louissa sinclair

i wear shorts and tank tops as much as i can hoping to delay the coming of cold weather.

i walk as much as i can, knowing that soon i won’t be so inspired to go outside. and really, that’s the only exercise i get everyday.

i listen to this song. all the time. i put it on repeat. most of the time. just ask the person i see the most.

i play the piano a little bit more. i was told to. and now i’m remembering the joy the comes when it’s just me and the ivories.

i stay busy. i was also told to stop that. “loosen up your schedule.” i don’t have to zap fry my pop-tarts in the microwave yet, but it’s pretty bad.

i sit in a chair in the shade and look at people who i’m so glad are back in the area. they won’t always be here. but they are now. and i want to savor that.

i cut out joseph figures for 12 little people i’ll teach tomorrow. and the lovely thing? i love doing it.

i sit in my own sanctuary. a side porch. just me. a candle and a lamp. just me. crickets in the background. did i mention that it’s just me?

the other day i was walking to work, happened to glance up and see a cop coming towards me.  in the few seconds that followed my mouth went dry, my heart skipped a beat, and i actually thought, “i wonder if i’m doing anything wrong.”  i then remembered that i was walking and he could hardly pull me over for speeding, not coming to a complete stop, turning in the wrong lane or talking on my cell phone while using my two feet.

paranoid much?  i think so.

yesterday at 6:30pm i was challenged to go 40 days without coffee.

day 1.  9:24am.  very tired.  and is that a headache i’m feeling?

this could be a long 40 days.

i was going to picnic for dinner.

i came home early from work to a four-member band trying on clothes while talking of image and trends and sophisticated meeting hard rock and wanting none of that punk rock stuff.  i rummaged through a mumsie’s amazing mary poppins type closet and found baby boy things to put into a bag for a shower i’m attending this evening.

a few texts, a few phone calls, and my evening plans are changed.  the four-member band walk out of the house, donned in their new apparel, to go and tape themselves practicing so they can critique stage presence.  i wander around the house noting the dirty kitchen counters, the laundry that should be put in after a long weekend get-away, a family room that’s in a bit of dissaray, but i opt to not take care of it… at least for now.

i grab a No Bake cookie off the kitchen table, pour myself a cup of “poser” sweet tea (only that sweet southern goodness), pick up a laptop and my phone (my constant connection to the world) and sit myself on the front porch step.  cars drive by and children ride by on their bikes.  a fire truck goes quickly down the street, the sirens telling of some mishap somewhere.

and i’m just here.  here with a quiet heart and not much to say.  i’m mulling on a lot and there are many scattered thoughts that are making circles in my head and chances are, if you were sitting next to me, sipping your own tea and watching the quiet town of madrid live its life then i’d probably speak a few words, think a bit aloud, ask what your thoughts were, wonder if anything i say makes sense, but mostly i’d just be. 

it’s been a long season of silence.  a long season of learning to wait upon the Lord.  a long season of learning to be still and know that He is God.  but this time of reminding myself to be still — to just be — has taught me more than so many seasons of busyness.

be still…

and i think i’ll continue as i take a walk though my cemetery, to see my field, and around the block.

it’s late.  the midnight scone and tea party has finished and most everyone here at 1942 is busy brushing teeth and finding places to sleep.  extra mattresses have been pulled out and enough room has been found for everyone who decided to rest under this roof tonight.  another long day has ended and i have an even longer one coming with the rising of this day’s sun.  but sleep wasn’t coming as i laid on my yellow sheets and so down to a quiet kitchen with a laptop is where i find myself.

sometimes it’s dangerous to write in the late hours or when one is extremely tired — both of which apply to me currently.  honestly, finding the balance of what is too much to share on an online blog has always been difficult for me.  i’ve been writing too long and at times i get too comfortable.  but then again, some tell me that the reason they keep coming back is my honesty — my transparency.  so please don’t mind me if i’m a bit transparent.

i feel as though i’ve botched everything up in my life.  somewhere along the way the rhythm i had, the game that i was playing so well, skipped a beat, i fell off my course and i’m madly trying to get it back again.  this short time that i have here on earth, the brief moments i have with those that surround me — i can’t seem to do it the right way.

i’m twenty and i still have bad attitudes.  for example, sometimes i still find myself responding badly to my parents.

the minute i get tired, i lose all self control and i have no desire to try maintain it.  i get irritable and am an emotional basket case.

i lack love.  for anyone and everyone.

everything the Lord gives me — opportunities, giftings, words of encouragement — i somehow mess up.

recently i’ve gotten annoyed with people and i don’t usually get annoyed.

my attempts to control every aspect of my life has failed and shown how mistrusting i am.

i’ve been dumb enough to immediately toss out what He says to me because of insecurities.  how’s that for trusting the Almighty One?

i’ve become self-centered.  and i’ve probably hurt some around me since that’s what usually happens when that dreadful thing pops up.

but mostly, i’ve lost my focus.  i’ve not been looking at what i should be — Jesus, the author and finisher of my faith.

