My Friend Jane

Teenage me was bewitched body and soul and I love-I love-I loved the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice (2005) from the first time I saw it in the theater.  Jane Austen's classic story came to life in a beautiful way that still seemed relevant and relatable, with a delightful soundtrack that swept me into the story.

At the time, I had seen and enjoyed repeatedly a few of her other books-turned-films in Emma Thompson's version of Sense and Sensibility (1995) and Gwyneth Paltrow's portrayal in Emma (1996).  This new film, though, sparked a desire to know the full story.  I read the book, and watched my aunt's VHS copy of the BBC's 1995 miniseries of Pride and Prejudice. And then I bought and frequently watched the new version of P&P--it became a comfort movie for when I was sick, for when I wanted to fall asleep to a movie, for when I needed something familiar on in the background.

Over the years, other movie versions of her books came across my path and I watched and enjoyed many of them.  I finally read Sense and Sensibility and picked up Emma a few times to read it but had seen the movie so many times that I lost interest in the painfully long book.

Finally, as someone with an English degree and a professed love for all things Austen, I decided that it was high time I take to the books and actually read them through.  So for the last several months I have been chipping away at all of Austen's six main novels. 

In case you care at all about my unprofessional opinions of them, here they are in a loose order of least favorite to most favorite:

Emma

I love the story, the characters, Mr. Knightley, etc.  The movie is hilarious.  I did not, however, enjoy reading this book very much.  There's a reason this novel is the only one titled after the main character:  she's so full of herself that it couldn't possibly be titled anything else!  Emma of course goes through some self-actualization toward the end of the book when she recognizes her vanity and selfishness.  That stretch of a few chapters was my favorite part of this painfully long book.  

Again, part of the reason I think it was so difficult for me to get through is that it's so similar to the movie, only much longer and drawn out with many social interactions that are cut out of the movie for a reason:  they're not necessary.  Definitely worth reading once, but if I ever pick it up again, it will be to skim through it.

Mansfield Park

I have a very love-hate relationship with this book. There are some really interesting and complex characters who do some really weird and crazy things (including the horrible Mrs. Norris, the namesake of Filch's cat in Harry Potter).  However, the supposed hero and heroine are severely lacking in my opinion. Edmund and Fanny come across as dull and flat to me. Fanny is introverted and shy, yes, but I know that with all of the crazy going on around her she must have had some more interesting inner commentary than what is relayed to the reader.  She also seemed to worship Edmund in a really creepy way for someone raised as her brother. Though they are technically cousins, they are far too much like siblings for their relationship to be acceptable, even in the 1800s. 

Again, I'm not an expert, but I think that this book would have been better if it had just had a little more editing.  It's the longest of Austen's novels, and the style is just a little choppy compared to the others.  The descriptions of shrubberies and hedges outweigh the insights into Fanny's character and personality.  

Northanger Abbey

This was the only Austen novel that I read without having seen some film version of it beforehand, and I found it to be thoroughly enjoyable! It's a quick and easy read, with the young Catherine getting caught up in all the books she reads so that her imagination begins to run wild with fantasies of love and drama.  It's sweet, funny, simple, and entertaining, and the 2007 film version starring Felicity Jones (which I watched after I read the book) is a great adaptation.

Pride and Prejudice

As you already know, this story is close to my heart.  This was my third time reading it, and I always gain some new insight. It's such a lesson in human character, how quick we are to judge people based on our first impressions, and how very, very wrong we can be.  My only issue with the book is that there are sections of social gatherings and really long letters that tend to slow the story down at times. But the way that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are each humbled to accept their own faults and pride, and then to forgive one another and recognize their love. . .*sigh* My first and forever favorite.

Sense and Sensibility

I laughed out loud so much while reading this book.  To me, it's the most enjoyable to read, possibly because of how much I relate to both Elinor and Marianne that I become truly absorbed in the story. The Emma Thompson movie version and the more recent BBC miniseries are both equally incredible adaptations of this book, but nothing compares to the depth of character and emotion you find in these pages. A favorite of mine in a different way.

Persuasion 

This book was a little slow in the first chapter or two, and then BAM it's amazing. It is a story that is meant to be read, and as this was the last book Austen wrote before she died, the craft and style of the writing are polished and exquisite.  The sheer emotion on these pages tugs at the heart and gives the reader just enough to want more until it all culminates in perhaps the most satisfying ending of any Austen book. The film versions have their moments, but the book has it all.

