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.