louissa sinclair

i’m supposed to be here writing a book review, but since i typed up a heck of a long entry and managed to lose it, i’m not feeling so inspired anymore.  besides, who wants to be doing work when your head feels stuffed up and dizzy, your eyes aren’t managing to see quite as well, and when at 8:45pm, your ready to go to bed and only wake when Kingdom comes?

yeah not me.

i was also supposed to go and help with some house projects for a young couple in the church.  everyone from my Bible study was getting together and going over and i opted out.  after a weekend away i decided that i needed some time to wash the many clothes i managed to dirty in 48 hours, prepare a little something to share in the cell group that i lead, and really, to just be for a night.

so instead i’ll eat my partly frozen banana bread (simply amazing), listen to the hum of the washer and dishwasher going, wear my candycane striped pajama pants and enjoy the rather quiet (so there’s a keith urban concert playing on tv) of a usually loud and boisterous house.

yes, i went away.  i love getting away — those tiny breaks are the best.  i answer am encouraged to not answer my phone, i don’t think about projects and what needs to be done when i return home, and i try do relax and feel no pressure of any kind.

i took a walk on the dirt road sunday afternoon.  i wore leggings, a skirt, and red soft leather flats while i walked and skipped and explored different paths i came across.  i’m sure i looked completely ridiculous complete with a decorative scarf around my neck while tip-toeing through mud, but what can i say?  i’m really bad at being a country girl.  and since i never saw a soul, i sang while i went.  how can you not when you’re surrounded by orange, red, yellow, and green?

i sat on a couch and looked into the eyes of one of the nicest woman ever and told her about myself.  she then told me that i have beautiful eyes.  after that i decided that we could be friends.

we sat on the built in wooden benches around the stove and drank our water while our bodies decided to remove all nastiness by way of sweating.  yes, i went somewhere complete with a sauna.  and yes, after being a bit sketch for so long and never giving in, i did it.  and i loved it.

we talked and laughed.  we told stories and told of how God saved us and what He’s continuing to do in us.  i laid my head down each night praying with the blonde friend beside me.

and now i’m home.  and i feel like i’m in school again… procrastinating when a paper is due.  so i’m done with distracting myself with everything else around me and will hopefully finish there.

* next day *

so i never did finish that book review.  i talked and chatted and spent time with people i found much more interesting and then went to bed since my body was telling me that i needed much sleep.  oh well.  one more monday post that i’ve missed yet again.

have you ever eaten pretty chocolate? i could hardly bring myself to break the bar that’s beside me after seeing the lovely design on top of the dark chocolate goodness. but knowing how wonderful it would be, i decided to do it. the bar is broken. and being eaten.

so i eat my chocolate and listen to songs about giving up coffee & cigarettes, selling pianos & guitars, flushing booze & bad habits down the drain — thinking that in doing so, all problems would dissipate, but realizing that one must quit you (whoever you is) in order to not feel so blue. i wasn’t blue, but after listening to this melancholy tune i can’t help but be. really, the answer is to quit that song in order to not be blue. i’ll have to tell michelle featherstone that i found her answer.

and so i eat my chocolate, listen to songs that make one blue, and think about oak trees and when the best time for planting is. as in all metaphors concerning oak trees, the best time to plant was yesterday. but many times, the many oaks in our lives aren’t planted when they’re supposed to.

i’m finding that sometimes i decide or do or realize too late. i’m finding that many times actually, i realize that what should’ve happened yesterday, hasn’t taken place. decisions that should have been made, revelations of more of my humanity and seeing growth in those areas, saying the right thing at the right time — it doesn’t always happen when it should.

i mess things up. i’m not blind to the fact and many times i spend… well, far too long berating myself for how i could have avoided certain situations, how stupid i am for having flaws, for sinning, for doing everything the wrong way, but after years of hating on myself, i’ve realized that that doesn’t help. at all.

i was told that the second best time to plant an oak tree is today. the same goes for you and me.