In conclusion...
I am really glad I finally read all of these books!  Unfortunately, I know that a lot of my opinions about them are influenced heavily by the movie adaptations I watched first, but if it hadn't been for those movies, would I have picked up the books in the first place?  It's hard to say.

In any case, I'm thankful for Jane, for her literary genius, her witty social commentaries, and her ability to write such strong female characters.  I love that her stories and characters are still relevant today, and that I have Austenite friends who I can nerd out with about them.

My friend Jane

Aimless Wanderings

Maybe it's just me, but I kind of thought there for a little while that life would somehow get easier or less complicated the longer I adulted.  As if the more I practiced, the easier it would get, or the longer I waited, the clearer the answers would become.

All I've learned, and especially this year, is that instead of answers, we only face more questions.  We all have our own battles that we're facing, and for the most part, we all just go around living like everything is fine. Is that because we feel we're supposed to be adults and just suck up our feelings and deal with our problems?  We hear screaming children from various corners of the store at work and we always sort of look at each other sadly and say, "That's how I feel inside."  It hurts my ears, but I admire the honesty of children, and I wish I could be that vocally honest about my own feelings sometimes.

Courtesy of my brother, from Fawnly Prints

Those brave souls who speak out about their struggles and insecurities--I admire their ability to be vulnerable, to bare their souls, to speak up so that others who are experiencing similar battles can know that they are not alone and can find comfort or perspective or fuel for their own fight.  But sometimes our battles are so deeply personal, or we are so deep in the thick of it that speaking up is not in the cards for us right now.  

So what do we do?  Keep plastering on our brave faces and plugging along like everything's fine?  

Some other alternatives are to 1) scream in the middle of the grocery store (tempting, I know) or 2) offer enough vague complaints that people have pity on us and begin to pry in well-meaning attempts to offer support, but then we remember that we actually don't want to talk about it because it's so personal and complicated that a general explanation will never do and neither will giving this person access to our deepest, darkest secrets.

Or, we can choose to continue to wander aimlessly as we strive to fight our battles with brave faces and find balance in our awkward, complicated lives.  We can learn to appreciate the present and enjoy life where we are while we wait for life where we want to be.  And we can take comfort knowing that God is with us in our wanderings.  He sees each (mis)step we take, and His hand guides us gently along the way.  

When we have a bad day--one where we're so physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted that we actually feel like this might be it, this is where we lose it completely--He gives us a new day full of new mercies.

That's right, as we finish our Head and Heart Reset yoga flow with Adriene in the early morning before work, the final twist turns our head to the window so that we see the first glimmer of morning light through the trees, the beginning of the gentle fade from black night to blue day.  And as we sit outside for morning prayer, the cool fresh air fills our lungs and the chattering of the birds soothes our souls and we are reminded that He loves us, that He is working in us even when we are filled with pain--or confusion, or disgust at our own sin, or anxiety, or depression, or anger, or questions, or all of these things and more-- that the cross must come before the glory.

When we remember that He is there with us through it all, we learn how to accept these unpleasant things as they come, even if we don't always accept them happily or patiently.  And we learn, as Rainier Marie Rilke wrote in Letters to a Young Poet, to 

". . . be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue.  Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them.  And the point is, to live everything.  Live the questions now.  Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.  Perhaps you do carry within yourself the possibility of shaping and forming as a particularly happy and pure way of living; train yourself to it--but take whatever comes with great trust. . .take it upon yourself and hate nothing. . ."

You can find Alanna's music on iTunes and Bandcamp!

As I've been learning this all the hard way in the last several weeks, I've been wandering aimlessly to the soundtrack of the lovely young poet Alanna Boudreau's album Goodbye Stranger.  Her music (especially this album and her previous album, Champion) helped me to the realization of what I've written here.  By providing a lovely sound to listen to along with intricately beautiful images and poetry, her music presents and reflects great mysteries that sweetly linger and haunt my thoughts. They leave me questioning and pondering, but in such a way that I find myself able to enjoy the uncertainty, that I'm now able to sit more comfortably with my constant questions, and to explore beauty from different perspectives.

