she was in the hallway the other day while waiting for a meeting.  tiredness had replaced her usual energetic love for everything around and she stood awkwardly still, hands clasped in front of her, while i casually asked how her day was going.

she answered, “uhh… not good actually, but that’s okay.”  i hadn’t really been expecting that.  i said i was sorry and smiled.

i smiled?  yes, that’s what i did.  i said, “i’m sorry to hear that,” and smiled.

her eyes moved round my wild mane while she said, “your hair.  it’s so breathtaking.  so beautiful.  i love it.”

i smiled again.  i asked if i could get her anything while she waited for her meeting and she said she was fine.  then i turned around and walked back into my office.

she had a stroke today.  they’re calling it a massive stroke and although i don’t know much about medical terms, this simple yet huge word makes my brow crease in worry.  she lay in a hospital bed unresponsive to the world around her although that world includes a mother and a sister.

it’s not the first time i’ve heard of some misfortune and she’s not the only woman i know who needs a miracle.  but this if the first time that i woke from a sound sleep to hear my mums in the adjacent room informing my brother of the stroke and then be unable to fall back to sleep.  and this is the first time that i lay in bed and cry for the situation of a woman  i see every sunday but who i don’t really know.

my phone vibrates beside me.  i grab it muttering something (not pleasant) about people with the audacity to send texts after midnight.  i open the message only to find Bible.  a text with two verses in it.  it’s from a girl on the other side of the states who i’ve never actually met (long story).  she has no idea that i lay in bed crying and saying that i’m just tired of all the heaviness i see around, but those two verses speak my heart.

“Open your ears, God, to my prayer; don’t pretend you don’t hear me knocking.  Come close and whisper your answer. I really need you.” — Psalm 55, The Message

i don’t understand a lot of things — i don’t understand why life isn’t fair and i don’t understand why God doesn’t make this plodding through life easier.

but i do know one thing.  i know that His answer to me right now is that if He notices a small bird fall, He noticed Linda today.  she didn’t fall under the radar and He hasn’t forgotten all about her.

so i give it to Him — not that it was much to keep.  my frustrations and worry and Linda — i give Him what He’s holding already.

“Pile your troubles on God’s shoulders-
He’ll carry your load, He’ll help you out.
…and I trust in You.” — Psalm 55, The Message

He sees.  He knows.  He carries.  we trust.

please, if you think of it, pray for Linda with me.

“HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

- – - – -

currently watching — 84 Charing Cross Road

i’m not home many evenings.  actually, it’s quite pathetic how not home i usually am.  i forget how much i need these quiet evenings (not to mention how much a dirty bathroom and laundry need me).  so tonight is a down night (which means that i keep busy with lots of things that don’t involve getting in my car and driving away).

everyday i read many blogs.  now that i think about it, probably too many.  but anyway.  i “star” all my favorites — the articles i want to remember, the recipe i’d like to try, or some sort of craft that seems simple enough for this not-so-talented-in-the-crafty-department girl to handle.  an evening at home is perfect for pulling out some of those starred items and actually trying them.

i did that tonight and it was a complete success.

i made this for dinner.  mine looked more saucy and less spinachy than hers, but i got rave reviews from most of the table (the merrick man didn’t much care for it but the jess girl asked if we could make it every single day).  i think the family liked this out of the ordinary meal of toasted baguettes and tomato-ey beans on top.  and it was SO simple.  perfect for the working gal over here.

i’ve been feeling the urge to work with my hands and since i hit a roadblock in my knitting (a multi-colored scarf for a friend that just looks terrible) i decided to try this button creation.  it’s a perfect finish-it-in-an-evening project for someone who sews buttons on at the same pace the snail scurries along.  most of the time, when i try something artsy-fartsy, it turns out looking completely amateurish.  i do believe i’ve finally found my niche.  i think this evening’s project turned out quite darling:

can i be a teensy-weensy bit proud of myself?  okay, then i am.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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?

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.