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another time

louissa — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 02:21:28 +0000

i have a million saved drafts here in the private workings of louissa.com. some i deemed not clever enough to amuse while others revealed too much of the soul for your eye to see and so they were never published. but they’re here. someday i’ll go through them and find amusement at unfinished sentences, long ramblings of frustrations, and confessions that no one should ever know about.

but until then they stayed stash away in storage here in my corner of cyberspace. blogging really is a rather strange self-centered sort of activity. but some say i make them smile and i brighten the day so how can i stop indulging myself by writing when all this goodness is coming from it?

i have nothing real to write tonight. my eyes are too heavy and my brain slowing down. my legs hurt from running and my bruised limbs are asking for more intake of iron (strange i know, but i am a unique being). and so i’m going to turn my lights out, burrow underneath layers and layers of blankets, and pray that some other night i’ll be inspired with something to amuse and brighten. for now, i need refreshing slumber and sweet dreams to carry me away.

ohme. ohmy.

louissa — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 02:10:54 +0000

i turn 22 tomorrow. twenty-two. doesn’t that seem ancient when compared to the simple and ordinary and young sound of 21?

i have a reputation for adoring my very own birthday (i think everyone secretly feels the same way about their own special day — they just don’t like to openly admit it) and although this year i just feel tired and don’t like the idea of stepping up again on this ladder of life, i’m trying to get into celebration mode.

so since we won’t be having the sledding party i originally thought i’d throw for myself…

i would like to have a pizza party. i will abstain a meal from my fruit & veggie eating and taste cheesy doughy goodness. it will be followed by a cake decorated all silly and colorful candles on top. then we’ll have a pinata and everyone will have a turn to whack the silly thing until we discover the candy inside. we can play pin-the-tail on the donkey and perhaps i’ll ask everyone to dress as a pirate.

yes, that will be very nice. happy birthday to me.

charcoal helps the body?

louissa — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 04:19:22 +0000

i’ve always heard about santa leaving charcoal in stockings for bad little children and i know of charcoal drawings (although i’ve never myself given it a try) and i also have experienced the difficulty in trying to light charcoal for your summertime barbecue, but i have never ever heard of a person ingesting it into their system.

until tonight.

i found my stomach aching and the pain too much and that’s when i did it. that’s when i ate charcoal. okay, so it was more like swallowing. and the charcoal was in a capsule. and i washed it down with simply orange (simply the best juice ever made). and no grit ever touched my mouth. and i personally did not feel like an item such as a stocking or a grill. but what this is all about is that i put charcoal into my body!

and doesn’t that just sound… wrong? and counterproductive when trying to relieve oneself of extreme stomach pains?

From St Patrickʼs Breastplate (a Celtic prayer)

Pat Noble — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 17:09:00 +0000

Christ with me, Christ in me,
Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ in breadth, Christ in length,
Christ in height,
Christ in the heart of every man
who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man
who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Get this WONDERFUL song for only 89 cents! Check out MrJAG at www.amazon.com

Read about the real St. Patrick here. (He was NOT Irish. He was not Catholic!)

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.