Having realized that, I find myself here, telling you, dear reader, that you are not alone in your aimless wandering, in your questions answered with more questions, in your pain, in your fight.  We are all in this together, and the great God who loves us more than we know, has us all in His capable hands.

Lately (i.e. Winter is Dumb, but God is Good)

"The Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." (Matthew 26:41)

But I've been wondering. . .is the spirit willing?  Lately, I think not.

Deep down, the commitment is there, but in the day to day, I'm just plain tired.

Tired of the way things are.  Tired of trying to figure out what the next step is.  Tired of trying to change things when all my efforts are met with failure.

Disappointment and frustration cloud my view of all that I should be grateful for and all the ways I can live more fully where I am.

My sins suck me down, and others around me are beginning to feel my anger and frustration since I no longer have the energy to hide it--or am I even trying anymore?

People notice, and their humbling comments bring me to my knees, and once again, Mercy intervenes.

*           *           *

"I am dead to sin and now living in Christ Jesus."

The preacher let the words sink in, then repeated them, "We must remember and live that truth:  I am dead to sin and now living in Christ Jesus."

I want to remember.  I want to live like this, to believe it in my heart, to let it pulse through my veins.

But I get in my own way.  I let the darkness of my sin, of my fear consume me--fear of my self, of who I think I should be, of who I actually am, of who I want to be, of my constant state of failure at trying to be a woman of Love.

But if I am truly dead to sin, I need not fear my weaknesses or my failings.  I will still fall, because I'm human.  But I am now living in Christ Jesus, and He will make up for all I lack, in His mercy, His grace, His goodness, His love.

*           *           *

I always have such high hopes when the New Year rolls around.  This year was no different, and even though the first week was as boring as a pile of dirt and colder and more miserable than I can really handle without turning into a monster, I still have hope.  

My reflections and ponderings of last year (and my attitude this past week) provided me with some ugly truths about myself, leading me to think that quite possibly the changes I need to make are not so much in my external circumstances, but in my soul.  I can't just keep holding on to a superficial optimism that if I endure the difficulties with a glued-on smile, that's doing God's will for my life, and everything will turn out okay.  

I need to actually open my heart and soul and life up wide to His promised Grace and Mercy and let Him do something new in me.  And I think part of opening myself up to that is letting go of my old self, the comfortable self that likes to be cozy and comfortable and watch lots of cheesy wholesome movies.  Last year I developed better habits, one being a routine of reading the Bible and praying in the morning before I go to work.  This prayer life is a good foundation, but I find myself now at a crossroads--it's time to actually live.  That means that I need to do things that scare me, but that are good for me (like doing more yoga and exercising to get into shape, like cooking healthy meals, like finding friends nearby who share my faith).

Because as I've written before, in order to love others as we love ourselves, we have to first love ourselves, to take care of ourselves, to allow ourselves to be loved by God and formed into new creations by His merciful touch.  

I want to believe with every fiber of my being that I am dead to sin and now living in Christ Jesus, and to let His Love transform me from the inside out so that with every breath I take, I am living life to the full in His Love.

I believe, Lord.  Help my unbelief!

Fiat

As this short season of Advent swirls around us in a flurry of busyness, the word fiat has been on my heart.   It is after all, thanks to Mary's fiat, her "yes" to God's will, that the whole Incarnation came about as it did.  She said yes to something that could cause scandal, yes to bringing up the Son of God, yes to carrying Him in her body for nine months, yes to giving birth to Him.

She probably didn't know when she said "yes" that she'd have to give birth to Him after more than a week of bumbling along on a donkey while nine months pregnant, or that she'd have to give birth to Him in a cold, dark, dirty stable, or that after His birth they'd have to hide out in the desert for two years.  She probably didn't know when she said "yes" that she would have to watch him suffer and die at the hands of the people He loved so dearly.  But she said "yes" to God, and though it caused her times of pain and suffering, she allowed God to use her to help bring about the salvation of the world, through the miracle of a tiny baby.

In a way, this is how God uses all of our fiats.  Every time we place our trust in God, we say "yes" to His will for the salvation of the world.  Most of the time we don't have any idea how His plans will unfold, but we know that it likely won't be easy.  There will be sacrifice, pain, and suffering along the way, but it is through this sanctifying grace that we are transformed to become whatever God wants us to be.  It is through our fiats that He brings about the most glorious things!

