So Much Love In The Club

It was an identity crisis--were we baristas or...something else?  We weren't sure, so she cried out in a half-joking way, "Is there anyone here who can tell me what coffee is all about?"

And in classic Linus fashion, the answer came: "Sure, I can tell you what coffee is all about:  It's about love."

You may think I'm crazy for saying that, but hear me out.

Coffee is all about the people--the people who grow coffee, the people who harvest it, the people who sell it, the people who buy it, the people who roast it, the people who brew it, the people who drink it, and all the people in-between. 

In my time as a barista,  I've known some that truly warmed me inside and out with their funky, hearty characters--and that goes for both people and coffees!

 New crops of new coffees came in every few months, and so, it seemed, did new people.  We once built a graveyard display for Halloween of all the coffees we'd loved that never returned to satisfy our longing taste buds.  I never saw many of those coffees again, but new coffees came along to expand my palate, to teach me to experience coffee in new ways.  Similarly, I never see some of the people who built that display with me anymore, but new people came along to expand my heart, to teach me to love in new ways.

Today is National Coffee Day, and this week marks four and a half years of me making coffee from this coffee company.  A LOT has changed in that time--people, coffees, structures, machines, uniforms, products, policies, I got married, etc., but this week I returned back to the basics:  no more orders and schedules, I'm just making coffee.

To make this move,  I had to say goodbye to some people who I've grown close to, but that is nothing new to me.  It seems that in the last 13 months especially, I've said goodbye to so many.  I miss them all in different ways, but I'm a better person for having known each of them, and they each hold a special place in my heart.  

All of these people have come to me because of coffee.  We became a family of co-workers, of customers, a community who shared more than cups of coffee, but cups overflowing with love.

I've said this before and I'll say it again:

Every cup is a communion.

To all the generations of my dear barista family and all the customer-friends we've collected over the years:

I always believed but I never really knew until I met you that coffee really is all about love.  Thank you for filling my heart and my cup.

Just a few generations of coffee-family. #somuchloveintheclub

Taste of Heaven

Every cup is a communion.

Wine shared in the Austrian alps, beer shared on a sunny hilltop overlooking a postcard village, coffee shared between morning rushes of customers.  Every cup is a communion.  Some communions are fuller than others, but all exist in that existential sip and the sharing it with the person next to you.

Every meal is a communion.

We sit at table, sharing pancakes made in a drunken stupor at 2 am, a steaming bowl of paella whipped up on a Friday afternoon, a plate of whatever-they-gave-me at a soup kitchen, a meal shared between two long-lost friends.  It's a communion.

There are moments in time of such communion--of Bollywood dancing outside the restaurant after cheeseburgers, of holding hands in the moonlight after eating schnitzel, of bittersweet goodbyes that leave you grieving the end of an era but so full of gratitude for having lived it with such beautiful people.

People come and go in our lives.  Some you forget you ever knew, but some stick with you.  Some throw you under buses and stab you in the back no matter how much you try to love them.  Then there are those who leave you staring in wonder at the faces and smiles around you unsure how you ever deserved the privilege of sharing anything with them, let alone days, weeks, months, and years at a place that felt more like home than home did.

To the ones that hurt you, you can only find a way to forgive them, otherwise the hurt will wound you eternally.  You will remain with a hole in your heart that won't be filled no matter how many communions you share.  Because as the priest says before THE Communion, 

"Take this, all of you, and drink from it, for this is the chalice of my Blood, the Blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.  Do this in memory of me." 

Do this.  Drink this blood so that your sins may be forgiven.  Pour out your own blood, empty yourself of your self completely, empty your cup, let go of your ego and your silly pride, and forgive those who hurt you.  It will hurt, but we must persevere up that hill and look at them with arms opened wide to receive them, whether or not they are sorry.

To the ones that loved you back, saying goodbye is hard, because you know that even if you keep in touch, things will be different. Still, I hold on to the hope that these moments that prick my heart with the pain of beauty--the perfect mix between sadness and joyful gratitude--are glimpses of heaven, although in heaven, there will be no thought of goodbye.  There will only be communion.

Fall in Love

I am that girl.

I didn't always love fall.  In fact, I used to hate it.  It was that gray, rainy season full of muddy walks to school and wet, slimy leaves sticking to my shoes. It was brown, and it required raking, which required being outside--I used to hate being outside.  Worst of all, fall held nothing to look forward to except colder and colder mornings and cars covered in frost and ice.  So much ice.

When I was a sophomore in college, everything changed.

It wasn't because I discovered pumpkin spice lattes, or cardigans, or scarves.  And I definitely hadn't gotten excited about the impending death of everything in nature.  No, it had been a combination of graces that led me to change my mind about the season one day.

