut relearning Christmas, who would probably rather not relearn Christmas without their loved ones. I experience Christmas without j.horne9, thankful He is safe, who is flying over tropical sea elsewhere and serving us from afar. We're pretty tore up down here, but it doesn't change WHO HE IS. Emmanuel, God with us.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkn2M40L17MySdR2UVVEKekjuNUMh8t51up6vnFUZMM6NtJaHHtBmBbO5f1jajnR74hU1U_mMPTteh4cALhRQr7XjoGNZKTzqOAbjRfjAr_tc7Gv9_sOBltwponC3r2pFFPsJi7QInoGe/s1600/Bethaney+Swanson,+Ben-and-His-Parents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkn2M40L17MySdR2UVVEKekjuNUMh8t51up6vnFUZMM6NtJaHHtBmBbO5f1jajnR74hU1U_mMPTteh4cALhRQr7XjoGNZKTzqOAbjRfjAr_tc7Gv9_sOBltwponC3r2pFFPsJi7QInoGe/s400/Bethaney+Swanson,+Ben-and-His-Parents.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In celebration of Bethaney Swanson. A woman who lived loudly and loved fiercely. What a gift.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-28090975529391606152012-12-17T07:16:00.000-05:002012-12-17T07:16:00.189-05:00Doing The Most Good<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnXhljsfKuD5FbzUn6R_2AESE6Zec0Ne6i-5v52l1YteImchhoPAtKY66XGXv4HlLU_vQhJFoC6EA_kL2y5-zBzcV8-sDimeExoXC-jEdLJfimC7MJE1t1bzHSWZQWinyj5UPqFzX6MR1/s1600/Salvalbellphoto.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnXhljsfKuD5FbzUn6R_2AESE6Zec0Ne6i-5v52l1YteImchhoPAtKY66XGXv4HlLU_vQhJFoC6EA_kL2y5-zBzcV8-sDimeExoXC-jEdLJfimC7MJE1t1bzHSWZQWinyj5UPqFzX6MR1/s320/Salvalbellphoto.JPG" width="239" /></a> </div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was then that I had this thought, "How is it that in all my years of
oddball and varied volunteering this is the first time I find myself in
this role?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Three shifts this week... </span>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-73622476938472735522012-12-12T10:56:00.000-05:002012-12-12T10:57:41.500-05:00From Judy Jetson to ... What goes beyond the Jetsons?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2GrLFNMyhCgRKDR3VUvh0xk5nRLszBbHgIG0kqU1lGPWPxHHKBLcxrM4MzrO-Dk0mHNjWcL0aCx7jaikHDSi3hkNkxgZt-stXRAXHJ-Qf33sySsefVVyd-JMr9_X-Olgd3tLxjHFjNuj/s1600/Jon+treadmill+photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2GrLFNMyhCgRKDR3VUvh0xk5nRLszBbHgIG0kqU1lGPWPxHHKBLcxrM4MzrO-Dk0mHNjWcL0aCx7jaikHDSi3hkNkxgZt-stXRAXHJ-Qf33sySsefVVyd-JMr9_X-Olgd3tLxjHFjNuj/s320/Jon+treadmill+photo.PNG" width="212" /></a>When Jon and I were engaged, skype became the space-aged portal through which we grew our relationship. Just like Judy Jetson! <a href="http://welltheresalwayshope.blogspot.com/2011/02/eat-your-heart-out-dr-claw.html">(For a more detailed explanation of marriage-prep-via-skype click HERE)</a><br />
<br />
This time around, which happens to be 2 years and 2 iPhones later, it appears that FaceTime is our new and convenient portal for relational maintenance. Usually Jon and I FaceTime (this is now a verb?) from our respectives dwellings: me in our house and Jon in his room. Imagine my surprise last night when I answered his call and was met with bobbing shoulders and a work out towel.<br />
<br />
THIS.WAS.HILARIOUS. Newest time to chit chat? During Jon's 40 minute run on the treadmill.<br />
<br />
