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Saying it since 2001 2010-03-10 16:55:00

Lore Ferguson — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 21:55:00 +0000

I'm keeping my options open here, but it's slow going for sure. We're trudging across the grass, an afternoon walk to break up the four walls of our day. I'm asking her if she feels any different, spiritually, not physically. We've been fasting for three and a half weeks now, subsisting on fruits and vegetables. Every morning I gulp my smoothie and pinch my skin to see if anything's changed. It hasn't. I still feel dry inside, dehydrated, thirsty.

I prop an index card with a verse from Colossians on my desk at work, we read through 4 or 5 chapters of the Bible every morning, we've exhausted our playlist of tolerable Christian music sixty times over, and I'm hungry. I'm really hungry. But I still don't feel different. I wanted to feel different at this point.

The debate is ongoing while I type this, "Shouldn't our spiritual disciplines be private? Closeted practices that sharpen us on which we hinge our growth?" But honesty wins out: I'm not out to get brownie points from God (or you) here, trust me. I've finished with all that legalism stuff. But the truth is, like someone said to me the other day, the purpose of the (Lenten) fast is almost so we do fail, so that we can know that God is bigger, that He wins. That's consoling for a few minutes and in the big picture, but here on earth, that is not consoling in the least. I'm not really interested in long term benefits these days. I want action and I want feeling. And I want it now.

I need it now, I say to her, we're dipping down on the path at the edge of the field. I need to know that if I ask, He'll answer. That if I hold out my hands for bread, I'll at least be offered a saltine instead of a stone. I don't ask for a lot, I admit to her, at least not of God. I'm too accustomed to disappointment. It's safer to just not ask. But what has this past month been if not asking? What have the past few months been if not asking? Sure, I didn't use words until recently, but my heart hasn't changed. I'm asking. I'm asking for a lot right now. I'm asking for Him to show himself to me, to not pass me by, to heal me, to bless me, to give me a glimpse of His glory. I'm selfishly hording all the blessings I have so that I can stare at them when the doubt rises, to assure myself that My God Reigns.

I'm asking that He heals my knee. I smashed it six months ago and it's still swollen and tender. I'm sure surgery is in order, but I'm asking that it not be.
I'm asking that He pulls through financially. Things are tight. Always tight.
I'm asking that He restores some relationships I still don't understand the depths of.
I'm asking that He teaches me resistance and courage.
I'm asking that He heals my unbelief. My belief got wounded somewhere along the way, it needs to be healed completely.
I'm asking that He answers my prayers. Or at least nods in my general direction. That would do.

can i tell you what i want?

louissa — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 03:23:09 +0000

right this very minute, i would like…

to find time to paint my nails
to climb a small mountainish sort of hill this weekend
to have a companion who reads 1 John to me at top of said mountainish hill
to not work in my blue office anymore
to continue working in my blue office if it’s that or another job
to find things to work towards and be excited about
to make my dream of touching foreign soil again come true this summer
to find children to hold and smile at on this foreign soil
to maintain the simple lifestyle of crushing on musicians and not real individuals
to eat cake and more cake and more cake
to care for my soul and not listen to so much jack johnson and sarah mclachlan
to rid my fingers of all greasy grime stuck to them after changing my brake pads
to drink more water. and continue doing so
to plant tomatoes, lettuce, squash, beans, and even corn
to pray for people when i tell them i will
to never be grumpy, say a harsh word, or grow frustrated
to abound in the fruits of the Spirit
to go to bed.
and i shall.

the dilemma of cheese danish

louissa — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 04:05:57 +0000

if it’s possible to drown your sorrows in cheese danish then i do believe i’m in the middle of it as i type. under covers in bed, laptop open, and cheese danish beside me slowly being devoured.

do i have sorrows to drown? i don’t think so, but it’s ever so much fun to pretend. i could imagine that i was a brilliant actress who was suddenly struck mute by sheer chance and found solace in this luscious dessert. or maybe i owned a large company and my friend, mr. co-owner, cheated me and suddenly i found myself empty-handed. i would of course, when given all the numerous possibilities of how one could find comfort after such misfortune, tend towards pastry. or maybe i’m a heartbroken maiden — her father has refused her the love of her life and shut her away in a tower. instead of letting any hair down, i’d make myself nice and rotund off this high in calorie feast.

yes, i need to play that i’m drowning sorrows away one bite at a time. how else can i explain that suddenly half the pastry is missing?

