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

To the Misbehaved Kid In the Pew Behind Me

Thank you.

I admit that I dreaded when you came and sat behind me in the middle of the opening prayer.  I was exhausted after a long day in customer service, and I picked that isolated corner at the front of the church for a reason:  I thought it would be peaceful.

Instead, you sat behind me and crunched loudly on your church-time snack.  You wiped your sticky fingers on the pew behind me.  I felt a slight tug on my hair and heard your mom say, "Stop touching her hair."  I smiled.  But then she kept saying it, and I started to get annoyed and wondered if I was going to find boogers in there later.

I kept seeing you out of the corners of my eyes and I learned that 1)  your name is Marcus and 2)  no matter how many times your parents told you to stand still or sit down, you refused.

I lost track of the second reading and the Gospel as I planned in my head how me and my future husband will teach our future kids to sit quietly in church and not wipe boogers in people's hair.

Then I heard the paper glide back and forth, back and forth across the back of the pew.  I heard you making weird noises with your tongue, and talking about wanting to leave.  I was sad that you didn't understand the beauty of what was going on in front of you.

And as the second part of Mass went on and your mom was still "Shhsh"ing you and telling you repeatedly to sit down, I learned the lesson you were there to teach me:  I am you.

I don't understand the beauty of what is going on in front of me.

In my spiritual life, in my relationship with God, I constantly find myself talking and talking and talking--telling Him what I want, that I am tired, stressed, overwhelmed, happy, uncertain--and all the while He's telling me "Shhh. . ."  Because He just wants to shower His love on me.

I wander away, back and forth, back and forth, to where I get lost in the darkness until God grabs my hand with grace and pulls me back to the light.

I do the same stupid things over and over and He has to keep gently reminding me not to do them.  I annoy the people around me who are striving to be holy by pointing out the ugly that I see rather than the beautiful.

As much as I like to think I understand the beauty of the Mystery of God, I know nothing.

Thanks for the reminder, Marcus.

The Most Romantic Thing Ever

We’re getting married.  In April.  It’s so close, yet so far away. 

When I expressed my frustration that we can’t start our lives together today, he said, "I know.  If I could speed up time. . .”  He trailed off, I waited curiously, and he finished, “Well, I wouldn't.  But if I could. . .no, I still wouldn't.”  And he laughed.  And it was the most romantic thing ever.

Everything inside me melted and I was sure of one thing:  #keeper. 

This is real love.

This is real.  Realistic.  The beauty of life is in the present moment.  It’s in the anticipation of things to come as much as it is in the good things themselves.  It’s in the pain, the joy, the work, the play that we experience every day of our lives. 

Real love is lost in the translation of our culture.  It’s lost in the lies that make us forget why we married the person we did, to the point that we are so focused on the struggles of a marriage and not on its fruits.  

Real love is lost in the lies that make women believe they don’t have value unless they have a man to admire and love them.  

Real love is lost in the lies that make men find satisfaction in their lusts, thus demeaning women by objectifying them for their parts.  

Real love is lost in the lie that sex can be had whenever with whoever as long as it’s “safe.”

The truth is that real love isn't “safe.”  Real love is death on a cross.

Real love isn't all about romantic getaways to Paris.  It’s about dirty diapers, and car problems, and money struggles, and doing what you’d rather not do because it will benefit someone else.

Real love is even lost in the lie spread by abstinence programs that “true love waits” for sex.  Sure true love refrains from having sex before marriage, but it’s not waiting until it can express itself—it’s expressing itself now.

“If I could speed up time. . .I wouldn't.”

This is not true love “waiting;” it’s true love living. 

This is not saying “no” to sex; it’s saying “yes” to sex as it is meant to be—a life-giving communion, a free, total, faithful, and fruitful gift (#TOB), an unbreakable covenant between two souls and God proclaimed in vows made to the world.

Sex as a life-giving communion is meant to be a taste of heaven, a glimpse into the ecstatic glory of our coming communion with God.

