David B. Seaburn

I have been writing a blog for Psychology Today magazine for two years. The title of the blog is "Going Out Not Knowing." You can access at:


The notion of going out not knowing comes from the New Testament scripture about God calling Abraham who responded by going out not knowing where he was to go. I have always felt that was a good description of life itself. The uncertainty of not knowing can be both frightening and exhilarating.

I hope you will check it out and stay in touch with the blog. I would appreciate your thoughts and reactions. 


Blog Archive

Below is a recent blog. It is entitled, What Do You Do When Hope Shows Up?

I was driving back from my favorite coffee shop. It was late March. In many areas of the country I would have been enjoying budding trees, daffodils and tulips along the way. But I live in western New York where winter holds on for dear life well into March, sometimes April. I even remember a dusting of snow on our lettuce in mid-May. Nevertheless, as I drove along, I watched for signs of spring.

            I passed a house and in the driveway was a little boy sitting in front of a tiny table. He had a winter coat on, hood over his head pulled tight at the chin. His knees were clenched together for warmth. In front of him on the table was a pitcher, cups beside it. There was a sign haning from the table that was impossible to read. As each car passed, his raised his gloved hand slightly and tilting it back and forth in what was barely a wave.

            I smiled as I drove by. I thought, “No one is going to stop on this busy road to buy lemonade, especially when it’s almost freezing outside.” So I turned around and drove back to the stand. I pulled into the driveway as the little boy’s mother came out to take pictures. I assumed she was shocked that anyone had stopped. The eight-year-old boy, on the other hand, didn’t seem surprised at all.

            On the table were two plastic cups already filled. He was ready for business. I asked if he made the lemonade himself. He said that his mother had helped. I noted that the lemonade cost a quarter; he shook his head and pointed to one of the cups as if to say, “That one’s yours.” I picked it up and took a sip as a stiff wind set me back on my heels. “This is very good. Much better than just twenty-five cents.” I reached into my pocket and gave him a dollar. He leaned back in his chair and smiled from under his hood and said, “Thanks. You can keep the cup.”

            A little boy on a freezing cold day sitting by the side of a busy country road convinced he can sell lemonade. I think that is the definition of hope. And what do you do when you come across a sign of hope along the way? First you have to pay attention or you might miss it; then you stop, go back, welcome it, drink it in, and support it however you can.