"It will all be okay"

There is a young homeless woman who frequents our coffee house. I have gotten to know her story a bit over the past few weeks in brief snippets of conversation. Rarely does she come in for more than hot water for a sample tea bag that she received at the co-op next door. But today, she came in excited to buy a hot chocolate. She was able to pan-handle more than she needed for a place to stay tonight and was excited to be able to purchase a treat that would double as a hand warmer in the dropping temps.

As I made her drink, we chatted about how it had been a rough couple days and she had barely found the time to sleep, with having to leave the awning where her and her husband sleep by 7am before the cops come and tell them to leave. The rain and the colder nights that have moved in with the winter's air make it difficult to truly rest and I could tell it's starting to wear on her.

She paid for her drink with a five dollar bill and I handed her a couple dollars and some change in return. She paused for a second looking at the dollar bill on top and then said, "huh, that's strange." I questioned what she was referring to and she showed me the bill that had,

"it will all be okay :)"

simply written across the bill. She smiled and turned away and I got goosebumps and felt confident that those words came across the eyes that needed to see them most.

Happy 100th Birthday Bobby

One of my customers told me the most beautiful story this morning, sad but beautiful. Stewart ordered his two double espressos and was coming back into line to receive his second. We had already cycled through the two minutes of small talk that accompanies most coffee orders in the amount of time it takes to pay and get one's coffee. So with talk about the weather and the weekend behind us, he gently throws into conversation that his grandfather passed away early this morning. It fell out of his mouth so delicately that I had to ask again to make sure I had heard correctly. He nodded and elaborated a bit more saying that he passed away first thing this morning, and they as a family knew it was coming and that death was imminent. The man had been saying all along that he would live until he was 100 years old. He was set on it, a ripe long life of 10o years. Stewart went on to say, "today is his 100th birthday...they called me this morning to tell me he had awoken this morning, smiled widely and said 'I am 100 years old today. I made it.' ..and just a couple minutes later he passed away silently into the morning." It gave me chills right then and there. I was holding Stewart's espresso, feeling the chills on my skin and watching the line of customers grow. Wow. What a story. This man had willed himself to live to one hundred. That was his goal. At 100, he could move on from this life into the next, knowing he lived a full century, a century full of stories, laughs, adventures, travels and millions of moments of love and sadness. Today, his family is sorrowful but will remember in awe today and always the life he lived and his sheer will to live and die on his own terms. His name was/is Bob; though most knew and loved him as Bobby. I told Stewart they should all buy birthday hats, streamers and balloons and cheers to a long life lived full and well.

Happy Birthday Bobby.

You are so loved.

Paul and Paul

The name Paul is being redeemed in my life.

I met a man named Paul about a year ago. I met him through a community at my church. He had asked some of the church leaders about getting involved in a community. I had some time in my schedule as classes were winding down and summer was rolling in and I offered to contact him and help him get involved. Our first meeting was at the Taco Bell down the street from his house. We had some pretty intense conversations and I felt that God had crossed our paths with purpose and I was excited for the ways that both of us were being stretched in knowing each other’s life stories. We were connected in the pain that we carried. Not as much in experience but in the feeling of carrying a burden much larger than ourselves. Rather suddenly, our acquaintanceship/friendship was ended when he asked me never to call him again. He told me I would never understand the extent of the things he had been through, and he was right, I would and will never know what he has lived through and see the things that he has seen. He told me then that he prayed with all his strength for God to take him away and for me to not contact him and he hung up the phone.

I sat there and stared at my cell phone for what felt like hours and sighed. I’m not one to blatantly do what someone tells me not to. If someone doesn’t want me in their life, I’m not going to force it. I’ll honor that. I felt like someone placed a brick on my chest. I wanted so desperately to call him back to tell him over and over that there was hope. That there is so much more than pain and sorrow. That he is loved and the pain he was experiencing wouldn’t be forever.

The whole experience left me feeling uneasy and sad. I wanted so badly to know how Paul was doing and to check in, but he asked me not to call, so I tried my darndest to let it go. It couldn’t have been more than one week when I was working at the coffee house and a homeless man walked in offering to sweep our sidewalks for a bowl of soup and a bagel. “That sounds like a fair trade, deal,” I said. “What’s your name?” I asked. He followed me to the back as I went to grab the broom and answered, “Paul”.