It had been a mild fall, so the day wasn't terribly chilly.  Dark clouds had begun to roll in to contrast the morning sunshine.  A great breeze picked up and it was as if the sun-kissed trees were waving me on.  I felt the Spirit moving around me and I breathed deeply, and I knew that I love fall.

That semester had followed a dark, depressing summer for me.  I was struggling to adjust back to life at school, to become more financially independent, and to make new friends (some of my best friends from my freshman year were studying in Austria for the semester).  

One Monday night, I wanted desperately to just sit in my dorm room and feel sorry for myself, but some friends invited me to go bowling with a big group of people.  At first I declined.  I'm awkward around people I don't know well, and in my emotional state, I wasn't sure I'd be able to choke up the energy.

As I sat in my room I realized that I had a choice.  I didn't have to let my depression weigh me down.  I could stay there and sink further into my depression, or I could get up and go and maybe have a good time.  Besides, if I went and it was awful, I never had to go again.  Suddenly, there was a strength inside of me (the Holy Spirit, I'm sure), determinedly pushing me to my feet.  I would not let the depression win!

I had no idea that the people I would meet that night would change me forever. It became a weekly tradition--Monday night bowling followed by either Tim Horton's or Taco Bell and/or a movie at someone's house or a random dance party in a parking lot on campus.  We would always meet in the cafeteria for lunch and dinner, taking over two long tables with our laughter and conversation, sitting for hours in that gross building because we were having such a good time.  We were an eclectic group, but for the first time in my life, I felt like I had found friends with whom I really belonged.  I'd had good friends growing up, but never one solid group with similar beliefs and interests.  These people became like a family to me.  Through them, the Lord pulled me out of my depression and showed me who I am--a loved young woman.

That fall, I learned agape.

What followed was the opening of my heart to the Lord.  I gave Him everything, and the next year was the best of my life.  It was challenging and full and colorful and I thought I fell in love so many times but it was really just once--one long plunge into the ocean of Mercy.  At times it was dark and painful and sometimes so lonely I couldn't breathe, but my tears of sorrow always became tears of thanksgiving.

The following fall I was in Austria, where I fell head over heals in love with Jesus and His Mother--I heard God better in Europe for some reason.  Maybe because I lived here:

Yeah, that definitely helped.  It helped me get through the coming year of uncertainties and separation and certainties and alienation.  More pain followed me through the year and pressed on more intensely in the fall of my senior year, and in the pain I discovered real strength--reliance on God.

Strength isn't independence.  It's dependence on God.  That's a lesson I still learn every day.  It's a lesson I finally put into practice two falls later when my heart was lonely, but I placed my trust in God and His perfect timing.  The next week a young man bought me dinner, and we fell in love.  The next fall, our love only grew stronger.

And this year I hear so many people complain about fall and how it's so cold and rainy and gross and everything dies and winter is coming and that means snow and ice and cold.

And all I have to say about that is NOT "pumpkin spice latte pumpkin spice latte pumpkin spice latte" but agape. 

Agape.  The love God has for us.  The love we have for God.  The love we have for one another.  The love. There is so much love in the club!

It's what I think about when I think about fall.  It's what I remember when I wake up at 4:30 and suddenly it's 7 am and the sun still isn't shining.  I think about evenings in the cafeteria and the smokey bowling alley with the people who changed my life forever.  I think of the place of incredible beauty, the place of terrible pain, the place of love lost and love found, the place of death turned new life.

This love is available to all of us, all the time, and we have a choice--to love or to hate, to let ourselves be loved or to let our lives weigh us down, to hide from the world or face the rain with a smile and a heart full of gratitude.

Fall may be the season when everything dies, but life always goes on and starts anew.  And through all the ups and downs, we get by with a little help from our friends.

Thank You, God, for mine.

A Simple Life

It was definitely time for a vacation, so we ventured forth on

(1)  an epic road trip.
          We hopped in his silver Saturn and split out of Ohio.  Skies were blue, summer was near, and we were burnt out.  Ohio became West Virginia became Pennsylvania and we stopped to clog our arteries with sandwiches topped with french fries and coleslaw (#Primanti Brothers #totallyworthit).  The sinking sun painted the sky lavender.  The earth around us rose until we were surrounded by dark peaks.  The road became winding and I fell asleep, only to wake and see how many more stars there were out here to wish on.
           Days of new scenery in a place where life is a little slower but also a little fuller.  It was an escape from the daily grind and perpetual fake-it-til-you-make-it service, a chance to volunteer and explore and spend time with family and friends.  We ate super-fresh ice cream and possibly the best pizza I've ever had, went treasure-hunting, and found new inspiration.
          The 7 hour trip home became 12 because we didn't want to come home.  We stopped whenever and wherever we wanted--Emlenton, Muskingum, Tlaquepaque to name a few--and returned fresh and ready to tackle

