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.

Lay It Down

Back in January, Yoga with Adriene hosted a free series called TRUE:  30 Day Yoga Journey.  It was perfect for me since I'd just received a pretty new yoga mat for Christmas and was determined to actually start taking care of my body this year.  When I turned 30 last year, it was like a light finally flicked on in my head that told me that if I didn't start moving more, I was going to sink into the couch with the potato chip crumbs and wither away.  Since I've never been one to enjoy anything that requires too much exertion (i.e. anything that involves running), I figured becoming more serious about practicing yoga was a safe place to start.

I began the 30 day journey and added 5-10 minutes of some extra exercises (like squats, push ups--which I can actually do now--mountain climbers, etc.) every day and wow.  I noticed changes within the first week.  Not big, extravagant physical changes, but small ones inside.  For one thing, I love exercising this way.  It's slow and intentional, which is so how I prefer to live my life when I can.  I began to enjoy the feeling of becoming stronger, and of becoming more in tune with my body.  

Mostly, though, I felt myself becoming more disciplined.  Even on days when I didn't really want to come to my mat, I made the choice and felt so much better for it.  

A huge grace was coming across this quote by Saint Josemaria Escriva on a tank top at an online shop right around the time I began this journey:  "To begin is for everyone.  To persevere is for saints."  I immediately thought, "That's me!  I want to be a saint, so I must persevere!"  Now I hear those words in my heart, a whisper in the morning when I 'd rather roll over and close my eyes for a few more minutes:  Persevere.  Do it for God.  He gave you this body, now take care of it, be good and true to it.  Do this for yourself, and for any children He may give you in the future.  Don't just begin.  Keep going, persevere.

When I continually choose to take the time to come to my mat, I find that the discipline makes me more aware of all the choices before me during the day--the choices between nature and grace.  I don't always choose the right one, and I often find myself battling my natural reactions and inclinations, but I am stronger--physically, mentally, emotionally--for the fight.

A few of my favorite things.
And yes, sometimes I come to my mat with my coffee and some spiritual food for thought.

"The language of yoga teaches me how to balance my energy so I may have everything I need to serve others and help make the world a better place." 

~Adriene Mishler of Yoga with Adriene

*        *        *

I come to my mat with my intention--to be holy, to be a saint, to be a light.  I lay it down, I lay down everything I am, everything I long to be, I lay it down at Your feet, Lord.

I come here to be more in tune with my breath, with Your breath in me.  When I am in tune with my breath, my center, I am in tune with You.  I am better able to discern the line between nature and grace, better able to choose the better part, which is You.

I want to run the race so as to win.  I want to walk in Your ways, Lord, but I am broken.  I let my nature dictate my actions.  I am self-seeking.  I ignore Your grace.  I push it away.  I stumble and fall. 

Day after day, hour after hour, I find myself on my knees at Your feet, laying it all down again and again.  I come here to be better, stronger, healthier, holier.  

By Your grace, I will persevere.  I will continue to lay it all down, everything I am, everything I long to be, at Your feet.  I will surrender all to You, Lord, for You are the source of all strength, all grace.  Your power is made perfect in my weakness. 

You tell me, "Child, your sins are forgiven. . .rise, take up your mat and walk!"

I believe, Lord; help my unbelief!

A cork yoga mat I won in a raffle at work! Yay for free stuff!

Side Notes

*Motivational quotes aside, I didn't finish the series in a consecutive 30 days due to a circumstance that is a story for another day, but as soon as I was able, I retraced a few days and then kept going.  I don't practice every single day, but I practice more days than I don't.  Now that I'm stronger, more toned and disciplined, and now that the weather is finally nicer, I am ready and excited to get outside to walk (not run) and bike more, to push myself to be more fit and active and healthier all around.

*If you are interested in starting at home yoga practice (I still have never been to a class), I highly recommend Yoga with Adriene.  It's free on YouTube, and her practices are very casual (sometimes her giant dog lumbers in to join her), and are the perfect mix of focus and goofiness.  It's like doing yoga with a friend, but a friend who can't see how totally not flexible you might be. :)

* "Lay It Down," by Matt Maher: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPoxM0D_0n8

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!

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.

The Fear

These days have been bored and restless.  The silhouette of the next thing is on the horizon, creeping closer.  It's not close enough yet that we can make it out, but it's coming.

The waiting leaves me restless, itching for something substantial to hold onto, wasting my summer watching Netflix because it's easier to get caught up in a silly TV show about beautiful people and their fake lives than to get caught up in my own.