He must have thought I forgot to breathe or something because after an uncomfortably long pause, I answered, “It’s really great to meet you, Paul. I’m glad you’re going to help us out today.”

I laughed to myself at the fact that less than a week had passed and another Paul had crossed my path. I had a feeling that this Paul would be an impactful person in the same way that the first Paul I met had been and I was right, Paul began coming into the coffee house daily. He would help out with sweeping or washing the windows, but as the seasons changed and there were no longer leaves to sweep, we just invited him in to have a meal and to talk with him. He told us the story of how he came to be homeless, how he graduated with an MBA so many years ago and used to own a fancy sports car. It became part of my day to see Paul and to check in with him. I would always offer him food and sometimes he would decline and I would insist, “at least take a little for later” I would say. One day he confessed to me, “I’m not really hungry most of the time when I come in here. You guys talk to me like a real person. Nobody else talks to me out there.” We had a great friendship going, Paul and I, but it didn’t stay great for long. When I first met Paul, he hadn’t been on the streets for very long and as the weeks passed by, he became more and more sad and each day his hopes of getting off the streets died a little more. He began using his money for alcohol and not for food and showers. He would come in slurring his words and reeking of alcohol. Several conversations were had but ultimately we had to tell Paul that he was only welcome at the coffee house if he were sober and that was a decision he was going to have to make for himself. Months went by and no one at the coffee house had seen or heard from Paul. I felt that same uneasy feeling that I had felt months before when the other Paul asked me never to call him again. Sigh…Once promising relationships had disappeared and left me wondering what had become of them both and worried about where their paths may have led.

Several months had passed since Paul had asked me not to call when one evening my phone rang while I was in a meeting. I glanced at it and saw his name across the screen. I watched it ring silently and watched the missed call replace his name. I hoped and hoped for a voicemail and a minute later, a voicemail message appeared. I listened after my meeting shocked at what I was hearing, “Hi Shannon, this is Paul, blast from your past! …Just wondering why I haven’t heard from you in ages. Call me back.” I was so confused. His voice was chipper and cheerful and hello, he asked me not to call. I called him back and he acted as if no time had passed. He was cracking jokes and quoting verses from the Bible. He’s smart as a whip like that. Our friendship was back on track and he apologized for the way things had ended before and told me he was ready to be in community and to seek help. He’s been coming to the recovery groups at our church and has never been better. He has remained a good friend of mine and thanks me again and again for being a friend to him. Just my knowing him through the seasons and through the rough patches of life, I have been stretched and grown and ultimately have become a more gentle and persistent person. I have been so thankful for him and his will to keep on even when life seems like too much and when he wants to just fold his cards and bow out of the game. He survives.

If this blessing weren’t enough, maybe a week had gone by after I had reconnected with Paul when I was working at the coffee house and who walks through the door but my old friend Paul. I barely recognized his cleanly shaven, tanned and slim face. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he greeted another coworker and I heartily and happily. He said he only had a moment but wanted to stop in and see his favorite people. He told us about his new job and his holidays with his family and how he had been clean and sober for a couple months. Me and the gal I was working with were just glowing. All of us that work at the coffee house had been worried about him and where he might have been. Last we had seen him, he was not in good shape and the weather was getting below freezing at night. But here he was, standing right before our eyes, alive and well, making jokes and asking us about our lives. Oh man, it was a glorious and happy day.

After he left the coffee house, I swear I just stood there smiling for a good hour. Two Pauls had come into my life and then out of my life. I thought that was it, I thought the name Paul would always stir that sense of worry and unease in me, but here I am writing about the two of them and the joy just bubbles up in me. The things they have been through and seen, I will never know, but I am so encouraged and filled with hope in knowing them and their unfailing desire to keep living and giving thanks in the midst of it all.

The Story

I cannot tell you how much I love hearing people’s stories, hearing where they come from, what their world looked like and felt like growing up, and learning about little and big experiences that have shaped who they have become.

