I have not been a coffee drinker until baby number three. Finding myself needing something to push through my exhaustion when the powers of my morning tea began to fade, coffee and I have become acquainted.
However, I still dream of a day when coffee might not be necessary because I have time for a nap.
But I have found that I like REALLY good coffee. I am a food snob (finding this covers coffee as well did not shock me).
I often find myself wanting coffee crafted by a barista. They can produce consistent results while I keep looking up new and different ways to make my own coffee better.
The process is fascinating and more complicated than my precious tea leaves (don’t worry… I have not cast them aside for my occasional energy desires).
One begins the process by grinding beans to the right consistency for the selected coffee drink. Then water infuses the grounds creating a rich and smooth beverage. We have become enraptured.
Every sound in the place echoed off the maple floors createing a doubling or tripling effect.
We were in an old church gym. Ready to watch Sonic (10 years old) play basketball.
Basketball is our boy’s passion right now.
We hear about his games… other friend’s games… games of teams he cares about… games of teams he doesn’t care about.
But that day, He was ready. Excitement was oozing off of him. He knew the rules, but whether he knew it or not his job was to listen to the coach.
I am struggling with who I want to be when I grow up.
I know it’s probably a self-righteous thing. It usually is. I just want to get it “right.”
I hate that it often comes back to that for me. I hate that fear of failure holds me back. I hate that self-righteousness always lacks a faith that is required to please God.
I want desperately to serve Jesus, but many times I would rather follow correctly than actually follow.
GOD FORGIVE ME.
Tiny feet met each other on each step. A shaky hard grip on the rail. She wasn’t like the other kids. Stairs weren’t hard for them.
She knew she didn’t do it right. She heard the words around her.
Words fell from the discouraging crowd– Come on! Move Faster! What’s wrong?
Words whispered from those trying to help– You’re OK. Don’t be scared. Leave her alone.
She wasn’t scared. She was broken. Unable to work any harder, She was imprisoned.
Something in her body did not allow it to do what her brain told it. With all of her effort, it did not get better. The pressure to get it right and not hold up everyone behind her was it’s own handicap.
And when she heard the instruction, she waited for the back of the line.
Divorce, suicide, depression, & illness are words that shoot through the air and into my heart.
They are heavy words, words that are crushing the hearts and lives of the people who are carrying them.
My heart has hurt for them and yet I cannot possibly imagine what it must be like to walk their path.
I struggle for the words. Then I realized, “my words were not enough.”