Fear keeps me from opening up my heart to fully love and live right where I am.  I fear that there is something more that I should be doing.  I fear what that might be.  I fear, perhaps most of all, that it will keep us here.  I fear stepping out of the comfortable (even if the comfortable is slightly miserable).

Recently I re-read Kisses from Katie, the story of an ordinary young woman who stepped out of the comfortable to follow God's will for her life and is accomplishing truly amazing things in Uganda.  (I read it a few years ago, and wrote about my thoughts on it here.)  I am a different person than I was three years ago when I first read it, but I was no less convicted.  If anything, this time when I read it, my perspective was less sentimental and more realistic.  I saw how ordinary and imperfect Katie is, how all she accomplished was simply a result of her openness to God and letting Him work through her to reach other people.  I want to be that open, that trusting.

The funny thing is that I think I would be willing to drop everything and follow Him, but I can't for the life of me figure out where He wants me to go.  Which is why I have the sinking feeling that perhaps, at least for awhile longer, He wants me to stay right where I am.  Which scares me more than a disease-ridden Third World country.  The fear paralyzes me so that all I can do is click "Watch Next Episode" on Netflix.

Praise the Lord for the priest at Mass this past week.  He reinforced the message I received reading Katie's story by encouraging us to make Christ the center of our lives and let God interrupt our plans.  He reminded us that in our dark world, we the Christ-followers must be the light--of love, patience, peace. When he led us in song at the end of his homily, I felt the Spirit moving in me.

My heart knew the answers I was looking for:  that the restlessness comes from not being present in the moment.  Yes, maybe God wants me to go on and do great things, but how can I trust in the big things if I can't trust in the little things?

A big lesson Katie learned in Uganda faced with seemingly unending poverty, hunger, and sickness was that all she could do was help the one in front of her, and trust that God would take care of the rest until she or someone else came to help them too.  Her actions created a ripple effect that inspired many more people to reach out and help those in need in Uganda.  God is using her as a voice to cry out in the wilderness, to open the eyes of the body of Christ to the need, to call those of us who make up Christ's hands and feet to action.  All she did was help the person in front of her.

I can do that at work.  I can keep my focus on the customer in front of me and patiently serve them to the best of my ability without being overwhelmed by the long line of caffeine-hungry people behind them.  I can be positive at work and let the little annoyances go (even if in the last five minutes of a long shift I have to deal with a difficult customer who continues to test my patience and ask a lot more of me than I have the energy to give).  I can listen to people even when I have less than zero interest in what they are saying--sometimes people just need to talk.  I can bite my tongue against complaints and decisions I disagree with.  I can love one person at a time.  I can be a light.

Over the years, this blog has carried this theme, of how to love God while being a barista.  You would think that the message would have sunk in by now, but I tend to need constant reminders.

When I stepped down from management nine months ago, I experienced great relief and necessary detox from the stress of the previous two and a half years.  I rediscovered my love for both coffee and people, but eventually, when the people became too difficult to handle, I turned my focus to the coffee.  However, I found that if I wanted to pursue coffee as a career and succeed, it would have to become in some ways a god.  But I already have a God, and I love Him.  A lot.

I never imagined that I would still be here after so long, that I would still need these reminders, but here I am.  Imperfect.  Afraid.  I let the fear in, and it began to consume me, but by His grace I have been saved once again from myself.

Maybe God wants me to go out into the world and do great things, but I will never have the strength if I haven't fully abandoned myself to Him, if I don't fully trust Him in everything.  I will never be able to follow Him along great distances in the future if I can't follow Him right now.

Here I am, Lord.

Monday Morning Musings

Life has been getting me down more often than not lately, but I've been doing a lot of much needed reading and reflection.  (I recently re-read St. Therese's Story of a Soul, and for Advent I am re-reading Consoling the Heart of Jesus by Father Michael Gaitley .  I *highly* recommend them both!)

The last two weeks have just not been good, and I needed a new one.  I was so thankful as I walked to work in the angry, gusting wind this Monday morning that it was a new day and a new week and I could start fresh.  And that even though it was mid-December I only needed a light jacket!

The first thing I saw when I got to the coffee bar was a note from an old co-worker and dear friend, who must have visited the store the night before and couldn't leave without leaving her love.  As is her way.  I was so warm and light inside knowing that even though the time and place are gone for good, there is still so much love in the club.

The morning was going smoothly until my first customer rubbed me the wrong way.  Yes, I know that I should know better than to let half-sleeping people get to me so early in the day, but it happens.  And it stirred up feelings of frustration and anger at how rude, inconsiderate, and thoughtless people can be.  

