Silence sucks, Jesus doesn't.

"Have we come to the point where God can withdraw His blessings from us without our trust in Him being affected? God will give you the very things you ask for if you refuse to go any further without them, but His silence is the sign that He is bringing you into an even more wonderful understanding of Himself." 

[Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest]

I read John 11 the other day, spurred by Oswald's talk about what real trust looks like. Do you know what John 11 is about? People who failed in fully trusting Jesus. It's not a power-hour story about how great Mary and Martha and the disciples are, and how they are rewarded for being so good at life. It's a perfect display of Jesus' love and power in his followers' darkest moments.

When Lazarus became ill, Mary and Martha sent word to Jesus, fully believing (I'm sure) he would rush to them and heal Lazarus is a hot second. But Jesus didn't. He waited where he was, and only when word came Lazarus had died did Jesus go back to Judea. I think Mary and Martha felt a little bit abandoned by their friend in that terribly dark hour. Both of them had expected Jesus to come when they asked, and he didn't. They accused him, with heavy hearts, "If you had just been there, this would not have happened. Jesus, where were you?!"

How often have I done the same? Have you? God's silence feels like the ultimate betrayal. When God refuses to show up when I want Him to, my gut reaction is to assume He isn't coming at all. That He really has just left me hanging, alone, to figure it out in whatever dark place I find myself. Whether it's a break up, or singleness, or loneliness, or finding someone to sublease my apartment, I'm noticing this horrible tendency to jump to the conclusion that God is not in control of my circumstances, and that He is letting me down. When I can't see tangible evidence of His presence, I panic faster than anything.

Back to John 11. The story ends in a straight-up miracle. A four-days-dead Lazarus gets up and walks out of the grave at the sound of Jesus' voice. LIKE WHAT. And here is the most beautiful thing: Jesus knew what everyone else didn't; that the fullness of the miracle could not have been experienced in any other way. Sure, Mary and Martha wanted Lazarus healed from illness. But Jesus saw the opportunity for a miracle far greater than the one that would have been had he rushed back to Judea when he was called. "For your sake, I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe." At the beginning of the story, those words seem harsh. But they are full of beauty, too. If Mary and Martha had gotten what they asked for when they asked for it, the result would have been a healed Lazarus and not much else. Because Jesus waited, the sisters saw life come from death. They saw even more fully the power of their Lord, and their faith was strengthened tenfold. They got to witness the impossible.

There was also room for Jesus to be in the midst of the suffering. He felt it, too. He was there, hugging his sisters, feeling their hurt. "He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled." He didn't just swoop in with a quick fix to the problem, he entered into the pain and said, "I get it. I miss him, too. I know how this feels, and I hate it with you." God is never far away when we hurt. He is right there, right in the middle of it, and He knows the feeling. No, listen. He actually knows the feeling. Jesus was human, too. But more than that, he created you. He knows how he knit you together and he knows how your heart aches. I think he did it on purpose.

If there is one thing I have learned in the last year, it's that God loves to bring glory to Himself by working in the lives of His most beloved ones. He asks us to cry out to Him, then sometimes He makes us wait. Not because He's mad, or because we messed up, or because He's doesn't care. God's silence is never an indicator that He doesn't care. Rather, it is a hint that something greater is at work, and it is still becoming its fullest expression. Can I handle that? Can I handle the silence, and trust it is a promise of something better than I could possibly fathom? Saying yes is the weightiest, scariest thing imaginable. But also maybe the greatest victory and joy.

If He is silent, just wait. Hang on. Be patient, friend. Trust me when I say I understand that patience is the hardest, stupidest, most gut-wrenching lesson to learn. I'm still learning it. I am still figuring out what it means to wait in the silence, without panicking. And I'm really, really bad at it. But I am the beloved of a God who doesn't treat me based on my performance or failures. And so, my friend, are you. We have assurance that allows us to stand firm on the promise that He has never, and will never, abandon those He loves the most dearly. And you know who He loves the most dearly? You.

To Emma, the almost-graduate.

You're in the home stretch, little one! One more semester of Wildcat life, and you will be a college graduate. It is crazy how time flies, isn't it? I remember moving you into your freshman dorm, watching you nest and organize and meticulously prepare your space. Your desire for perfection and attention to detail are probably the reasons you have excelled in the ID program. Those late nights in the studio are well worth the beautiful work you have created.

