NorthernChristian.org

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?

Can’t find something?

Pat Wilbur — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 05:16:52 +0000

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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.”

Missions Catalyst 03.03.10 – Protesting the Apostasy Law, Revival in Haiti, and More

Pat Noble — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 23:24:52 +0000

WORLD NEWS BRIEFS

In this issue: Protesting the apostasy law, revival in Haiti, and more
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WORLD: Protesting the Apostasy Law
HAITI: 40,000 Profess Faith in Christ
ERITREA: Christian Dies in Prison Camp
PAPUA NEW GUINEA: A Miracle in Amomonta
INDIA: Child Traffickers Posing as Missionaries
BURKINA FASO: New Church Begins

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.