I park on the street by the newest coffee shop in town and step out of my car, reminiscing about the house we tried to buy a few years ago just down the street. I notice the owner of the shop on the sidewalk talking to another customer. I hear him say he doesn’t want to compete with the Amazons of the world; he wants to be celebrated for what he is. He stops his conversation to say hello and offers me an elbow bump, telling me I’m looking especially fabulous today. That green of your shirt is so beautiful he says, and I say thanks, today just felt like a green day. I think to myself, “He is my people” and I open the door, catching a whiff of cardamom as I walk in.
The minute I enter, I’m reminded of my favorite coffee shop back in my beloved Grant Park. I would walk there a couple of times a week pushing the girls in our bright blue double Bumbleride stroller, treating myself to a coffee before taking them to the zoo to play for a few hours. I miss that neighborhood every single day now that we live in Massachusetts, but this new coffee shop reminds me that places like this exist everywhere. I just have to be on the lookout.
I order a cardamom bun and a latte, and add a loaf of focaccia at the last minute, thinking it will be a good surprise for lunch after I’ve picked the girls up from their pottery class.
My hands full with the goodies I’ve purchased, I head back outside and see the owner walking back towards the shop. He stops me to say hi again and asks how I’m doing on this beautiful day. The way he asks the question feels genuine, like if I wanted to tell him about really crappy things in my life, he would sit with me and listen for however long it took. I don’t, because in this moment, all is mostly right in my world. Just the fact that this stranger is genuinely interested in my answer makes me feel a little more at home. He asks what my plans are for the day and I tell him I’m not quite sure; my kids are in a pottery class, and I’m not usually alone. “Oh how fun!” he exclaims, “So you have some chill time. Go! Enjoy your chill.”
I’m smiling from ear to ear as I unlock the doors to my grey minivan and climb inside. It’s not often that I get time by myself, and this morning’s encounter feels like a gift. I drive down the street and see the ocean in front of me. The sky is bright blue dotted with cottony white clouds. This view will never get old, I think to myself, and I continue my drive home.
I walk in the door and put the cardamom bun in the microwave before grabbing a notebook and a pen. “I’m going to the ocean!” I call out to my husband who is working downstairs. I share a bite of cardamom bun with him before I walk out the door and climb back in my grey minivan. As I back down the driveway, I open the sunroof and let the brisk air fill my lungs.
It takes six minutes to drive back to the ocean. I lived without the ocean for so long, but I can’t imagine a life without it now. I sit on the sand and watch the waves lap gently along the shore. I can feel the cool wind upon my neck and my troubles disappear into the water like tiny grains of sand. In these rare moments of solitude on the beach, I find myself praying prayers of gratitude that God always shows up in this place.
I woke at 2:30 this morning, tossing and turning like a boat on rough ocean waves. The wind roared outside my bedroom window and as I lay there unsettled, my thoughts went to my Mom. It was November when I last saw her and my heart aches at the thought. It’s always in the middle of the night that I wake up thinking of my family. Three in the morning seems like the best time to wonder if we should do what it takes to move back home to be closer to my family.
It’s always when I’m lying in complete darkness in the early morning hours, unable to fall back asleep, that I cry out to God wanting him to make a way for me to go home. It hasn’t happened in a while, but the last year has made me miss my family more than ever. It’s been a year of solitude, a year of sacrifice, a year of feeling alone. It’s been a year that could have been filled with so much more happiness if we had just been within driving distance of these dear people of mine.
But just now, God has answered my prayers in a most unexpected way. An encounter with a new coffee shop owner who genuinely cares about his customers. The ability to drop my children off at a pottery class and catch a few moments of solitude on the beach. In the kind eyes of the coffee shop owner and the gentle lapping of the waves, God whispers to me, “Crystal, you are already home.”