Speaking of late nights, I remember finals week sophomore year, my stage movement class snuck into the theatre building and had a sleepover the night before our 8 a.m. final, because we were so afraid we would be late. Yes, college is a time for every kind of shenanigan. And you have had no shortage of those! What a beautiful pile of memories you have to take with you after graduation. You have done an excellent job of creating community and living each season to the fullest.

I know right now it feels like the work will never end and you can't possibly get it all done. But before you rush off to your next class, or the studio, I want you to take a minute to reflect. Because while May seems far away, it will be here before you know it. My senior year of college was a blur, and you're busier than I ever was! So take a second. Breathe. Soak in all the lessons, beauty and growth of this season. Write it down. Trust me, you want to remember this stuff.

Enjoy little things. Like the Konza view, and walking to class in the rain. I remember the twenty-minute walk from my apartment senior year to campus as some of my best thinking time. Go get coffee with Heather Jo, even if it means losing some study hours. There will come a point when it will be a lot harder to schedule coffee dates with the people you love the most. Store up as much time with them as you can, now.

Slow down. Don't just book it to class. Stroll a little bit, and drink up what's around you. Take mental snapshots (and real ones) of your favorite places on campus, and the people you interact with now who you probably won't see again after May (my example: Cute Physics Boy). Take extra care to actually see what's going on in MHK, because it is the sweetest.

Stay in college. The other day, my friend, Blythe (who is also about to graduate), told me she has decided to put her career on hold until after graduation. She's going to focus on school. Not in the studying sense, but in the sense that she is going to enjoy being a student for the time she has left. Sis, adult life is coming, and you are more than ready for it. Be a college kid for a few more months. Wear Nike shorts and Kappa tees, and go to IHOP at 2 a.m. Trust me, it is amazing how much your ability to stay up late decreases in your mid-twenties.

Get sentimental. There will be some cute Kappa senior thing, and you will go to your last football game, and basketball game, and last classes with your favorite professors. Tell Professor Honey how much she has meant to you. Make a big deal about your last Wildcat sporting event, even if you don't care about the sport. Hug everyone. Write letters. If there is a senior toast (TCU had one, we got purple margaritas) go to it. Let your school president tell you what a great student you were, and believe him. Have the most Wildcat pride, and go to all the stupid college events. You'll be glad you did.

Introspect. Take some time alone to process this season. Four years is a long time, and you have grown so much. What have you learned? How did the Lord reveal Himself to you, and how has that changed you? What life lessons do you know now that you didn't at 18? Write it down, because you'll forget two years from now. You'll learn new lessons in the next season, but gather up the ones you have so far. They are valuable and life-shaping and real. I remember the semester I learned how to go to church alone. It seems lame now, but it was huge then. When you're having your quarter-life crisis at the ripe old age of 24 (hi, that's me), your college self will be able to remind you how far you've come and what you actually know. You're on top of the world right now, big senior girl, but in a year or two you might will get scared. Write with confidence about your plans and lightbulb truths and heart lessons now, so you will have them to refer to later.

Be in the moment. Do not worry about tomorrow (or May), because each day has enough problems of its own. If Alex and John plan a bonfire, go to it. If the Beehive wants to build a fort under the living room stars, make it happen. Don't stress about next summer, don't worry about your projects. Take every opportunity (within reason) that you can to really enjoy these next few months. Immerse yourself fully, and be present.

Seize the day. If there is ANYTHING you want to do that you haven't done yet, now is the time. If there is a dreamy boy in your physics class, ask him out. If you want to sneak into the botanical gardens in the middle of the night, I say yes. (I only did one of those two things, but I should have done both). Remember when you and Jonathan and Michael made me jump into Frog Fountain, then tried to break into the football field? And I freaked out? Girl, BREAK INTO THE FOOTBALL FIELD.

Finish strong. Because of course you will. Seriously, you are so close. Keep going! Plan carefully, try not to wear yourself out, and finish this four-year marathon with a bang. You are so capable, girl. Eye on the prize.

I am so, so proud of you, Emma. As you close out this chapter, remember: you have done well. You have built community, strengthened your program, and learned so many things. You can't slow time down, but you can make a point to grab little moments as they fly by. Do that. Happy last semester.

For the Love of Coffee.