I prayed, "Lord, how am I supposed to love this?  This behavior hurts my pride.  It's inhumane.  How do I just smile and not let this get to me?  Surely you don't want me to simply ignore this injustice?"

Jesus' face came to mind, sweaty and bloody as he hung on the cross.  He tried to answer me with his voice but all he could do in his pain was gasp for breath, and then I didn't need an answer--grace intervened to make it clear:  He is in pain too.  And there's something I can do about it.

As a kid in a Catholic home, I very often heard the phrase, "offer it up" when life's injustice's hurt me.  All that meant to me as a kid though, was that I should "suck it up" because my problems weren't real problems in the grand scheme of things.  

What it really means to "offer it up," is to offer up my pain--of inconsideration, of other people's ignorance, of humiliation, of biting back snarky replies, of silencing my complaints, of keeping my gossipy observations to myself--

in union with Jesus' pain--of his passion, of rejection, of betrayal, of sin.  

It's the same as sitting with a friend when they are hurting.  You can't take away their pain, but you can sit with them and console them to help lighten their load.

When we offer up our suffering in union with Christ's, these sacrifices made in love, console Him.  This opens His Heart and allows the rays of His Love and Mercy to shine through us.

As St. Therese said, "To pick up a pin for love can convert a soul."  It's these little acts that, done with the eyes of our hearts fixed on Jesus, become acts of love and make all the difference.  

So at work, I displayed cookies with love, and brewed coffee with love, and cleaned up sweet, sticky messes with love, and listened patiently to things that I had less than zero interest in with love.  Another customer annoyed me and I took a moment to breathe in my frustration, prayed that Jesus transform it, and breathed out His Mercy with love.

Feeling full of love, I drank my coffee like I did in the old days before I gave up (*read as: tried to give up) dairy: in a ceramic mug with some good old  whole milk.  My hope was that even though it might upset my stomach, the vitamin D in the milk might help make up for my current state of D-deficiency due to lack of sunshine.

It was delicious, but the fact remains that I am highly dependent on the sunshine for my happiness. (Note, "happiness," not "joy."  There's a difference.)

These last few days have been gloomy and overcast, but warmer than usual for December.  Saturday felt very much like it did when I was in Seattle last October.  I loved Seattle and Portland, and every bit of the Pacific Northwest that I saw.  It's gloomy a lot there too, but at least it's near the coast where the ocean is a constant reminder that there is a whole world out there beyond the gloom.  Here in Ohio, we're landlocked, and rather than rain clouds, we have whitish, grayish blankets of clouds that cover us for days to the point that I begin to feel claustrophobic.

Anyway, my coffee tasted like sunshine this morning, and after a few hours of rain, the dark lumpy clouds stretched apart just enough so that the light caught our eyes and we looked out the window, barely believing that it could be real, and yet...there..."stupid cloud, move over just a little bit more"...there it was...THE SUN!

Thank You, Jesus.  For everything.

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

Easter Rising

When I was reminded a few weeks ago that Lent was coming up, I groaned dismally.  I believed that trudging through this insufferable and eternal winter was quite enough penance for one year, thank you. The constant frigid temperatures and never-ending snowfall have made this winter bitter.

Lent and those 40 days of hearing that awful song "Ashes" sung at church simply didn't appeal to me.  And the thought of offering up any sort of sacrifice for another 40 days was absurd.  Haven't we all given enough?  Hasn't winter sucked us dry?

It seems everyone has been having a tough time of it, having emotional and mental meltdowns in the face of this interminable deep freeze.  I have felt the crushing weight of the weather while struggling with a spiritual dryness and trying to make some real changes in my life, but change isn't happening fast enough for me.

I've come to realize though, after several of my own meltdowns and encouragement from the loving support I am so thankful to have, that I am doing all that I can do to make changes in my life.  That, while life appears to be at a standstill, God still has more for me to learn where I am.  It doesn't mean changes aren't coming, but that they need to come from within first.

I looked back at my attitude in the last few months and I saw that the bitter cold inside me was much more damaging than the cold outside.  I've begun to change my attitude, to attempt to see everything as a gift, to attempt to move outside of my self and to really and truly see and love others.  It's hard, but I'm trying.  And I'm not foolish enough to try on my own--I'm seeking grace.

It's funny, in all these years I've been on my spiritual journey, I've never had such a strong desire to change.  I think that has to do with the winter, because I am so desperately in need of springtime outside, I can feel that desire for Easter flooding my veins.  Even as I go about my day at work and I am confronted with a particular problem, I pray for grace and I feel that Easter light rising within me.  It doesn't last long, but it's there, I can taste it.  Even though I fail five minutes later and give in to sin, I know that I'm on my way, supported by His love and mercy.  I can taste the hope that Christ is coming, and that His Rising will be so very sweet.