This year, my greatest desire is for us all to appreciate more fully the love that God has for us.  He came to earth to be one of us, to share in our human experience, to be treated horribly and executed so that our sins will not be held against us.

The miracle of the Incarnation becomes more real for me every year, and when I close my eyes, I find myself on my knees.  I kneel beside the manger, holding Mary's hand as she rests and recovers from the difficult journey and the birth.  While she sleeps, I watch over her baby, my brother, my King.  I want to touch the soft cheek of the baby Jesus, because I know that with only a touch, I can be healed of my petty, whiny, selfishness.

O heal me, Jesus, and help me to embrace fully the plans You have for my life.  Help me to focus on the love and blessings I do have and not be so worried and anxious about what I don't have.  And thank You for coming to save us.

May the joy and peace of the infant Jesus fill our hearts this Christmas season!

(To see the sweetest interpretation of how God's ways are beyond our wildest imaginings, 

watch the video below.)

Merry Christmas!

The Fall

This fall has been the most beautiful I can ever remember experiencing.  The warmer temperatures and glorious sunshine that lingered allowed the leaves to ripen ever so slowly, drawing out their true colors in a spectacular show of God's palette.

Treetops stand out like flames blazing over rooftops, 

     

fireworks suspended in the branches,

 

glowing yellow dappled lights that work as the sunshine's minions even on the darkest, cloudiest days.

The extraordinary beauty of it all may be a result of weather patterns, or maybe I'm just more aware.  I am at a place of serenity, where God has given me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change (or at least attempt to change) the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  

This season has been a serene one here in small-town Ohio.  At least, as far as the beauty of creation goes.  The world is tumultuous, our country is divided, and we as a race of humans are slowly coming to grips with the ramifications of our distracted half-living. But I have hope.

Because in the mornings I see the way the sun glows rising

and spreads its light through the trees to shower the earth.

And in the afternoons when I take walks and stop a thousand times to try and capture the way the light spreads through the leaves like fire 

and my phone's camera fails to do God's creation justice, I smile, knowing that all our man-made technology will never be enough to inspire and foster hope, goodness, love, mercy.  For that, we need something, Someone greater.

Because of that, I find myself more often on my knees giving thanks and seeking mercy.  On election day, I consecrated myself to Divine Mercy, because God is BIGGER and BETTER than this mess we have created for ourselves.  

I joke that I'm an eternal optimist--95% of the time.  But I am eternally optimistic, that is, optimistic about eternity.  No matter the messes we make for ourselves or the struggles we experience in dealing with other people or with our health or with the demons in our own minds, we have hope.  

I believe in our redemption through Christ and the cross, and I believe in the hope that rises with His resurrection, and I believe in the grace of His Divine Mercy which He offers any time we ask for it.

I pray that in this time of turmoil and change, as fall fades to winter and our country transitions to the next phase and the world continues to turn, that we all find the serenity and peace of mind needed to carry on hopefully.

Love and Coffee

Coffee coffee coffee is my mantra. I love coffee.  I love trying new coffees, making coffee, sharing coffee.  When a co-worker/coffee friend gave me a delicious bag of beans from a recent trip, I thanked her for sharing the coffee with me, and she replied, "Of course, that's what coffee is for."

Communion.  Every cup is a communion.  It is the sharing, the community, the relationships between co-workers and customers that have grown and evolved over the years that I love the most.

Still, I don't necessarily want to be a barista forever.  And in the restlessness of wondering, the aching for more than pouring coffee and making lattes and being constantly sucked dry of all energy from being on my feet and socializing all day (which let me tell you, for this introvert, is exhausting), I find peace only in the One who made the stars and the sea and the coffee trees.

Gratitude is too shallow a word to describe the depth of joy I find at the gift of His peace, manifested in His mercy and grace, especially in the darkness that has recently visited.  In the exhaustion that cannot be cured by coffee (yeah, I said it), He picks up my weary soul and carries me through it all.