sometimes life requires a deep breath. sometimes it requires a decision to plant that oak today that should’ve been planted yesterday in order to avoid what one is going through at that moment. and sometimes it requires a focus that says i’ll forget the yesterdays, i’ll plant my oak today, and i’ll press on tomorrow.

it was a week of… fullness. what other word can i use to describe long hours spent at an office, coming home to only grab a bag and promptly run out the door to the next scheduled thing? but despite all that fullness i managed to spend two entire evenings at home. this is quite good for me. but i’m not saying anything about my full week — i’m not saying it was bad or good. i’m rather indifferent right now as i sort through things.

i complain about being busy and i complain when i’m not busy. i just complain too much.

part of me knows that i’m discontent and i tell myself that whenever i move on to the next season everything will change. i’ll be happy with whatever i’m doing, i’ll never complain, i’ll be okay with whatever state of fullness my weeks are.

but mostly, i know that if i don’t learn to be content now, to not complain, to be thankful with whatever i’m given, then i’ll never have those things. no season is ever perfect — is never exactly what you wanted or dreamed it would be. although i’m itchy to get the move on, to start something new, i’m also starting to realize that i could grow just as bored of whatever it is as i am now.

“there is a reason the verse says, i have ‘LEARNED’ to be content and not just i have ‘become.’” my friend from tennessee reminded me of this the other day. there’s a process to becoming content, a growing of character, a pruning of immaturities, and it doesn’t just happen.

growing. i’m a bit tired of all the pruning and shaping that’s been taking place. it’s rather exhausting to be constantly realizing where one falls short and working on all the growing up stuff.

but it’s good for me. and it’s the season i am in. i will learn to be content.

i’ve been thinking of warm wool sweaters, candles, and apple desserts recently. but there’s more to fall than just that.

maybe it’s that it’s september or maybe it’s that i rather wish he was around for me to talk to, but i’ve been missing him. so much. recently i’ve had so much in my head, so many wonderings in my heart and i wonder who would want to sit by my side for a few hours and listen to the sporadic nothings that are always there. but i know he would’ve — he always did. there were countless times where we’d sit on the steps at church and talk about what was important and talk about nothing at all. it never did matter that i was years younger and that at one time the only interaction we had was when he’d make fun of my speech impediment in front of a group — he was my friend.

yeah. i miss him.

i love writing.

and i love banana bread.

i write.  i write here.  i write in my journal.  i write emails.  i write sometimes for my job.

we have a lot of banana bread.  mumsie bought a great big box of bananas for a song and a dance.  so there are loaves and loaves of freshly made banana bread on our kitchen counter.

i like the guitar and bass in the kitchen.

i like sisters who come out of their bedrooms to ask them to stop playing.

i have this one sister and she’s gonna be kinda like famous someday.  and her basisst is here at the house.  and they’re jamming.

i have another sister who has to go to work in the morning so she says to the jamming sister and bassist, “some of us are trying to sleep here.”

i hate when i want to write.  when i have so many thoughts.  when i have so many ideas.  when i’m in a season that i’m learning so much, but i can’t seem to get it out.

my brain is clogged.  clogged with thoughts.

yup.  hate that.

Frank Sinatra’s “Nice & Easy” played while we drove down that all together too well known road between potsdam and madrid.  i was frustrated with life, i was frustrated with my response to life, i was frustrated at how i’m not doing so well at this thing called life.  i had tears in my eyes as i stared out my window, watching the moon as it seemed to stay by my side.  and i thought, ‘i don’t deserve much to stay by my side.‘

i have a small circle of confidants.  i’m a quiet person concerning me and most of the time when i’m with any joe schmo,  i try to keep conversation off of my personal life.   but my small circle that knows me… they know me.  they know my faults, they know my mood swings, they know the awfulness that is in me.

i’m not a good friend.  i’m not a very good daughter.  i can sometimes be a horrid sister.  and i’m definitely the most imperfect child my God has ever had.