We are called to chastity—single people and couples (dating/engaged/married) alike.  As Arleen Spenceley writes:

Chastity, which isn’t abstinence but requires it outside marriage, is the virtue that integrates sexuality with the rest of our lives. So when we practice chastity, we neither disregard sex as unimportant in relationships nor revere it as most important. We decide to govern our appetites instead of being governed by them—a practice that frees us to pick marriage partners for reasons more substantial than “good sex,” which, in turn, frees us to fulfill the call to absolute love.

We fulfill this call by experiencing the fullness of pain, of joy, of loneliness, of communion in love.  We are called to come to Jesus, to know Him so that we "may have life and have it to the full" (John 10:10).  

I could go on about this forever.  In fact, I will, but probably not here, unless you want to comment and dialogue with me.  J  Or if you want to go deeper into why I (and the rest of the Catholic Church) believe what I believe, I highly recommend Good News About Sex and Marriage by Christopher West.

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.

Because Grace

Interviews, small talk, phone calls, holding others accountable/confrontation--these are the things that make up an introvert's living hell, and they are all things that I am required to do more and more often in this phase of life called adulthood.

Working in customer service is difficult for an introvert like me.  I'd much rather be holed up in a corner reading a book.  Instead, I am constantly surrounded by people.  For 8 hours a day, I am constantly on and at the ready to answer life's most difficult questions such as, "Where is the bathroom?" and "Can you make that nonfat?"

Now, I've always carried this cross, a social handicap of sorts that prevents a speedy connection between my brain and my mouth.  The words I really want to say don't come out when I want them to.  Instead, they stew and brew inside of me for hours, days, weeks, years until suddenly they burst out through my pen (or through my fingers on the keyboard).  My pen has a quick wit; my tongue. . . not so much.

I've often prayed for the courage or the words or whatever it is that would relieve me of this cross, but I recently realized that what I really wanted was a sort of miraculous personality change.  And then I realized that such a miracle, while totally possible for God, would be entirely against His will.  He made me the way I am for a reason, and He loves me for me.  He doesn't love who I think He wants me to be.

Nothing that we do or don't do can make Him love us any less.  His love is unwavering.

So then what? I'm stuck an awkward introvert forever?  Of course not.

For one thing, I have taken Elizabeth Bennet's words to Mr. Darcy (about his inability to converse easily with strangers) to heart:  "Perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice."  I do practice every day in customer service.  And though it often feels uncomfortable and awkward, it has become easier, more natural. I would still rather be holed up in a corner reading Pride and Prejudice, but that wouldn't be worth much to anyone.  Instead, I offer my weakness, my cross, to God and I let His power be manifested in it.

"'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'"  I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong." ~2 Corinthians 12:9-10

I fall constantly, but that causes me to constantly rely on God for His grace, strength, and mercy.  I am constantly forced to forget myself (lest I wither away in the misery and despair of over thinking everything) and turn my mind to Him.  I think it is in this way that His will is done best:  when we offer ourselves as empty vessels, He fills us with His love, and that love overflows to other people until we're empty again, and He fills us again, and on and on the circle of love and His magnificence goes.

"I can sanctify you in an instant. But I love your long and patient work; it keeps you humble.  Acquire loving humility--it will exalt you.  Discouragement never elevates anyone.  Keep going.  Don't stop.  I kept going on the road to Calvary and in spite of such agony.  I got there.  Look at Me and you will find new courage.  And honor Me by calling Me to help you."  ~He and I 

It can get a little wearisome--I get tired of confessing the same sins over and over.  But when I look back at all the plans I had for myself, and how practically all of them failed and fell to the wayside, and I see that in some ways I am exactly where I never wanted to be, and in some ways exactly where I hoped to be, I know that I know nothing.  I can put forth effort and work toward my goals, but He will only lead me there when I am good and ready.  In the meantime, I will continue to seek Him, and He will continue to fill me and mold my heart to better match His.  It won't be easy, and it's going to hurt.

And I'm oddly okay with that, because it will totally be worth it.  Because His grace is enough.

Because grace.

The Infinite In-Between (take two)

We had both been looking for this:  a break from the mundane and drama-filled ball of stress we call life.  So two old friends embarked on a weekend encounter hoping to find refreshment for our thirsty souls.