Let your eyes look straight ahead,
fix your gaze directly before you.
Make level paths for your feet
and take only ways that are firm. 
Do not swerve to the right or the left.  - Proverbs 4

tonight i sat on a black wooden floor while i waited to go on stage to perform a scene and thought of how awful i’ve been at trying to do this life thing on my own.  tonight while we drove home and i spotted deer and we laughed at awkward stories i thought of how tiring it is to feel like you’re doing everything the wrong way.  tonight while i sat on a darling porch with some of the most precious people in the world to me i looked around and felt like i was failing them — but mostly like i’m failing Him and His good testimony.  tonight while i laid on my yellow sheets and wallowed in all of my awfulness i suddenly started humming a verse from Lamentations. tonight i was reminded of what peace is found in His Word.

and tonight i was reminded that i can wake up tomorrow and not be discouraged — all of today’s mistakes are behind me and with Him as my focus, i can start afresh in the morning.  tonight i found myself hopeful again that with His strength and power, i can get back on track and do this thing right.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; greath is thy faithfulness.  The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in Him.”

2:40pm and i’m going home for the day.

with the click of a button i accidentally changed my theme.

now it’s pink.

technically i think people would say i’m getting too old for such looks.

but i say that i should have fun while i’m still young.

i’m in a musical.

opening night is tonight.

i’m in the mood to eat cheese danish.

perhaps i should try making it at some point.

if i could be anywhere right now i’d be on a boat somewhere.

of course i’d take you, my dear reader.

i decided something this morning as i left the house with my hair in disarray and make-up-less for the thousandth time in a row since i only give myself enough time to shower and throw clothes on before i leave.

i decided that i’m tired of being tired.

that’s all.

i sat in a metal chair not paying much attention to the teaching on passion. i’ve heard it before, i’ll hear it again. but suddenly i couldn’t sit there unaware of what was really being said. what had come out of his mouth challenged the way i live my life. and i didn’t really like that.

but really, i did. it’s good to be challenged, right?

i sat in the drivers seat of my parents minivan talking to a sister on my cell phone about food plans for a Mumsie’s birthday dinner. i passed the cop and felt my mouth go dry, my hands start to sweat, and my heart start to beat a bit faster. there’s nothing like the feeling when you think you’re going to get caught for something you’re not supposed to do.

i didn’t though. i’m lucky like that. and i like it like that.

we stood in our new sitting room — all twenty-four of us or however many there were — and told our Mumsie why we like her so much.

i like that time. i like that we do that. and i like that when i go elsewhere i’m finding that others have picked up on it.

i ate chicken and salad and salt potatoes and bread. and then i ate cake with strawberries and blueberries and whip cream. then a few hours later i drove down to the newest establishment in town and ate poutine and apple crisp. and i felt very full.

i didn’t really like that.

i sat in a blue poncho on the front porch of my white house with a red roof. my feet that weren’t under the cover of the red roof were wet with raindrops and grimy from the dirt, small stones, and mulch they had picked up on my rainy walk. there was conversation, but not always. and that was okay.

i like that.

i swept the porch floor at the end of a busy day. a sister and an “add-on”, as we’ve dubbed the many people who spend a large amount of time in this house, played on the piano and sang and experimented and created and i listened along.

i like that there’s always music.

i’m in bed. with a sister next to me watching a family favorite, Law & Order, and i think of my day and how good it’s been.

and i like that.

11:23pm.

i’m finally home and i just started boiling water for noodles to settle the feeling of my stomach eating itself. my feet are sore, my mind is tired, and the idea of waking up to begin yet again another ordinary day is almost too monotonous for me to handle.

but i tell myself to not live from one event to the other, but to live each moment — each day — and savor what it has to give me. i tell myself to give thanks without ceasing and to see His work in each boring just-like-the-last-one day that i might have. and to not be in such a rush for the next best thing.

sunday night i left the sounds of the house (although they were lovely sounds of a guitar & ukulele and singing and laughter) and sat in the middle of our back yard. the dew covered grass soaked through my jeans but i didn’t mind. the fireflies danced about me and i gazed at the moon just wanting to be. i didn’t want to talk, i didn’t want to think, i just wanted peace.

the tears came soon and they weren’t really surprising. i told Him that i was bored, i told Him that i was done being patient, i told Him i was done trusting that there really is a next step to my life, but there was no answer that my life would radically change the second i got up. no, just the gentle reminder that His timing is better — that His ways are higher and the way to go.

right now i don’t see an end in sight to this season. i don’t have the next step mapped out, but i also know that the Israelites didn’t always have the Promised Land in their line of vision, but they continued on in faith and right now faithfulness is what i’m being called to.

i must be faithful with what His given me. i must be faithful where i’m at. and i must be faithful in my trust in Him and His plan for my future.