As technology advances, we all win! Well, at least military families win.Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-35925596184500547252012-12-10T10:26:00.000-05:002012-12-10T10:26:13.549-05:00Come, Please I'm Desperate!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTApvNLflidosGgfJP8tiHYuXJl1GwJGL-BVN4L2icqHEO8KoRMy7IvijbswqGTacrxiTZuP9mtP6OC1f83VO_vdc4kfoMlswjIphn5M1pO0lz93z8tQGo71y0bEFqH_GpAtsIhZm5Aas/s1600/AnnieXmasphoto.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTApvNLflidosGgfJP8tiHYuXJl1GwJGL-BVN4L2icqHEO8KoRMy7IvijbswqGTacrxiTZuP9mtP6OC1f83VO_vdc4kfoMlswjIphn5M1pO0lz93z8tQGo71y0bEFqH_GpAtsIhZm5Aas/s320/AnnieXmasphoto.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I needed to read <a href="http://www.livingstorygrace.com/advent-at-our-house-or-why-we-need-jesus-to-come/3386/">THIS</a> this morning. <br />
Thank you, Elizabeth Turnage.<br />
<br />
Oh Emmanuel, you with your ways and kindness and sometimes so sneaky. How often I ignore you and your promise that You.Are.Actually.Present. (Sigh) What relief. Thank you that I do not walk alone. Thank you that in every difficult decision and in all my self-doubt, as I scramble, you come and you wait for me.<br />
<br />
And so, come Emmanuel, for goodness sake, come! We are both in need. (Me and the dog!)<br />
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<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-44971002642756899022012-12-06T14:42:00.001-05:002012-12-09T01:10:31.857-05:00The Truth of Christmas Past!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_LNPAItGRr64vikRpjr4YLIkwr7REyKmIfYkxbOmMB7q7azV5xiOfQgDGQAgKnJRb6Z-tnuIoktMxbyWqWDKn8KV5xTM2FHramdiC9ROJlPU9N9NPQ5k6DBnD6Ge2MwFiqo6UkXGKvCw/s1600/1950svintageblackandwhitephotochristmastreefamilymenwomenkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_LNPAItGRr64vikRpjr4YLIkwr7REyKmIfYkxbOmMB7q7azV5xiOfQgDGQAgKnJRb6Z-tnuIoktMxbyWqWDKn8KV5xTM2FHramdiC9ROJlPU9N9NPQ5k6DBnD6Ge2MwFiqo6UkXGKvCw/s400/1950svintageblackandwhitephotochristmastreefamilymenwomenkids.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
See, this is precisely the truth we lose in the advent of digital photography. In the family holiday memory above Granddad's looking left. Dad is distracted. Mom looks a little haggard. Bobby and Suzy have the deer-in-the-headlights look. Uncle Joe is slouching after too much eggnog. I love this. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Disclaimer: I don't actually know any of these people. But I respect their honesty)</span>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-52449044755480223962012-12-05T07:43:00.000-05:002012-12-05T13:31:21.556-05:00It's Cool to Be Kind<style>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Kindness melts my defenses.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Nearly every time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This week, given Jon’s departure, tears are not
uncommon. However, I have found if
I am in ‘Go’ mode and keeping busy, those tears come less often. Alright!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The kink in this plan is that I know a lot of nice people,
and as usual they are being kind to me.
Almost as soon as a warm voice extends kindness to me I sort of dissolve
and my voice squeaks while I am trying to speak evenly. HA! (Note: if you are one of said kind people leaving me voice mails, please keep leaving them! I may not return these calls due to aforementioned reaction to kindness. Do not be offended! It's me, not you.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yesterday I read about complimentary military tickets for the
<a href="http://www.jaxsymphony.org/">Jax Symphony Holiday Pops concert</a>.
