Room for Cream

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Two months ago, I rushed into the local Starbucks and flipped open my laptop to get some Wifi to send some files for the girl's conference the next morning. Sure enough, it wasn't working. I messed with it valiantly for about ten minutes, while casually observing the people around me, like I always do.

I saw a young man with bold ginger hair, connected to his IPod and a pile of papers on his lap. Everytime he glanced at me like people do at one time or the other, he seemed very proper and polite. So finally, I walked over and asked if he could rescue me from the Monsters of Computer. He pulled out the ear buds and squinted into the depths of my laptop. I appreciated how deliberate he was to give me space and be congenial, without hitting on me. "Now here's a cool guy." I thought to myself.

Actually, he was getting up the nerve to "witness" to me. How excited we both were when we realized that we both wanted to share the Gospel with the other. The papers on his lap was his sermon on the Holy Spirit for Sunday's service. He had just started a church with his wife and family on Easter Sunday, and here I was planning epic girl's ministry. We started talking. We talked for three hours. I never got those files sent over the broken Wifi.

But my day slowed down. I got to see Jesus at work, and hear a powerful testimony of what God can do...and share my own. It was perfect.

Wednesday, I stopped in another coffee shop on my way to work with my free birthday drink coupon. "Make it a Venti, today!" I told my barista, and settled in to just breathe. I know I have to choose to have quietness. I have to seek for those moments of waiting before the Lord in silence, or I miss them. I could hear the texts ringing into my phone, the notifications chiming away on social networks, the clock ticking before I had to be at my desk, and the gmail bringing in mail. I closed my eyes and asked God why He put me here, right now, and if I could just spend the time with Him in one of our favorite places.

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When my eyes fluttered open, that red-headed Pastor was striding in the door, to join in with a group of men that I earlier deducted were also Pastors. But as he began to sit down in the leather armchair, he shot back up with a grin. "Well, hello there!" He called out to me. He crossed through the busy web of patrons and sat down across from me.  He told me what God has been doing through his family's ministry, and I shared a recent experience of God's power. He told me to be a bit less like Paul, and bit more like Barnabas and slow down life a little. We were both encouraged. He grabbed my hand and prayed for God to heal my body, and we prayed for him. Again, it was perfect. I don't even remember his name, but I gave him my card and the link to the girl's conference website.

When I leave room for cream in my life, God fills my cup to overflowing. He's trying to bless you, too.



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