Just after the recent canonization of my beloved Saint Mother Teresa of Calcutta, I picked up a free copy from church of With Great Love, a book of reflections on Mother Teresa by Susan Conroy, who spent time working with the saint. Saint Mother Teresa and her patron, Saint Therese of Lisieux have always been close to my heart, and I aspire to follow their examples of putting great love into the every little action, no matter how simple.

In this looooong week of work full of too many too-early mornings, God, in His mercy and grace, graced me with the perfect reflection on this very subject from Susan Conroy.  It's a lesson I have heard so many times throughout my life, and a lesson I have attempted to apply to my time working in coffee over the years.  But as I recently heard, our spiritual lives are not linear.  They are not gradual uphill climbs, but rather, they are paths full of stumbling and falling and, by the grace of God, persevering toward that seemingly ever elusive holiness and perfect communion with Him.

Every cup is a communion.  Not a perfect communion, but a communion of all our broken humanity scooped up into a mug, a chalice, a hug, a smile.

"Let every action of mine be something beautiful for God," said Saint Mother Teresa.  As she wandered the streets of Calcutta, she and her sisters performed simple tasks, such as sitting with the dying so they didn't have to die alone, or providing a blanket to someone who was shivering, or giving a glass of water to someone who was thirsty.  As Conroy describes:

"It was not the work that was extraordinary, but rather, the way in which it was done.  It was the spirit of the work that made it extraordinary: the spirit of love, humility, tenderness and respect with which each human being was touched and held and cared for.  It was precisely this spirit of love and humility that made Mother Teresa a saint and made every action of hers 'something beautiful for God.'

"It is always about the love.  Love, love, love.  Mother Teresa said that this is the reason we exist--to love and serve God by loving and serving one another....

"It doesn't matter how much we give, but rather how much love we put in the giving.  [Mother Teresa] encouraged us to 'put love into everything you do, and you will be fulfilling your vocation.'

"'God is Love,' Saint John the apostle tells us.  Do everything with God.  Do everything with 'the fullness of charity' in your heart, and you will be fulfilling your duty and your destiny in a way that is most pleasing to God."

No matter what I do, even as I search for work beyond barista-ing, I can put love into each little action, into each cup of coffee I pour, into each dish I wash, into each person I meet.

Yes, coffee coffee coffee is my mantra, but what is coffee all about?  It is about the people, the communion, the love.

"It is always about the love.  Love, love, love."

 

 May we never forget.  <3  

At the Heart of It All

Whenever we turn on the news these days, someone else has died a violent death.  Or dozens have.  Or hundreds.  It's sickening, confusing, and frightening.  We don't know how to process it.  We often turn to social media where commentaries and arguments have sprung up pointing the finger at others in blame and isolating the problem to one issue, race, religion or another.

But isn't that part of the problem?  Isn't it a problem that we are so ready to jump to conclusions and harsh judgments and stereotypes of our fellow man?  That we are determined to see the worst in one another, and to take sides against one another?

It's easy to be discouraged as these horrific events continue to unfold around the world, across the ocean, in our own neighborhoods.  It's a natural reaction to want to lay blame somewhere.  We want to see someone come to justice.  But there isn't any one person at fault here.  We are all part of the problem.

As a society, we have become selfish, rude, demanding, quick to anger, quick to judge, quick to blame others for our own mistakes.  We are a culture of waste, and we have begun to see one another as disposable.  We don't see each other as human beings.  We see the car in front of us driving like an idiot and it fills us with road rage.  We see our service workers as robots or low-lifes and treat them like crap.  We see the woman with the screaming child in the grocery store and judge her for obviously being a terrible parent.

We don't take the time to put ourselves in another's shoes, to recognize the difficulties that the people around us are facing, to see ourselves in one another.

We are all part of the problem, because we are all human. Rather than be discouraged by that, though, we should take heart in it.  Since we are all part of the problem, we can all be part of the solution.  We are all in this together.

We can stop pointing fingers, stop labeling the symptoms of the problem (racism, terrorism, homophobia) and acknowledge the root of all the problems:  our lack of respect for the dignity and equal value of each and every human life.

We can start overlooking the small annoyances and frustrations we feel from other people in our daily lives.  We can treat each other with kindness and patience, whether or not we receive the same treatment back.  We can attempt to understand the differences of others, rather than fear or hate them.

This isn't easy to do, by any means, but if we all stop making hateful, angry commentary on the tragedy and start feeling it in our hearts, we can work together to slowly but surely bring about peace.

