Housegirl.

That storm.

In case you don’t live in my house and weren’t watching out the back window in between Doctor Who episodes, there was some kind of thunderstorm craziness happening here.  It got dark, the wind whipped around viciously, the rain beat down, and I was amazed that my house just made some cracking sounds.

And by cracking sounds, I don’t mean that it cracked.  I mean, it just made sounds.  The storm looked like the kind that could rip things apart and blow my car off the road (if we didn’t hydroplane first… thankfully I wasn’t driving).  But my house stood firm.  The lights stayed on.  I watched through the window.

Unlike many things in my life, this house was built to last.  Sure, most clothes aren’t made of anything remotely sturdy nowadays, and any electronic you buy is sure to wear out or have a freakout within a couple of years.  But this house – the one that every time I ask my parents how old it is, they say the same number… or at least, I feel like they do, even though the year changes – stands strong when the winds howl and threaten destruction.  It acknowledges the storm, gives it a nod with a few creaks and groans, but it doesn’t bend.

I’m sure it’s nothing remarkable about my house in particular.  Your house is probably just as good.  This isn’t a competition by any means, but I’d surely like to be like my house.  I’d like to stand tall amid the storms of life.  I’d like to acknowledge winds and rain but to keep on keeping on without turning off the lights or breaking my windows.

I’d like to be stalwart, strong, a little bit wet and windblown but unshaken.  Like my house.

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