and yet it’s those friends, my family, my God — those who know me (who really know me) that continue to stay by my side.  and all their goodness to me, the way they care… i don’t deserve it.  but that’s what makes it so overwhelmingly wonderful, isn’t it?

i moved. well. i moved bedrooms. i moved from my yellow cozy (in other words: incredibly small) attic space that i was given when i arrived home a year ago to my sister’s larger taupe, red, and black room. shelves line the wall with her darker colored clothes and my rather pink clothes. the shoe rack is full of her heels and my flats. i’m in a queen bed for the first time in my life.

i’ve moved in here with her. but she’ll move out in a few months.

she gets married.

i haven’t really talked much about that and honestly, haven’t really thought about it (other than giving my opinion on reception halls, catering services, wedding dresses, bridesmaids dresses, places to honeymoon, colors, flowers, invitations, save-the-date cards, etc). all that business of really thinking about what her getting married does is a rather mixed emotions type thing that i’m staying away from for as long as i can. but tonight, as i organized my things and found myself putting the not-needed-right-this-very-moment type items in boxes, knowing that in a few months i’ll have room for them once she empties shelves and closets of all her belongings, i found myself thinking about it.

tonight the mumsie was teary after i mentioned her getting married. and how that includes packing her things and leaving.

“everything else is so happy, but that part is hard. so very hard.” i held her hand and kissed it while in her heart she starts preparing herself for letting go of another daughter.

“someday… someday i’ll be in a small house and it will be just daddy and me again.” i watched her walk away. just daddy and her? that sounds sad to me. my daddy and mumsie. they were made for a bustling place with lots of people and mumsie always adding another plate to the table.

just daddy and her.

that means that i’m not in the picture anymore. and somehow that made me even more sad. i don’t know where i’m going and i don’t know exactly what i’ll be doing, but someday… someday i’ll pretend to be this grown up my age says i am and i’ll try my hand at that rather cliche saying of spreading my own wings and fly.

but not yet. at least, not today. no. today i’ll organize myself into another bedroom in this house of my parents (there’s only one bedroom here that i’ve not occupied at one time in my life) and think about how for a few more months i get to share a room with my bestest.

and i’ll try not to think about that mixed emotion event that is coming up.

because someday… someday she’ll get married and leave.

[start whining]

you know.  the kind where i don’t remember much from my morning besides stuffing a bit of egg casserole down my throat before heading out.  the kind where suddenly the clock above my office door went from 9am to 1pm in a matter of five minutes.  the kind where my good and faithful and always by my side To Do list was forgotten about again while i took care of other matters.  the kind where certain projects took up more time than i had set aside for them and i found myself starting to pull my hair out.  the kind where i went home after work to put my hair back together, teach a 1/2 hour lesson, grab a little something to put in my tummy, and then leave again… to go back to the same place i had just spent my entire day.  the kind where after singing for ten minutes my voice was telling me to stop — today was just not its day.  the kind where i got a catch in my lower back 30 minutes into a two hour practice where i would have to stand, play keyboard, sing, and tell others what to do.  the kind where i didn’t want to do any of it.

yeah.  you know.  one of those days.

[end whining]

my last year in high school and year in Germany were probably my most active (aka me exercising on a somewhat regular basis) ever (yeah — you figure out how i ended up with the 25+ pounds after my year abroad). during my year away (oh. the joy of a cheesy pun!) i ran my sneakers to the ground. they were beat and instead of having to bring one more thing home, i tossed them in the garbage can in my room and said good-bye to them.

if you’re real good with dates you’ll have quickly figured out that it’s been one whole year (wow. i came home a year ago) since i’ve owned a pair of sneakers. i know. you don’t know how i’ve done it. well, think of the must inactive person you know, multiply that by ten, and you have me. no need for sneakers because i’m probably the least fit and healthy person ever (size really can be deceiving). besides, the few times that i do decide to be active i don’t need sneakers — i pull out the ballet shoes instead.

i need sneakers. i know this. i need them if only to inspire me to take care of my body a little bit more. so for the past two months (or more) i’ve been on the hunt for sneakers.

