Coffee Shop Journal

I’ve been crazily, unbelievably busy the past two weeks with walking through God’s Kingdom with my eyes wide open. As you know, I’ve been feeling the lows of other people’s griefs, the highs of seeing my little Kylie start flapping her wings and getting some air, and the sheer fatigue of meeting the needs God puts in front of me.

Tonight I had dinner with my mom, who has memory and speech issues, my husband, and my single friend who recently lost custody of her four children and is struggling with medical issues that threaten to overwhelm her every minute of every day. Do you know what we did? We sat in Friday’s and we laughed. We laughed at the jokes my 12 year old neighbor tells every time he sees us. We laughed at the incredibly rude dad in the booth behind us who let loose with a burp that would have won any contest. We laughed at silly things, and we laughed at incredibly sad things. We enjoyed my friend’s recounting of the characters she has met in an ongoing support group. We laughed at her broke financial status, pretending to argue over the bill just because it was funny. We laughed at the charades we had to play with my mom, in order to bring her into the conversation. We even laughed when my mom said, “So what ever happened to that messy house you were having to clean up?” and my friend had to sheepishly admit that it was hers. I believe that God put a little bubble around us tonight and infused the four of us with just a bit of his crazy, undeniable joy and peace. It was the payoff for the tears I cried last week.

I was struck with one thought as we tussled over that bill at the end of dinner. My friend reached for her money, and truly wanted to pay even though I know her situation, and could never ever take her money. To my friend, that money she wanted to offer was the highest value thing she posessed. She wanted to give it to me. To me, the money for dinner was of relatively little value, a blip on the radar screen of life. I could give her that money and never think of it again. I thought back to my afternoon, an afternoon spent with three other friends working for hours on cleaning my friend’s home and preparing it for sale: a messy, thankless job that was only tolerable because it was shared and would be over soon. That time — those hours of sweat and strain — were my highest value offering. I can’t think of an offering that could possibly cost me more to give at this stage in my life.

How often do we salve our consciences by offering what comes easy to us — money, time, extra clothes, extra food — while withholding the true offering God wants from us? What is your highest value? ow does God want to use it?

This is my entry for the Watercooler Wednesday at Randy Elrod’s place.