Coffee

I’m sitting at a booth in my favorite coffee shop. Alone, staring into the old white ceramic mug that warms my hands, watching the steam rise, and savoring the rich scent of that dark brew. The morning sun pours in through the frosty window, warming me on such a cold fall morning. The leaves are gone from the trees, leaving bare branches in silhouette against the deep blue sky.
No one else is here. The regulars have all shuffled off to continue their daily lives. The relative silence is welcomed and yet frightening in its own way. Now I’m alone with my thoughts. Is this a good thing?
I sit alone for quite a while. Meanwhile, cooking sounds come from the kitchen. A fragrance like chicken soup wafts by me, and my stomach rumbles. Then I’m back in my own reverie.
A different noise rouses me out of that quiet place, and I look up to see an old man sliding into the seat across from me in ‘my’ booth. I don’t think I know this man, but something of him seems very familiar. Why did he sit in my booth when the place is empty? He has a cup of coffee in front of him, too, but I don’t know how it got there.
I greet him, “Good morning.”
He says not a word, but looks at me with piercing blue eyes. Why do I feel like he knows everything about me? I look at him carefully, and to this day I don’t know how to put into words who or what I saw. This Mystery sitting before me, knowing me fully, said more to me without words.
The Mystery revealed my grief. I had come to this favorite coffee shop to find the essence of my Dad, who had died recently. My heart was heavy.
A profound and very real sense of love overcame me, and tears fell down my face. The morning light from the window found its way into my chest, and I was comforted like a child being wrapped in a blanket and rocked back and forth.
It’s okay. I love you. It’s all going to be okay.
I wanted to stay there forever.
A slight stirring brought me out of this dream like place. I was looking at my coffee, my hands still holding the sides of the mug and feeling the warmth. I breathed in the aroma again, took a sip and let it warm me, and looked across the table. No one was there. The coffee cup remained, steam rolling upward as before, and some of the coffee had been consumed.
Had I been dreaming?
My face was still wet with tears. All my despair and loneliness had vanished.

 

This one is different, this Scene and Story.  The story is fiction and the drawing is my own.  All of it prompted by a wonderful conversation in which I was asked to imagine what it would be like if the Holy Presence sat down across from me in a coffee shop. I am sharing my post through a link up with Sarah of Paisley Rain Boots and Leon of Sea Blue Lens.  Click on the link to each blog and you’ll see other bloggers have also shared their Scene and Story.

12 Replies to “Coffee”

  1. Oh, Debra, what a touching story and what a thought provoking question. Your artwork is lovely! I’ve always wanted to draw, but the sun and stick figures are about all I can do! I still enjoy the piece of your art that I won a while back here on your blog. It makes me think of you often.

  2. Fiction often has a real gem of truth. I can imagine that scene and it felt familiar as I read it. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. This really touched me.

  3. Hello Writer! This was absolutely wonderful! You brought me into the scene, the details were a delight. I could feel the tears on my own cheeks. Thank you so much for sharing this. Loved the drawing too, you have talent exuding out of you.

  4. Deb, this was such an evocative story. I could smell that chicken soup cooking in the kitchen, see and feel the sunshine and the warmth of the cup, taste the coffee. I see that old man sliding into the booth across from me and wonder what I would say to him. It’s a question to ponder. Thank you for sharing your story and drawing with us!

  5. Deb….how beautiful! I could sit there with you, seeing the Mystery guest, feeling the peace and comfort. Thanks for sharing.

  6. Debbie, Several years ago, while my now deceased husband was in the hospital in Fort Myers, I had an experience that you wrote about on Facebook. I had returned from the hospital, and was a little uneasy about going to bed. Even though we had hurricane shutters on all the windows and tight locks on the door, I decided to sit up and wait until morning before going to bed. The TV was on, when a smoky misty form appeared before me, and it spoke to me. It said, ” Sister be not afraid.” It appeared to be the upper half of my deceased father as he had a short beard on his face, and he always called me SISTER. I didn’t tell anyone about this for a long long time. Finally, a good Christian neighbor and I were talking about faith, and I told her my story. She told me I had had a visit from my father. Now, I talk about this now, and share it. I remember your father and mother very well.

  7. What a beautiful and compelling story! I even thought it was true until you mentioned that you had created it! You have a story-telling gift! Just lovely. I like how you have accompanied it with your own drawing and how the steam from the two mugs joins together and creates connection!

  8. Wow!! That was great. I found myself thinking: is this Jesus or your dad, this blue eye’s man. I didn’t even care if it was fiction or an actual event . I just loved it. I love your drawing too.

  9. Loved your story and think that would be very similar to what you could experience in the presence of the holy one. I actually think that people do experience similar things at special times in their lives. Maybe we don’t always recognize it.

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