(I have been wanting to go to this!) I spoke with Bill at the JSO and learned that in order to
qualify for the tickets, military families must accompany their active duty
service members in uniform. “Oh,” I
responded. And explained that Jon
just left, but would I still be eligible for one ticket? He refused. Then proceeded to tell me there would be two complimentary
tickets for me at will call because it was not acceptable for me to go alone. I
love Bill!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I hung up before he could hear the emotion rise in my voice
and promptly had a grateful cry on the couch next to Annie. (For questions concerning the identity
of <a href="http://welltheresalwayshope.blogspot.com/2012/04/heres-to-redemption.html">‘Annie’, read here</a>.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the time since I’ve been married to Jon I’ve sort of balked (though taken advantage of)
‘free’ and ‘discounted’ things offered occasionally to military simply because I have
not felt deserving of any special treatment. I still don’t believe I <i>deserve</i> it, but as a recipient, I am
moved and encouraged by the kindness.
The thing about kindness is that no one HAS to do it. We choose to be kind, and that’s what
makes it powerful. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I imagine Bill looks like this. ----></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I realize this is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dave_Thomas_%28businessman%29">Dave Thomas</a>, founder of Wendy’s, but didn’t
he always seem like the nicest, warm-hearted sir?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>For a good perspective on a simple goal of kindness for the holidays, read
Nina’s thoughts <a href="http://www.mysongstosing.com/2012/12/welcome-christmas-with-a-few-guidelines/">HERE</a>.</i></span></span></div>
Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-69694045407668988082012-12-04T00:44:00.000-05:002012-12-04T00:48:58.197-05:00Man I love <span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.thepolyphonicspree.com/">The Polyphonic Spree</a></span>. What a bunch of enjoyable weirdos. I watched them cover Happy Christmas tonight on<span style="color: purple;"> <a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-tonight-show/">Jay Leno</a></span>. Bring on the Christmas cheer, Polyphonic Spree!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIpRCOdGL7PXW_d39wy_mAMuBaWhgwKsqnLZNmQfhH9Yv9-l6YuWSM_WmkEzwboWRZCYMU91DrMzsK-0fuGRDCNaSd8jXeZiMAHLD5afwT23dTFu2XZP3EZVFN164n-VSF3ktKDA1i0p6/s1600/polyphonic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIpRCOdGL7PXW_d39wy_mAMuBaWhgwKsqnLZNmQfhH9Yv9-l6YuWSM_WmkEzwboWRZCYMU91DrMzsK-0fuGRDCNaSd8jXeZiMAHLD5afwT23dTFu2XZP3EZVFN164n-VSF3ktKDA1i0p6/s400/polyphonic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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They make me so happy.Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-12320931659164266212012-12-02T21:00:00.000-05:002012-12-04T16:00:45.250-05:00"Go get 'em Honey! See ya in six!"November 2012 was interesting. A little bit pensive. Our home experienced an undercurrent of "it's coming" in a way that felt heavy and apprehensive. This resulted in lots of car tears. You know, the tears that you've saved up to spend while your loved ones are elsewhere, but fellow commuters glimpse your smeared mascara and misshapen face in their rear view mirrors. (It is in these moments that I always think, "Thank God no one can hear the oddball whimpering and gutteral throat sounds I'm making right now.")<br />
<br />
<b>All month we knew that Jon would leave for his first deployment the week after Thanksgiving. </b><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOSCP4-hyrG7zo04OPMCoJYp_5d0bzAR4Jboi3JO7WuEE7Hg6qjuKBthFO9sMtdY7qhFeE10OZumkDYhBNPhKz9H-68u1meEWyiDoju73X1MvRUMtgzPmtjEwEif1iR4GMRgvg2hL-eho/s1600/Thanksgiving+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOSCP4-hyrG7zo04OPMCoJYp_5d0bzAR4Jboi3JO7WuEE7Hg6qjuKBthFO9sMtdY7qhFeE10OZumkDYhBNPhKz9H-68u1meEWyiDoju73X1MvRUMtgzPmtjEwEif1iR4GMRgvg2hL-eho/s320/Thanksgiving+2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I knew this would be the first Thanksgiving I'd spend away from family. The first Thanksgiving dinner I'd be responsible to host. Thank you, <a href="http://www.bluefishjax.com/">Blue Fish</a>, by the way for a lovely $28/pp Thanksgiving buffet. Rave reviews all around.<br />
