coffee for one

Some mornings I brew a full pot of coffee in hopes that someone might stop by unexpectedly for some - allowing myself to forget that there really aren't any neighbors. In the end, I'll drink it myself; today being one of those mornings. But as I pour and add just a touch of cream, I will think of those whose faces I would be overjoyed to see at the window. The list is short, specific. There are others I would  open the door to, who are not currently "on the radar, but perhaps should be." These others would face unknown scrutiny: questions that will float through my head searching for answers in conversation, movement, tone -- my gut. "Examine motivation." Not my accustomed MO. Why are you asking; what are you doing here; can you possibly understand with what little I've been able to ever make known? What am I saying; why do I want to respond; am I looking for something that isn't there? Motivation belongs to both parties, and although "no motivation is completely pure," coffee is sometimes coffee. 

How am I to examine motivation, and at the same time work less at finding and just BE? 

Coffee's ready; time's up. Just me and the sounds of the house, waiting for You. 

there you are

Earlier this week, plagued with vocal chords I had pushed far beyond their limits, I had to spend the day in silence. Or my best attempt at same. Everyone was gone for the day, to work or to school, and I was home alone. Given the fact that the strain of speaking made me a bit lightheaded, it would stand to reason that my own silence would be welcome. It turns out, when I am home alone, I speak aloud to myself more than I realized!

In between the squeaks and honks I emitted, I did manage to consider the day a silent retreat of sorts. I cleaned our spare room, top to bottom, and prayed some, meditating on the blessings of my usual every day.

The past few weeks have not been easy. There are quite a few things weighing on my mind, my heart. I found myself once again wishing for a cup of coffee with my dad. That became a little prayer: "Lord, please, I just want to have a little talk with Dad. I want to know what he'd tell me. I want, more than anything, to feel his hug."

Not ten minutes later, vacuuming under the dresser, I found one of my favorite pictures from our wedding day: me pinning Dad's corsage to his lapel. I hadn't even realized it had fallen down to the floor. I smiled, and silently thanked God and Dad for being in that moment. Later that day, and into the next, I prayed again that Dad might be near me. Last night, after a particularly tough discussion with two friends, I asked that we pray together. When we finished, one of them started singing. "A-amen. A-amen."

I burst into tears.

Dad was there in that moment. She had no idea that he sang that when he finished praying in a group. Every time. She had no idea that I'd been looking for him. I shared with them my grateful heart, and we went home. Late this afternoon, I got a phone call that led to an unexpected conversation that sounded oddly like coffee with Dad. As I hung up, I thanked God for answering such a small prayer. Talking with Dad was never about the answers. He had a way of leaving more questions on the table than answers, and really, that was the best part.

And, as it turns out, was a masterful lesson in faith.

morning bliss

Morning coffee time is wonderful. One of my favorite times. This morning, I'm sitting with my coffee and two dogs, browsing on my computer, and I am alone. Blissfully alone. Guy is at a swim meet, the boys are still asleep, and, for all intents and purposes, so are the dogs. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed my coffee alone; just me and my thoughts. And, truly, I realize I've missed it.

Not that I don't love my usual mornings lately: weekday runs before sunrise, and coffee at work; Saturday mornings chatting with Guy over coffee; Sundays on the porch with coffee and the paper. I love all of that, too. There's just something special about being able to savor the moment alone, and be content with it, while looking forward to my own plans for the day.

As I sit here, I've scrolled through my Facebook news feed, cleaned up my email folders, and peeked at my blogger stats. I almost opened Post Secret, but realized it's Saturday morning, not Sunday, and laughed out loud at myself. I've picked up the bits of trash the dogs pulled out of the wastebasket while Guy and I had our weekly hammock date, and resolved to tie it up and take it out after I remove my nail polish. I've debated the priority of altering the curtains in the living room--start today, or sometime next week? I've considered whether I want to do some more weeding (before or after yoga?) today, since the forecast today is better than the last one I saw for today. And how much time will I need to get ready for the wedding we are going to tonight?

Guy and I have an ongoing debate about which is the better time of day. He likes the moments before sleep comes, when he reviews his day, and mentally shuts down. I, on the other hand, prefer morning-time, when I can plan and reorganize my day, without the  obstacles of other people's plans, wants and needs. I over plan my days. Not in the sense that I structure it too much. Rather, in the morning, the day seems so big, so full of possibilities, that I tend to want to accomplish more than will fit in the hours available. Funny, though, that is not the case at work: there I am pretty accurate in my predictions of how much I have time to accomplish. For that reason alone, I know it is not an inability to plan; more it is excitement at the vast possibilities, the scope of a blank day.

Especially one that is unexpected. I had planned on going to the swim meet today, to see Henry swim, but his shoulder hurts, and his physical therapist recommended waiting a little longer. Being at the meet would have taken the entire morning, and by the time we got home and got something to eat, would have taken us right up to get-dressed-for-the-wedding time. Therefore, this blank slate of a day is a gift, of sorts, and like a piece of artwork, I try many alternative spots before deciding to hammer a nail in the wall. Tomorrow I will immerse myself in a swim meet, watching Joseph.

Meanwhile, I will indulge in my coffee alone. Content.