I admit that at times I have been ashamed to tell people what I do for a living. I'm in my late twenties and when asked about my profession my answer is, "I'm a barista." If you were to ask me ten years ago where I would be today, my answer certainly wouldn't have been that. But I am not the same person I was ten years ago.
Life happens, and in the last ten years, I feel I have lived a dozen lifetimes. Each lifetime was necessary for me to be who and where I am today. Each experience has been full of lessons, riddled with joy and pain and mistakes and victories. Perhaps the greatest lesson that I have learned, the one I continue to learn each day, is one I have written about many times here:
Every cup is a communion.
I would like to say that every cup I serve is one of love, one of humble self-giving. But the occasional demanding, hateful people I encounter make my job painful, make me feel like dirt, and I know that I shouldn't let it get to me, but I do. It does. Because I'm human.
*sigh*
And I would like to say that every day I go to work thinking of how I can share the love of Christ with others, how I can be kind to everyone, how I can bite my tongue from gossip and only speak about the good stuff. But I don't, because I'm human. And it's 4:30 in the morning.
But seriously, I thirst. I desire to be holy, but it's so easy to be distracted: by drama at work, by silly TV shows on Netflix, by the comforts of home.
In His typical mysterious ways, God brought me back to attention this past Sunday.
My husband and I both had to work, so we went to the early Mass together. Though neither of us was happy that we had to work all day, it seemed that there could be no better way to begin our work day than by participating in the sacrifice of the Mass together. (Is there really a better way to begin any day? Of course not, but we're human, so we often fool ourselves into thinking otherwise.)
At communion, I recognized one of the Eucharistic ministers offering the cup as a regular customer from work. Many early mornings during the week he comes in to our coffee bar to start his day with a cup of coffee: a large light roast with room for cream.
And that Sunday morning, there he was, offering the cup, the Blood of Christ, at communion. I was struck by how small the world is, by how we are all connected someway or another in the Body of Christ, by how every cup is a communion.
Certainly, the cups of coffee I serve in the early mornings are not in any way the same substance as the Blood of Christ, but if I offer them with love, if I am able to die to my self to offer them humbly, even to the hateful, demanding people of the world who belittle me, if I can serve them with a smile, they are, in a sense, cups of communion.
As a human, I fail and I will continue to fail, but I will keep trying. I know that God thirsts for me, thirsts for all of us. If we can learn to come to Him, even when we don't feel like it, even when we don't feel worthy, He will pour down His mercy and grace to fill our cups, and we can share that with others.
But seriously, I thirst. I desire to be holy, but it's so easy to be distracted: by drama at work, by silly TV shows on Netflix, by the comforts of home.
In His typical mysterious ways, God brought me back to attention this past Sunday.
My husband and I both had to work, so we went to the early Mass together. Though neither of us was happy that we had to work all day, it seemed that there could be no better way to begin our work day than by participating in the sacrifice of the Mass together. (Is there really a better way to begin any day? Of course not, but we're human, so we often fool ourselves into thinking otherwise.)
At communion, I recognized one of the Eucharistic ministers offering the cup as a regular customer from work. Many early mornings during the week he comes in to our coffee bar to start his day with a cup of coffee: a large light roast with room for cream.
And that Sunday morning, there he was, offering the cup, the Blood of Christ, at communion. I was struck by how small the world is, by how we are all connected someway or another in the Body of Christ, by how every cup is a communion.
Certainly, the cups of coffee I serve in the early mornings are not in any way the same substance as the Blood of Christ, but if I offer them with love, if I am able to die to my self to offer them humbly, even to the hateful, demanding people of the world who belittle me, if I can serve them with a smile, they are, in a sense, cups of communion.
As a human, I fail and I will continue to fail, but I will keep trying. I know that God thirsts for me, thirsts for all of us. If we can learn to come to Him, even when we don't feel like it, even when we don't feel worthy, He will pour down His mercy and grace to fill our cups, and we can share that with others.
"I thirst for You. Yes, that is the only way to even begin to describe My love for you. I THIRST FOR YOU. I thirst to love you and to be loved by you--that is how precious you are to Me. I THIRST FOR YOU. Come to Me, and I will fill your heart and heal your wounds. I will make you a new creation, and give you peace, even in all your trials I THIRST FOR YOU. You must never doubt My mercy, My acceptance of you, My desire to forgive, My longing to bless you and live My life in you. I THIRST FOR YOU. If you feel unimportant in the eyes of the world, that matters not at all. For Me, there is no one any more important in the entire world than you. I THIRST FOR YOU. Open to Me, come to Me, thirst for Me, give Me your life--and I will prove to you how important you are to My Heart." ~from the "I Thirst" meditation, Blessed Mother TeresaRelated posts: The Best Latte, Grace You Can Taste, Thankfully, Taste of Heaven, and So Much Love in the Club.
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