but here’s the problem. i’m not a running shoe/athletic wear type of person. i like clothes. i like shoes. i like to look good. i like fashion. plastic and mesh covered shoes that are always ugly (in my humble opinion) don’t fit in my box of what looks good. and besides. why would i want to spend $50+ on shoes that no one will ever see me in when i could spend the money on something so much more wonderful?

for example. the sneakers i stumbled across today that are awful, but somewhat acceptable:

and the kind of shoe that i really would want to spend my money on:

i know. it doesn’t make sense to me either.

the hot sun has kept this cool office not so very cool today.  the window is open, welcoming the warm breeze, and it blows about a pile of receipts on my desk.  i watch the wind play with leaves of my three big trees.  my hair isn’t done, my makeup isn’t on my face, and i don’t feel very put together… inside or out.

i sat in the front row the other night, surrounded by people i think are pretty darn cool, and looked like the put together Christian that i try to portray.  really, truly, honestly — i do so well at that.  i know what i’m supposed to look like, how i’m supposed to act, the ways that i’m to serve.  i look like the proper senior pastor’s daughter.  i look like the proper church-goer.  and i look like the good Christian girl.

but it’s not about that, is it?

isn’t it about being a follower of Jesus?  i think about how hard it is for me to be open with most people — to be vulnerable and let them see me for my true dirty loathsome self.  but i think of those who followed Jesus in the Bible.  the loudmouth fisherman, the prostitute, the tax collector.  the Bible doesn’t shy away from mentioning the types of people who were with Jesus… and the types of people that Jesus was with.  these were broken people who needed help.  and they didn’t cover it up, they didn’t wear their masks as well as me.

and i think about how i’ve gleaned more from the few who have been open in their brokenness then all the showy ones in the world.  i know when Jesus cried and was tempted and asked for His cup to be taken away.  but i also know how the Lord was His strength in those times.

the pharisees had issues.  they must have — don’t we all?  but we don’t read much about it.

i’m a pharisee.  i’m into the show.  i’m into “making my life big.”  i’m a follower of church and ministry.  i’m a follower of the way we’ve said this life is supposed to look.  i’m a follower of making myself look like i’ve got this all down.

but really.  in my heart i’m the loudmouth, stupid fisherman who says all the wrong things.  i’m the prostitute who sells herself away because she has no dignity.  i’m the tax collector who preys on others for personal gain.

and i’m the person that Jesus wants to be with — that Jesus came for.

i’ve been singing this song in my head a lot recently.

Then I hear You sing to me
“You don’t have to do a thing
Just simply be with me and let those things go
It can wait another minute
Wait this moment is to sweet
Please stay here here with me
And love on me a little longer
Cause I’m in love with you.”

i’m learning that… just to be.  i’m learning to let go of all the stuff that comes between me and following Him.  i don’t want to be known as the good senior pastor’s daughter.  i don’t want to be known as a proper church-goer.  and i don’t want to be known only as the good Christian girl.

i want people to look at me and not see someone who has busied themselves in ministry up to their eyeballs because that’s what a perfect Christian does,  but to see someone who is busy in ministry because she’s about her Father’s business — because she’s just following her Lord and doing what she saw Him doing.

but mostly, i want to be known as someone who put Him first.  someone who wasn’t into the act, into the show, into pretending, but someone who was real with Him and others.  i want to be known in my brokenness so that i too can be a testimony of His goodness and faithfulness.

i want to be known as a follower of Jesus.

looking at the phone i notice that it’s my dad’s cell who was out playing tennis and running errands for us.

“hey daddy. it’s louissa.”

“hey louissa.  mom said that you wanted bodywash, but i don’t know what that means.”

“bodywash.  yeah.  i want bodywash… you know — the stuff you wash your body with.”

- silence -

“are you in the bodywash section at wal-mart?”

“i’m in the shampoo section.  is that close?”

“yeah close, but there’s a whole section for bodywash.”

“huh.  [interupted by people he knows] uh… let me call you back in a minute.”

huh is right.