I recognized yesterday my part in the problem when I received some news about an old, loyal friend. I learned that she is joining forces with someone that I believed we both couldn't stand.  When I thought of all those years I had to stand between them and fight them off one another, I was shocked that now they would be uniting as a team. I don't know the details of the situation, but my initial reaction was to feel betrayed and hurt that my friend would consort with the "enemy" in this way.

When I felt the word enemy rise up in my heart, I remembered the horrible, hateful killings of recent days.  Is this person really an enemy?  This is a person who we had perpetual misunderstandings with, but who never meant us any real harm.  We chose to hold on to angry, bitter grudges and refused to ever see this person as a person, but rather as an obstacle to our freedom.  But the real obstacle was in our hearts, a wall we had built ourselves to keep this person out, to side against this common enemy.

I want so much to stay angry, bitter, hateful even, toward this person, but I know that if I see someone like this person as an enemy, I am part of the problem.  If I can't forgive and let go of petty grudges and the annoyances that this person's differences have caused me over the years, how can we let go of hate in our world?

I remember my loyal friend's constant example of a pure love for Jesus, of her ability to love easily, even to the point of folly.  And maybe she has found a way in her heart to forgive this person, to love this person despite their differences, so that they can work together in peace.

That is peacemaking, friends.  That is the solution.  Letting go of grudges.  Choosing love, kindness, generosity in the littlest things of every day.  Smiling while going through the motions.  Responding to rudeness with kindness and patience.  Truly desiring what is best for other people, desiring their success, their well-being--whether or not we like them.  Forgiving others so that the walls in our hearts can be destroyed by love, so that all we have in our hearts is love.

In a few days, we will likely have forgotten about these tragedies, or moved on to mourning the next ones.  But let's please, please, please never forget that we belong to one another.  That all us humans are in this together.  

Please.

I Thirst

I thirst--I want to be good, I want to love as Jesus would have me love.  I want to forget all my fears and live for Him and Him alone.  I often feel as though I am not doing enough, like I should be doing more with my life.

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.

"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 Teresa

Related posts: The Best Latte, Grace You Can Taste, Thankfully, Taste of Heaven, and So Much Love in the Club.

Death By Mocha

Happy National Coffee Day!!!

After a morning of  making countless $1 Pumpkin Spice Lattes, you might think that I wouldn't want to spend my afternoon writing about it.  HOWEVER, I drank a PSL myself and have that caffeine and sugar coursing through my veins and sparking inspiration all up in my heart and soul.

I came home and finally looked up this 20/20 story my mom has been telling me about, about baristas and the horrible things they do to people's drinks.  I found it fascinating.  I can relate to these bitter baristas.  In fact, just yesterday I had a moment of understanding as I realized the reason we get so frustrated with customers and they get so frustrated with us is that we are not speaking the same language.

The language we speak is that of well-trained and experienced baristas.  We know where these coffees come from, the altitude at which they are grown, the anatomy of a coffee plant, the names of the farmers who grow it, how the coffees are processed, what each step in the process entails, and what each step means for how that coffee will ultimately taste when we brew it, not to mention what all the variables are in the brewing process and how they affect the taste of the coffee.

The language our customers speak, on the other hand, is often (not always, but often) a twisted mess of coffee terms made popular by places from McDonald's to Starbucks to Intelligentsia.   They often know only that they need something to wake them up, or that they like caramel frappes, or that they hate coffee and want a coffee drink that doesn't taste like coffee.

The biggest challenge of our jobs as baristas is to pick through and translate the layers of this language in order to discern the unique palates of our many customers so that we can find the right drink for them--all in the most fast-paced, efficient, and pleasant way possible.

In general, baristas are grossly underpaid and undervalued for these intricate skills.  This only causes more bitterness and frustration as they attempt to read their customers minds, create personalized, handcrafted beverages, and navigate the crowds of zombie-like people dying for their daily caffeine fix on their way to work and school--all before 8 am.

In the 20/20 interview, the baristas spoke of decaffeinating rude people's coffee, or adding extra charges to their drinks.  I understand the desire to do these things--it's extremely tempting sometimes!  As anyone who has ever worked in customer service will tell you, people can be downright nasty.  It can be very disheartening, especially for those of us with the determined Anne Frank-attitude to see the good in humanity.