<br />
It's interesting though, reflecting on this November, because when the thick emotional undercurrent rose to the surface, the call of military wife duty rang loud and clear. This is the (perhaps false and self-imposed) pressure to smile if one feels otherwise, remember the good, and keep it together so that one's husband doesn't implode beneath the anvil of guilt threatening his spirits. He knows he is leaving you 3 weeks before Christmas and won't return until June. And he is a good man with a tender heart. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIoibDyemokhyphenhyphenJoIe2P0aZrdZfduCRmPYLkaCnFo-6RxxyKO7YwCg6KncjVZfRX4i2GEx6lM3YC9iHPy6HQkkKE6mmYpHNR27hYDidJWT9BeUPGf1TTgSqhmRGWPNOIq54LVjf9CKOLsl/s1600/deployment+jon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIoibDyemokhyphenhyphenJoIe2P0aZrdZfduCRmPYLkaCnFo-6RxxyKO7YwCg6KncjVZfRX4i2GEx6lM3YC9iHPy6HQkkKE6mmYpHNR27hYDidJWT9BeUPGf1TTgSqhmRGWPNOIq54LVjf9CKOLsl/s320/deployment+jon.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It's 3:58am and I'm happy to be here."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jon left this morning. I am sad. I am proud of him; for over two years he's trained for this moment. Jon carries a strong desire for justice deep in his bones. I respect him for this. Also it makes me crazy. For instance: while he is driving. None honk their horn with more frequency or conviction. Trust me. But I am grateful for this man, for his yearning to make things right, to protect, to serve, to do his part. And I am praying to join him in this conviction willingly. To offer him up with open hands, standing with him shoulder to shoulder in heart and attitude. I am grateful for this last week with him: intentionally building free time together, quickly forgetting the small things that can irritate. Lots of laughter, honest talk, and shared purpose.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdVpuXEJrs_2YhS3p59PyBvC4OshcGM4-86x0Gi-bGzadBxHTlt7JFYP6TMlYmHLY5DSRq1_bC8R18xWwOURivb7nS1pGgnLK8ZSXzrR-EkZmRfLNmZ_J60bfNQL4nTc_JcdSNIDN8r9L/s1600/deployment+pair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdVpuXEJrs_2YhS3p59PyBvC4OshcGM4-86x0Gi-bGzadBxHTlt7JFYP6TMlYmHLY5DSRq1_bC8R18xWwOURivb7nS1pGgnLK8ZSXzrR-EkZmRfLNmZ_J60bfNQL4nTc_JcdSNIDN8r9L/s320/deployment+pair.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just before Jon boarded he said goodbye to both of us. (Me and the huge zit on my chin)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
He is my 'other' and I am thrilled to walk life with him. Walking life with him means walking a good bit of life with him in spirit rather than person. 'Military Wife' just about topped my list of "Things I Never Want to Be" for yeeeears.<br />
<i>That was before I met Jon. </i>Hilarious. Life unfolds unexpectedly, and I find myself in circumstances I did not anticipate. And I am OK here. God acts in wisdom (and a good deal of mirth, I do believe).<br />
And I trust Him. And I am grateful.<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Go get 'em Honey! See ya in six!</b>"</i>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17396486330548625014noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-3578619880583540632012-08-15T23:02:00.000-04:002012-10-09T23:06:54.307-04:00Olympics. Yes Please.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Something about the romance of The Olympics sparks memories and inspires future aspirations of grandeur. I find that recently being married offers the perfect opportunity to convince another of one's past athletic prowess.<br />
<br />
Today two events have catapulted Jon Horne down Memory Lane and seem to be rekindling deep-seated passion for sport.<br />
<br />
On table tennis<br />
After regaling me with tales of childhood ping pong victories, he considers his deployment to Asia in December, "I'm gonna go crazy in Japan. I'm gonna bring my own paddle."<br />
<br />
On volleyball, after I mentioned that I love seeing someone at the net surprise the defense with a soft lob rather than spike it:<br />