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
-Brandi Carlile

I truly love it. I could listen to people tell stories all day. It’s such a privilege to glimpse into that part of someone; especially since a lot of life stuff doesn’t come up in daily conversation or maybe it’s too long of a story or too dark of a story to share. Every other week at our home community through Imago Dei Community, one or two people will share their life story, their testimony with everyone in our community, as a way to go deeper with each other and to see how God has shown up in the midst of the joy and the pain. I just love the image of a group of believers sitting in a room with the sole intent of knowing each other and knowing God more. To sit in the presence of another person’s life story, all the beauty, messiness, brokenness, and soul-I just eat it up.

What I love most is that I believe in each of our stories, we recognize pieces of ourselves in each other. We recognize ourselves in the experiences of others, the feelings of others, and the brokenness of others. One of my favorite Over the Rhine lyrics is "pain is our mother, she helps us recognize each other". Our stories connect us in ways that we might never have imagined. I’ve seen how the sharing of stories in our home community has encouraged more boldness, realness and an uncovering of what has been kept hidden and how in this sharing people are growing and learning; learning that they are not alone and they never have been, alone. I have been getting goose bumps a lot lately and surprisingly, not because I am cold. When I hear something incredible or see how certain life pieces just fit in my own life and in the lives of others, it’s as if my body is telling me to

stop.

Take notice of this.

And so I do.

And in that moment of recognition, my faith deepens as I remember that our lives are only a small part of a much greater story being crafted and I know the one who created it all and He is good.

My dear friend Courtney posted this as a facebook status and I’ve been marinating on it all week.

He said, "Why don't you spend your day floating down this river with me?" and I said, "Well that would be GREAT, but do you know where it goes?" and He said, "Yeah I know the way....I created it."

can I have this dance?

I was reading at Crema this afternoon and feel privileged to have witnessed a moment that just made my heart leap.

It was a really hot and muggy day and I sat near the window for a little breeze. Crema is an old garage turned coffee shop and they had all the doors up and open. I was one of about five people inside. A couple young hipsters were typing away on their apple laptops. Another young couple chatted over their salads in the corner and a gray-haired lady sat reading the paper at a large table. A slower tune began to play over the speakers. The gray-haired woman with years of laugh lines collected upon her face, continued to read the newspaper, gently tapping her feet below. The dark-haired barista, in plaid walks over to her from behind the counter, extends his hand with a big smile asking, "can I have this dance?" The old woman blushes and sheepishly smiles, but her eyes can't hide her delight. She takes his hand and they move to the center of the cafe, stepping and twirling. Laughter and smiles envelope the two as they step back and forth. Her smiles extends ear-to-ear as her body remembers this dance from so many years passed. She is bubbling over with joy with each twirl and step. After one last twirl, she opens her arms for a hug. A familiar and warm laugh is shared before he returns to work and she to her newspaper. She sits, still smiling with her eyes and tapping her feet, pretending to read the paper.

A Wee Confession

When I was in elementary school, I had the biggest crush on a boy. He was a cool kid. He lived down the street from me. He was a skater boy. I just thought he was the cat’s meow. Though, never in a million years would I ever have told him so, at least not to his face.
I let him know in all the socially acceptable elementary school ways…

-I told my friend, who then told his friend, who then told him.
-I looked at him and immediately looked away when he saw me.
-I would completely ignore him if he came near me.
-I would say my name with his last name, just to see how it sounded.
-I would talk to his friends but definitely not to him.
-I would write him notes in class, folded in incredibly difficult note-passing shapes
-We chased each other on the playground.
-I would call him on the phone and then hang up once I heard his voice. (this is pre-caller i.d., of course)

All these things, I have heard from friends as things they have done as well, but one thing I’ve been told, is a little strange.

I used to call him on the phone, and the times that I didn’t hang up right away and erupt into fits of laughter with a friend, I would have my tape player ready and play him his favorite song over the phone and then giggle and hang up.
Is this not the most genius idea?? I thought for sure this would make him fall in love with me. I mean how could you NOT fall in love with the girl who calls you to play your favorite Pearl Jam song on the phone? I never did find out if he knew it was me.

He did ask me out though.
I’m pretty sure I said no.
Isn’t that how you play hard to get?