The Spirit moved within us and we experienced God, were reminded of His Presence in our everyday lives, were filled with renewed vigor to live our lives for Him.  We reunited with old friends and shared two day of peace.  It was all we were given, and we soaked in every last drop.

Then came Monday.

We faced it stretching and yawning, renewed and prepared to face anything.  It was a good thing too, because I walked into a storm.

My professional life exploded (in a good, but rather challenging way), and with it came the reality of planning the simplest, lowest-key wedding possible while trying to avoid any and all things that have to do with the words:  Pinterest, bridal showers, monograms, and wedding registries.

The pressure keeps mounting and in all the chaos and noise I find that I'm not praying.  And when I try, I find that I can't.  

How can my Lord feel so near one day, then so far the next?  Because love is not about feeling.  Love is a choice.

It's the choice to wake up every day and dance in the rain and laugh with the thunder, even though I'd rather stay curled up in bed eating brownies and watching Disney movies.

It's the choice to be grateful when I'd rather be begrudging.

It's the choice to keep moving even as the tears flow freely.

And I seem to be caught perpetually in this infinite in-between:  dragged down by stress and fear, but wanting to keep walking on toward the light.  We are pilgrim souls, weak and imperfect, but redeemed.

I am Peter walking on water, and as soon as I look down at my own feet, I begin to sink.  My feet may fail, but Christ will not.  If only I could keep my eyes, my trust, my hope, my reason for being on Christ. . .

And that's become my prayer.  No words are needed, just a glance toward heaven and I know: 

I am Yours, and You are mine.

Seasoned

For a little while in college, I had a strong desire to move to California.  I had a lot of friends from the southern part of the Sunshine State who told me of their magical land where it is sunny and in the mid-60's year round.  Being from Ohio, I'd grown up hearing "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes."  I had waited twenty-something years and still didn't like the weather.  One miserable winter day, I told my mom about my California dream.

Her response:  "People who live without seasons don't live in reality."  I love my mother, but she is a murderer of dreams. (Or resurrect-er of Truth, as she prefers it.)

In any case, per the norm, she was right in a way.  Obviously people who live in California and other parts of the world that have perpetually glorious weather face reality in their own ways, but it's different for those of us who experience all the seasons.

Not only do we face all four seasons, but sometimes we face them all in one week.  It could be 80 degrees and muggy in the morning and 50-something and wet by mid afternoon.  It could be 75 and sunny one day, and snowing the next.  There are tornadoes and floods and blizzards and ice storms and weeks of seemingly endless rain.  Yes, it's miserably unpredictable.  Yes, the pollen might kill you.  Yes, the humidity will negate any and all products you have used in your hair.  But this is reality.

November snow.

The reality is that life happens, just like weather happens, and sometimes it's out of our control.  We are weathered and worn, and no one makes it out alive.  But without the storms, we wouldn't recognize the sunshine.  The bitter cold winds of winter make the muggy 90 degree days feel like a welcome warm hug.  We learn that tornado and flood warnings usually only mean breezy thunderstorms and big puddles.  Partly cloudy means the sky will likely be a gray canvas of claustrophobic misery for the next two or three days, but when the sun finally does shine again, we will appreciate it that much more.

I've heard that in order to learn how to accept God's will for our lives, we should first learn to accept the weather.  That's QUITE the challenge in the Ohio valley, but I'm learning.  I'm beginning to realize that rather than be bitter toward the ever-changing climate, I should learn from it.  It makes me stronger.  It keeps me on my toes.  It makes life interesting and spicy.

Today as I walked out to my car to go to work in the early morning darkness, I shivered for the first morning in more than a week. I gave the sky the stink-eye and said, "Really?  I was really enjoying those muggy, 80 degree hugs!  Are we back to this already?!"  Then I sighed and shrugged, because it doesn't really matter.

Even if I can't see the sun, I know that it is still shining above the clouds.  Whatever the weather, God is still Good.  He is the Author of all life, and He made life to be full of seasons:  growth, death, purification, and rebirth.

The really good news?  He makes all things NEW.