Thankfully, there are plenty of really wonderful people we encounter every day too!  These wonderful souls of grace who very clearly recognize us not as machines but as humans like themselves, are often what get us through the seemingly never-ending days.

I actually started writing a coffee shop musical back in college, based on my experiences.  It was a sad little story line, but this video beautifully portrays (*minus the bit of vulgarity*) the plight of the modern barista, set to a familiar musical:




What stuck out to me most was their question "When will I be redeemed?"

Well, here's what I've learned:  they have already been redeemed.  We all have.  It's a matter of accepting the sacrifice that paid our way out of this "hell" we're living.

We can't always change our situation (especially in this economy) and land our dream jobs right out of college (or even four years out of college), and in the meantime, we have to pay rent somehow.  We can't change how people act towards us, but we can change how we act toward them.  Instead of being the pretentious coffee know-it-alls we are stereotyped to be, we can adopt a servant's heart.

We can serve coffee with genuine joy and love.  We can be kind even to the rudest customers (you never know what horrible experiences someone might be going through!).  We can swallow our own opinions of what makes a good coffee and instead maintain the attitude that everyone has different tastes.

I have worked in coffee for 6 years, which is 4 more than I ever anticipated (trust me, I never anticipated being in management, but here I am).  As a whole, I have loved my experiences.  I love the people that I've met, the skills and knowledge that I've gained, the free coffee I've been allowed to drink, and even the work itself.  It's fun!  Some days I look around in gratitude and shake my head in wonder thinking, "They actually pay me to do this!"

Other days though, I shake my head thinking, "There is not enough money in the world. . ."  I find myself struggling through the daily grind to be happy and nice to people when I just want to sit in a corner and be angry and frustrated.  I get so tired (the kind of tired that is beyond caffeine's reach) of  being outgoing (I'm an extreme introvert) on a daily basis and being up for hours before the sun.  It's these days that make me ask the question:  what am I even doing here?

What I have come to understand through it all, is that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  In all my vain attempts to get out, I still sought God's will for my life.  My ultimate goal, after all, is not a successful career, but holiness.  God gave me glimpses of what may lay ahead, and with those glimpses, reminders that as much as I want to be, I am not ready for the next step.

Even though I have days where I curse the ground I work on (by the way, we actually call the ground we work on the IBG, because we believe our bar was built on an Indian burial ground), and want to cry at the sad state of humanity, and then I spill brown mocha powder all over my black pants, I believe it is all part of the process. It is part of growing up, yes, but most importantly, a part of being humbled, of dying to myself.

If we are to be redeemed, we must first die to ourselves, so that we may rise again with Christ:

And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. [Luke 9: 23-24)

The particular slow and painful death God has chosen for me just happens to be death by mocha.

I still fail and fall frequently, but I am reminded over and over again of His redeeming love, mercy, and faithfulness.  I encourage you, wherever you are, to accept your form of "death" as the grace to participate in the fullness of your redemption.  It's all we can do, really.

But in the meantime, we'll do some of this too:

Shelby's Last Latte

Jesus wept.

My English advisor and professor asked us once what the most powerful passage in the Gospel is.  I racked my brain wondering if it was a trick question--wouldn't it be different for everyone, depending on each person's perspective?  But she told us, "Jesus wept."  Two simple words, a noun and a verb, three syllables, and they express the depth of the mystery.

Jesus, the Word of God incarnate in the flesh, became man.  Fully human, and also fully divine.  I know that I tend to take on the attitude that because Jesus is also God, He had a somewhat easy pass through life.  Sure, the Passion of His death and resurrection was pretty brutal, but again, He's God.  He can do anything!  And He has a superhuman strength with which to do it--right?  Wrong.  He has the same strength and emotions as the rest of us.

When His friend died, and even when He knew that in a few moments He would raise his friend from the dead for the greater glory of God, He wept.

The mystery of the Incarnation is expressed in these two words.  That God Himself suffered loss, experienced the pain of losing a loved one and, even with great faith that all was for God's glory, He wept.

We watch the news and weep and know that God weeps with us.  But we can trust that He receives those children in His merciful love with open arms, just as He embraces the world from the cross.