So to all of you who may be struggling with this endlessly bitter winter, I pray that you find the love of God abiding within you, and welcome Him with joy and peace.

reality

As I drove home late last night, I scoffed at the sprinklers watering the trees on the medians that separate the sides of the street in an upper class neighborhood.  Water spilled into the street and I thought, There are people in Africa dying because they don't have clean water, yet our tax dollars pay for clean water for the trees.  

Don't get me wrong, I love trees--probably more than the average person loves trees.  But I don't love trees more than I love the average person.

Or so I like to tell myself.

I got home and brushed my teeth with the water running and flushed the toilet and took a hot shower and poured myself a cup of water to soothe my allergy-scorched throat.

And now I wonder. . .

inertia

an object in motion wants to stay in motion

but not me

i fly and flit then come back down

and burrow in my happy.

pass by a gas station late at night
and hear the murmur of souls filling up
to keep on the journey.
there they are but i am gone
and keep moving
in my little red car driving
with the windows down
and i keep moving--where does that mean i am?

opportunities make themselves known,

but we remain faceless friends.

the future about to take shape goes back to what it always has been--
i am tired and oddly relieved

to be out of control and in the familiar.

i would have stopped time watching shooting stars in a boat on a lake,

but then i wouldn't have lived for months in the alps with my second family.
i would have stopped time riding for freedom in the country,
but then i wouldn't have splashed through sprinklers in a moonlight serenade.

these are mere moments--

sprinkles

of grace
in a cup of black coffee
in a heart beating fear.

When Life Gets You Down. . .Stick Your Head Out the Window

My brain was on the fritz.  It was a combination of weak morning coffee, writer's block, and then a wave of indecision.

I vocalized my inner turmoil (entirely consisting of petty first world problems) as we drove down the street.

He said, "Look, do you see that dog?"

I saw the dog in the car ahead of us, his head sticking out the window to catch the breeze.  "Yes."

"That dog couldn't be happier than he is right now. Could. Not. Be. Happier.  You need to be like the dog!  Just be.  Be the dog."

I took his hand and squeezed it.  "I should," I said.  "I really should be more like the dog."  But I was still thinking about my indecision.  "I just, I shouldn't get a latte.  They're so expensive."

He rolled his eyes.  "I'll buy it for you."

"No, I don't want you to--"

He rolled down his window.  "I'll be out here if you need me."

And he stuck his head out.  Like the dog.

What Dreams May Come

As a dreaming little girl, I saw Someday as a picture perfect scene that would magically unfold when I grew up:  all my hopes and dreams would come true for all of happily ever after amen.  It was a Disney princess-contrived fairy tale, I'm sure, worsened only by the sappy chick flicks I ate up in my teens.  It's a lesson we all learn some way or another that the road to Someday isn't a red carpet lined with roses; it's the Via Dolorosa, the way of suffering.  The way to glory is the way of the Cross.

As I sat in church yesterday, thinking about my childish dream that life would painlessly (or at least more easily) unfold, I realized that if it had, I never would have come to experience the love of Christ the way that I have.  Ever since the first day I realized that Someday wasn't coming anytime soon, I found myself desperately searching for answers, for courage, for strength.  In my suffering, I heard the cry of Christ from the cross, "I thirst."  And I found that He just wants to love and be loved, the same as me.    

He brought me through one dark period of my life, but once again I find myself wandering in a dim uncertainty (though this is an altogether different kind of pain).  Life seems to be getting the better of me these days, but I've been working hard to make some changes.  Yesterday, just when I felt like I was completely lost and none of my work was paying off, He showed me in an unmistakable way through the Eucharist--a glimpse into Someday, which I now recognize to be Heaven itself--that He has not forgotten His promise to make me all new, to transform me by grace.

So today I picked up the cross and whined and complained the whole way because I'm tired and people are rude and why can't I just get out of here already?  I kept asking for grace--in the form of some comfort that it is all working out--but as Flannery O'Connor said, "All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful."

I heard this prayer today--

A Confederate Soldier's Prayer

I asked God for strength, that I may achieve;

I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for health, that I might do greater things;

I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy;

I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men;

I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life;

I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.

Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.

I am among all men most richly blessed.
(Author Unknown, but God bless him!)

--and now I am certain that true, transforming grace is not magic, nor fairy dust that will make us fly so we never have to face grown up problems.  It is Blood out-poured, a Life given freely--not painlessly--for us so that while we walk along the Way, we don't have to walk alone.