sunday afternoons are made for:

louissa — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 21:40:44 +0000

yeah, you’re right to guess that this photo was staged. i’m not really sleeping. i had just woken from my lovely nap and am feigning sleep to get my point across.

but aren’t naps on sunday afternoons the best?

tomorrow is new

louissa — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 00:36:55 +0000

friday has the reputation as being the opportunity to go out, expend large amounts of energy, and slip into oblivion until noon the next day. if that’s how you’re supposed to celebrate the end of a work week, i haven’t figured out how people manage it. my own friday nights are starting to have the reputation to be my granny nights.

i find that i have to drag my feet home as i finish up another work week. i tell myself to keep moving, tackle the few small jobs that need to be done around the house, and then slip into pajamas at 7:00 and do absolutely nothing productive until i fall asleep at 10:00.

i love them. that’s how i celebrate five more days done in my blue room.

today was long. in fact, i pretty much hated most everything about today. it started out bad, continued bad, and although this evening is wrapping up to be nice, it doesn’t erase all the earlier badness. the really bad thing in all this? i was the reason for it. every selfish bone in my body decided to act out today and i found myself weak trying to fight against it.

i walked out my front door at 8:45am already hanging my head in shame for the way i was acting. i could blame it on the fact that as my alarm went off i touched my aching forehead and stiff neck and whispered, “Dear God, what happened to me?!” i could blame it on the fact that i was left with the end of our pot of coffee which equaled not even half a mug of hot goodness.

but they’re not the reason for the frustrated words and poor attitudes that haunted me all day. i am.

yeah, today was long. i’ve never been so excited about starting afresh the next day. i like the idea of a second chance, a fresh slate — whatever you want to call it. and mostly i like that i get to prove that His mercies really are new every morning.

Saying it since 2001 2010-03-04 22:56:00

Lore Ferguson — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 03:56:00 +0000

We are learning to touch the fragile things, carefully. I remember being small and learning that touching the petals of a flower made them wilt and drop. And I remember feeling this unfair advantage over things of such beauty--why would God make things so touchable, so off-limits? Now that I am older and somewhat wiser, I see that the most tempting things are the most fragile on purpose.

I do not dream. I stopped dreaming a few years ago, somewhere between 21 and now. I stopped asking and stopped hoping. There are things that we wish for, long for, ask for, hope for and when we turn around each corner and find it as empty as the one we left, we eventually learn to stop wishing and sometimes to stop turning corners. We prop our collective feet on the ottoman of disappointment and tune our collective ear to the dismal quiet. It is easier to not touch a thing so fragile than to touch it and watch it drop to the ground, come unhinged from its lifesource.

I am saying this to my friend while we sit on the couch and dream. I am saying to her that to dream is to touch a fragile thing and fragile things break in my hands. She says that she is good for me and I can't help but agree. She does most of the talking and I just let fragile things grow from the inside of me, where I am touching them from the very start, where I am a part of their lifesource.

I read Hebrews the other morning "Without faith it is impossible to please God" and the answer comes easily, slides in and stays. This spinning wheel, this slippery slope, this trying desperately to please God and failing every single morning and every night too is borne of one thing only: without faith. I'm trying to do the impossible, please God without faith and He's not pleased.

If the lifesource is faith, not pleasing God, then I can touch the fragile things. Then we will see.

Saying it since 2001 2010-03-03 21:46:00

Lore Ferguson — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 02:46:00 +0000

I walked to the coffee shop tonight, trudging through puddles and thoughts the whole way there. I am determined to make something happen in my soul these days. I am determined to find a course and stay on it. I find that the options are huge and full and there was once a time I didn't fear writing them out here, in this place. I stop on the corner of Walnut and Market, stick my hands deep in the pockets of my fleece and wonder where that time went?

She was a more fearless, determined, free and certain person than she is today, on the corner of Walnut and Market. She had plenty of friends, joy, deep contentment, and passion. Dreams enough to satiate five persons. She packed away everything and moved to Guatemala. She traveled to Asia a few times. She worked at wilderness camps, managing ropes courses despite a fear of heights. She transferred to a southern university sight unseen, she wrote everyday, she painted, she worshiped, she fell in love, she grew up. And then she grew fearful. Or maybe she was fearful all along and when all the stuff stopped the fear poked through. She doesn't know anymore.

And then I walked the rest of the way to the coffee shop, which was closed, so I turned around and went home.