(2)  this thing called life.
        Funny where life leads us when we follow Christ--on greater adventures than we ever could have imagined for ourselves.  Through the twists and turns, two old friends/roommates/household sisters reunited to share our stories and our faith over a meal of Mexican food and margaritas--a communion.  She told me about a book, how her life was changed by

(3)  Our Lady of Kibeho.
        My friend gave me a copy of the book and I was enthralled.  It was such a simple, beautiful, moving telling of the apparitions of Our Lady to the African people.  She appeared in Rwanda and warned about the genocide that would occur if the people didn't change their hearts (not their religions, their hearts).
        She spoke of the importance of kindness, forgiveness, love for each other and all of humanity.  She spoke of the importance of suffering, that we can't reach heaven without it, so we should be thankful for it, because it means we're on our way.
        She spoke of her love for all mankind, that she desires us to come to her Son through herself, and I marveled at the way

(4)  Mary constantly reveals herself to us.
         She has appeared to Bernadette at Lourdes, to the three children at Fatima, to the young women at Kibeho--to name a few.  When I was in Austria, she kept quietly revealing herself to me, leading me closer to her Son.  She called me to serve as a handmaid in Lourdes and help guide people to her by

(5)  Marian grace.
          Marian Grace also happens to be the name of a Nashville-based music group that aspires to transform the world through beauty.  Their albums Marian Grace: Ancient Hymns and Chants and What Wondrous Love have become the soundtrack of my life these days.  The beauty and the glory in the music elevates my soul and turns my heart and mind to heaven.  Listening to their music has truly inspired me and helped me find that

(6)  inner peace.
           No matter where I go in this life, I am confident that God's loving hand is guiding me.  I am slowly learning how to let go of my own whiny needs and wants to live for a greater love and glory. I've stopped comparing myself to others and started accepting my own faults and weaknesses.  I've stopped wasting around watching lame TV shows on Netflix and started spending my time doing more constructive things.  I've stopped worrying so much about getting eight hours of sleep every night and started making sure I maintain a balance of work, rest, exercise, family-time, catching up with friends, prayer, etc.  I'm working on being over-prepared but also able to go with the flow, having a lot to do, but also making time to play a game with my little sister when she asks.
           I've found that these little adjustments make a big difference, and allow me to maintain inner peace while I struggle to find my place here, to be in the world but not of it, to stand up for what I know is true.
           It's a simple life I lead, but it's rich and full, and I am thankful for every moment.

See You In The Eucharist

It was my first road trip in My Little Red Car, and I was itching to escape Ohio.

I headed North and wondered again why it is that the sky seems so much closer in Michigan than it does in Ohio.  The countryside I fell in love with a few years ago--the green and gold and blue that stretched forever, dotted by red barns and silver silos and fluffy white clouds so close it seemed you could touch them--was less romantic this time around, more worn, yet still just as loved.  Nothing had changed but me.

In Michigan and Illinois, I explored small towns and churches and coffee shops--Ugly Mugs and Cheeky Monkeys and All Chocolate Kitchens--with some of my best friends.  We talked and laughed and my heart healed from all the time in-between our last goodbye and this hello.

The goodbyes came around again, like they always do, and  most of us didn't know when the next time we'd say hello would be.  The last goodbye was to a dear friend after morning Mass, and then I hit the road home.

It was a long road, full of traffic and construction (and a really slow Megabus hogging the left lane for way too long).  But the sun was shining and the trees were swaying and I stopped at Fair Oaks Farm in somewhere, Indiana just because their advertisement "dairy-ed" me.  And then they "double dairy-ed" me.  I can't resist a good play on words, or a latte made with super-fresh whole milk, or cows.

I let the joy and laughter and memories of the weekend follow me home.  I was so thankful for my adventure, and so glad to be back.

I can't help but wonder again at how different it is, those three or four or five years of life at college compared to the rest of our lives. How unfair it all seems that the people we grow and experience so much with suddenly aren't there anymore, at least not as often.  Still, I hold these people in my heart--anyone I have ever loved or have ever come across, I hold them in my heart.

When I went to Mass the day after I came home, and my heart was bursting with thanks for the last few days and for the re-connections it had made, I felt my friends with me, and it's no surprise really.

My household sisters say goodbye with the phrase "I'll see you in the Eucharist."  And it's true.  When we participate in Mass, we participate in the heavenly feast, with all the angels and saints and souls.  When we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we receive His whole Body.  We are the Body, and so we receive one another.  The love that binds us--Love Itself--is there on the altar, ours for the taking, for the receiving for the giving.  When we receive Communion, we are in communion.

So, though I miss you all, my dear friends, I will see you in the Eucharist.