J: "Oh I know. You know what they used to call me?"<br />
[beat]<br />
E: "What?"<br />
J: "'Placement.'"<br />
<br />Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-24159138957950653342012-07-25T13:31:00.000-04:002012-07-25T13:34:24.059-04:00Another Reason to Love Jon Horne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Florida summers are blazing hot. I mean, buh-lazing. Our mailman delivers post on foot in the 'hood. He is very cool and has big muscles. In our eight months on Riverside Ave he has impressed and slightly intimidated us by his physical prowess and cool factor. One day last week Jon saw him through the window, sweating profusely, and asked via body language if he would like water. Picture Jon: hand motions + dramatically mouthing the word W-A-T-E-R. "Yeah man," was his reply. Jon Horne happily produced some monstrous black plastic cup (i.e. vat) of ice water for him. In the excitement experienced after performing a good deed, JH declared he would daily provide hydration for our mailman. And in turn, left this note taped to a personal cooler containing a bottle of water on our stoop the following day. Incidentally our postal carrier's manners are intact, as we received a formal Thank You note this same day.<br />
<br />
We now feel a personal connection to Vincent (turns out he has a name) and have begun to trade easy conversation with him. Let me just tell you, mailmen know things. And I think especially those on foot have a real understanding of what really goes on in the neighborhood. There's some motivation to be good to yours.Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-74196698710648431942012-05-17T10:56:00.000-04:002012-05-17T10:56:20.526-04:00Do you ever have those moments when each of your senses seem to pique simultaneously, you draw in breath and become overwhelmed with the notion that your life is very rich?<br />
<br />
I had one of those moments last night. My eyes welled with evidence of rising emotion and deep satisfaction. I took in my surroundings enveloped by a haze of slow motion. A deluge of thoughts flooded my awareness.<br />
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<br />
I found myself surrounded by unlikely, new friends on a perfect evening in St. Augustine, FL stilled by a magical light show which accompanied the band, Wilco as they performed on stage. And I was overwhelmed....<br />
<br />
by the warmth of God's goodness<br />
by the unpredictable course of my life<br />
by the fact I was there only by one's generosity and another's invitation<br />
by my <a href="http://www.thefloridianstaug.com/">full belly</a> and <a href="http://sweetwaterbrew.com/brews/blue/">SweetWater Blue</a> in hand<br />
<br />
And I couldn't help but conclude that God is trustworthy, and He is good.<br />
<br />
<br />
(More later because I cannot stop here. Stay tuned.)Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2817374040239405939.post-85358534513896537392012-04-11T17:32:00.000-04:002012-04-11T17:32:13.100-04:00They Say Pets Resemble Their Owners<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gWAszybP2u6Yuw-FnofPws2HkYIWXdZ6jHjiWpo5yS6m4_1xXY3C8Kc6E8wU-o95JfP5XbVrucbffcdIRccU8CzFcNxBSc1m69MxDRqdoojgeQN5qEDMRQNfQT4CdgK9tC-DgsEZkJ-z/s1600/annie+first+day" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gWAszybP2u6Yuw-FnofPws2HkYIWXdZ6jHjiWpo5yS6m4_1xXY3C8Kc6E8wU-o95JfP5XbVrucbffcdIRccU8CzFcNxBSc1m69MxDRqdoojgeQN5qEDMRQNfQT4CdgK9tC-DgsEZkJ-z/s320/annie+first+day" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Jon told me about a conversation he had with Lyman today while he was over and petting our newest family member, Annie. (For an explanation on our neighbor, Lyman, click <a href="http://www.welltheresalwayshope.blogspot.com/2012/03/wont-you-be-my-neighbor.html" style="color: purple;">HERE</a><span style="color: purple;">.</span>) It went like this...<br />
<br />
Lyman: "Every time I see Annie I think of Erin."<br />
<br />
Jon: "Why?"<br />
<br />
Lyman: "They look alike."<br />
<br />
Jon, slightly taken aback: "Are you saying Erin looks like our dog, Annie."<br />
<br />
Lyman: "Yeah."<br />
<br />
Jon: "Lyman, never tell a girl she looks like a dog."Erin Hornehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09154740737986678962noreply@blogger.com1