It would be easy to say that the cares of the world coddle those fears, that a life unhindered by bills and jobs and debts and furniture is a fearless life. From this vantage point it seems that would be the truest thing. But I know people who own little, carry little, and fear much. So I cannot think that it is stuff that cultivates the fear, but I think that I John was onto something when he talked about the lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life. I think that there must be something to those wicked three, something that lends an ultimate fear in a person.

I make a strategy while I walk, ways to alleviate my cell phone, snowball my school debt, lessen the cares of the world so that there is nothing to boast about in life--what is there after all? But even these strategies feel limp and fearful (who says that should the giant be ten inches smaller, he should look like less of a giant to a dwarf?).

Tonight I edit an article I wrote last year and never submitted. Maybe tomorrow I will submit it. Not to get published, no, but to say to fear that I am afraid of much, but I am not afraid of fear. Not tonight.

carmichael

louissa — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 00:38:38 +0000

“Give me the love that leads the way,
the faith that nothing can dismay,
the hope no disappointments tire,
the passion that will burn like fire;
Let me not sink to be a clod:
Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.”

disgruntled much?

louissa — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 03:49:41 +0000

more tiredness and sleepy eyes while i finally open my laptop to end my day. i drove home anticipating a night of undisturbed slumber (please, dear Jesus, please) and a morning where i could sleep until my body told me it was ready to rise. right now, there’s nothing that sounds more blissful (i apologize to all parents who are reading this, but i’m just taking advantage of my season of life).

but i arrived home and was reminded of an 8am meeting i have to attend. why-oh-why?

my life hates me.

scratch that. my life hates me. my tummy hates me. i’m hungry. a lot. and it’s in turmoil just as much. i feel as though my stomach, intestines, and whatever else is involved in the digestive system, is mimicking a WWII battle to the best of their abilities and my pangs of pain are saying their doing an awfully good job. and there’s no rest. it continues all the time.

so, not as much sleep, a hungry girl, and an upset tummy — watch out world, my flesh will be an awfully cross girl in the morning. good thing my 8am is full of worship, prayer, and Bible time. it just might help this poor attitude.

Saying it since 2001 2010-02-26 10:06:00

Lore Ferguson — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 15:06:00 +0000

The clouds roll like tumbleweed over the Saint Lawrence, gathering their supply before heading back over the mountains to our right. It is grey everywhere recently, not like Summer or Autumn around here, where everything is lit with color. We grow accustomed to the sameness of Winter and Spring; even the daffodils and small violets are a minute shock to our existence. Which of these things doesn't belong?

I have made a Caricature God. What's yours?

Mine is a God of sameness. When I was small the parishioners would sing in four-part harmony "Great is Thy faithfulness, there is no shadow of turning with Thee, Thou changest not.." and you know the rest. I envisioned a God who had a lethargy any five year old would disdane. I did. Mine is a God of deceptive bordem, a continual plod toward a New Heaven and New Earth. This is no journeyman with a wunderlust for life, this is no rigid taskmaster with a end goal in sight, this is a God who marks tallies on a cave wall: Day 263. Day 8754. Day 24,788.

Mine is a God who has been seated on a throne for more days than I understand and whose beard has grown past his knees and who has grown accustomed to my mistakes and missteps. He nods from that great throne and glances at the calendar to see if it's almost time to just bring us all home where we belong.

I wake every morning to deceptive sameness. This week is full of grey spring rain, enough to make the grass turn a brilliant green and to break the icy winter dams that have held back the rushing and wild water. And maybe it's the rain that makes me think that every day changest not, but more perhaps it's the daily grind of life. The same coffee maker churning out the same cup of coffee keeping me awake through the same morning to do the same things to go the same places. Ad nauseum.

And I wonder today, how He does it? This Caricature God of mine. How does he remain faithful? How does his changelessness and faithfulness defy the impressions of a five year-old and this twenty-something year old? He says Faithful, I say Boring. He says Unchangeable, I say New Toy Please. The book of Hebrews says:

In the same way God, desiring even more to show to the heirs of the promise the unchangeableness of His purpose, interposed with an oath,so that by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have taken refuge would have strong encouragement to take hold of the hope set before us.

Right about now I need some strong encouragement. Not that I'm faltering or failing or hopelessly flailing around, but just because His unchangeableness seems a little grey right now, a little too constant, a little too familiar. I'm asking for something that doesn't belong to jolt me wide awake and put some color into my world. I'm asking for a fresh impression of God.