The Coffee’s On

My grandparents used to drive across three states in the middle of the night to reach my great grandmother. No matter the time of their arrival, there was always a pot of coffee on to welcome them. My grandparents and great grandmother would tuck my father and uncle into bed and stay up all night talking. They couldn’t wait to catch up.

I wonder how many millions and billions of relationships have been strengthened by coffee chats? How many of us have found comfort in starting our days with that first cup? Perhaps it’s been in the kitchen with a loved one or silently greeting God’s creation at the window? Maybe you’ve groggily yet cheerfully gathered around the coffee pot at work? Possibly it’s been around a table at noon with others who understand or at a café where you finally met?

Look at the Starbucks and coffee shops that have spread like wildfire across this country and around the world as people not only seek out the caffeine but also the warm smiles shared over the counter as joyful baristas ask your name or already know it. Hours and hours are spent in these coffee shops in the comfort of friends or even in the comfort of just not being alone.

Oh, coffee, yes, I am thankful for you.

I’m thankful for the memories of meeting my friends almost daily as teenagers at the Hillcrest coffee shop in Little Rock drinking giant chai tea lattes not worrying about the world revolving around us only caring about each other and that moment. It really was all ok.

I’m thankful for the ways you kept us awake giggling through our studies in college and leading us to the completion of those papers and preparing us for exams.

I’m thankful for the strength you gave me to lift my head and push my cart through Target and smile through every aisle the first time I left my daughter at home with my husband after she was born.

I’m thankful that you bring new people into my life and that you give me time with my dearest friends and colleagues. That you give us a time out to catch up, to listen, to share, to solve, to just be.

I’m thankful for every cup and conversation shared, especially with my parents and my mother-in-law, who always make sure the coffee’s on, and I’m thankful to my husband, who may not drink coffee but who knows how important putting the coffee on can be.

Here’s to sharing that next cup, everyone.

With love and light,

LT

Stories of My Heart

When I was a little girl, my daddy read to us every night he could. He delighted us with Thornton Burgess’ stories of animals such as Mrs. Quack or Grandfather Frog that could both sadden and gladden our hearts. We depended on these moments. We thrived in these moments. We grew in these moments.

My mother made sure we had library subscriptions as soon as we were able. She walked us by the hand into the nearby library and helped us register for our library cards. She brought us back regularly to return the now beloved books and check out new ones or renew favorites. By the time we were pre-teens, she encouraged our independence and allowed us to pack lunches, jump on our bikes, and spend our Saturday afternoons reading away at the library on our own.

Mrs. Bischoff, our 7^th grade English teacher, knew how to inspire each of us to new levels of literature exploration. She knew I had a soft heart and could not handle the sadness of animals that took place in our stories that year. She allowed me to read and process those chapters alone in the school library. She also challenged me to read “Rebecca” and the writings of Cynthia Voigt and both the “Alanna” series by Tamora Pierce and “Clan of the Cave Bears” series by Jean Auel. I grew by leaps and bounds with each new title.

Oh how stories shape us. For years our ancestors gathered around fires and in small rooms to share the word and discuss it, but the more advanced we became, the more separated we became, and the less we shared.

Stories build community. We find something of ourselves in stories. We find something of others in them, too. Many times those commonalities or differences bring us together as we talk through them. It’s no wonder to me that people continue to gather in book studies to discuss what they’ve recently read and that on Saturdays and Sundays across the world, spiritual stories are still shared aloud in liturgies, and small groups come together to discuss their lessons. These traditions have continued to bring people into relationship for centuries.

Consider the bonds built by parent and children or teachers and their students during story time. How many of you remember reading with your loved ones or listening to a beloved book like “Charlotte’s Web” or “James and the Giant Peach” in school? How many of you still do read aloud with loved ones, perhaps a picture or chapter book, a classic, a poem, a newspaper article? How many of you cherish that time?

Our stories don’t just have to be from books. They can be of our day, of a recent trip, an extraordinary experience, or a less than extraordinary experience. Perhaps they are shared memories that bond generations together and give us insight into a different time or a chapter of a loved one’s life that helped shape him or her.

Please don’t stop sharing stories or searching for stories. Read to one another. Share your memories, your opinions, your questions, your sadnesses, your happinesses. Reflect on your experiences…together.

“You see I don’t know any stories. None of the lost boys know any stories.”

“How perfectly awful,” Wendy said.

“Do you know,” Peter asked, “why swallows build in the eaves of houses. It is to listen to the stories. Oh, Wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story.”

~Peter Pan, Chapter 3 “Come away, Come away!” by J.M. Barrie

With love and light,

LT

Scavenger Hunt for Joy

My birthday was in March. When it came around, my children came up with a wonderful adventure present. They wished to go with me to a museum. It was such a lovely idea and one I was so pleased to realize they had thought of themselves. We had never been to an art museum together, and I do love a good walk through an art museum. Sadly, time got away from us, and we had to put off our plans for another day.

Determined, the children nor I gave up on the idea, and this summer I took some time off to bring our plan to fruition. We planned a special week of activities in Memphis, and one included a trip to the Brooks.

When we arrived on our designated Wednesday morning, we were delighted to find that the entire day was dedicated to children’s exploration of the museum. A special art deco popsicle project had been planned, and a scavenger hunt throughout the museum designed. It was a wonderful, wonderful morning. The scavenger hunt kept the children engaged throughout our entire visit, and we managed to visit every single gallery.

This certainly will be a memory that stays with me, but there is a stand out moment that continues to come back to me quite regularly. After studying an inlaid desk featured in the red gallery and making faces at one another in the concave mirror featured above it, we rounded the corner to the next gallery. Suddenly, I was winded by the sight of the enormous oil painting in our path. Time stopped, my heart raced, my eyes zoomed in to the piece of work, and I had to grab my children by their shoulders to steady myself. Truly in front of us stood a portrait of heaven. There were angels turned towards one another smiling in delight as they all acknowledged a bright light coming from the darkness below. While their heavenly colors were in happy shades of blue, pink, peach, and purple of the sunrise or sunset, they looked through the clouds down towards a pure darkness. What they saw brought them unbounded joy. A great light was breaking through the darkness and reaching towards heaven. “Aha,” they seemed to say, “See there she is…there he is…breaking through the darkness and shedding light in the world. We knew she could. We knew he could. How wonderful. How wonderful indeed.”

My children were ready to go on to the next scavenger hunt item and didn’t recognize my pause. Once words could come to me though I managed to hold my babies close and say, “Oh, look children, isn’t it beautiful. Someone has captured the joy of heaven when we share love and light in the world.” I gazed lovingly at the painting, and my children humored me. Then we were off again.

Love bursts of light in our hearts are powerful but can seem fleeting as well as daunting to act upon. It is hard to stay in that moment for long, but the love lingers. The light reminds us, it is more powerful than darkness and needs only be turned on or shown the way. 

This painting, this moment still shines a path for me through the darkness. May it be the love and light you need today, too.

With love and light,

LT