This past weekend, I went home for a friend's wedding. Monica is the kind of person who befriends everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) she encounters. I met her two years ago, when I was working my first barista job in Kansas City. Monica was one of the dozens of people I saw five or more times a week, because America pretty much runs on caffeine and pastry items (and that is not an exaggeration). And here is the thing. From a barista's standpoint, those customers, most of whom I only spoke to about  lattes or scones, became a second family. I looked forward to seeing Americano Terry every afternoon around three. I noticed when Jim and Jenny didn't bring their daughter Isla in for hot chocolate on a Saturday morning.  

The heartbeat of coffee shop culture is community. Even the guy on his laptop with his earmuff-sized headphones on wants community. If he didn't, he would be at home. I think the appeal stems from a desire to be known. Our sensitive little human hearts want nothing more than to be treasured and noticed and recognized. It's why we pursue relationships, why we network, why we spend hours on social media. It's why coffee shops are a thing. Because we need a place to cuddle up to a cup of Ethiopia Yirgacheffe and share about life with friends. Beyond that, though, coffee shops are also places where community is built almost accidentally. It's a weird combination of routine and smiling and the smell of coffee, and entering into a space with an expectation for the unexpected. There is a possibility you will sit in your favorite chair for two hours and no one will speak to you. But, there is also the chance of an encounter that will enhance your day/week/life in a completely surprising way.   

I've worked at three different shops now, and the only consistency across the board is that community. Friends who become customers and customers who become friends. Coworkers who become the people you make breakfast with on Mondays, or with whom you fall in love. So many layers of friendship and community and life, ya know? The best way to describe it, I think, is to break it down. Study each combination, both behind the bar and in front it, that makes a coffee shop community special. Even that won't do it justice, but it might start to.

Barista-Barista: Nothing bonds a group of people faster than working behind a bar together, 40 hours a week. I am almost 100% sure I'm am not over-stating that fact. There is a special kind of camaraderie that is built on hours spent washing dishes, and dialing in espresso, and dealing with "Can I get a six-shot decaf latte, please?" And the walls of social normality are never less fragile than at 5:30 in the morning, when everyone is still half-asleep and absolutely filter-less. Maybe I'm just lucky, but some of my dearest friends were coworkers first. And even the coworkers with whom I never became #BFFs still felt like family. Because that's kind of just how it is, when you're steaming milk and waking up way too early together.

Customer-Customer: Coffee shops run on people who want to hang out with each other. Meet someone at a concert? Let's go get coffee. Need to tell your best friend about your ex? Let's go get coffee. I spend the vast majority of my social hours drinking coffee with people. And you probably do, too. It feels good, to get out of the house and be with humanity. But it's also kind of like sitting in your living room because sometimes there's a comfy couch. If a coffee shop is a good one, there is a cozy feeling that makes conversation happen in the best way. And, sometimes, not just with a person you know. Sometimes you stumble into a life chat with a total stranger. It's not even awkward, it's just a really good thing.

Barista-Customer: Every barista knows the root of their job is service. And not just "do you want fries with that?" service, but the kind of service that is synonymous with hospitality. I have yet to meet a barista who doesn't genuinely love people. Even the surliest punk I ever worked with, secretly liked the people he complained about daily. I could tell because one time he gave this kid free hot chocolate because the little dude miscounted the meager change he thought he had. 75% of the fun of my job is customer interaction. I love having conversations at the register that would never happen otherwise. It is a special thing to know what Johnny thinks about the new Colombia, and that he painted his master bath steel gray last weekend. Or that Glen met a lady on the internet and they went to the symphony together. 

Customer-Barista: Not, in fact, the same as Barista-Customer. The dynamic is different from the other side of the bar, because you as the customer are being welcomed into something. It's cozy to walk into a coffee shop and have someone behind the counter smile not because they have to, but because they know you (Like, seriously, the sweetest thing in the world to experience). I babysat my barista's baby last Saturday afternoon, because we're on that level. Because she took time to connect and do more than the bare bones of her job. And also because I told her I was obsessed with her baby, and she didn't think it was weird. Bless her. And then there are the Monicas. People who love on their baristas, and make them cookies, and make an 8-hour shift a little bit easier just by showing up. If you are a regular at a coffee shop, chances are you are talked about and adored by the staff. Because you feel like our family, too.

And that is the beauty of coffee shops. Little moments of connection that make a day brighter. Sure, coffee is the thing that draws this community together. But then it becomes Denim Dress Twin Tuesday with Ashley, or talking for hours about music or "I see you all the time in here, my name is Rachel". And suddenly, somehow, a coffee shop feels like coming home. 

On my drive back to Nashville, I stopped at my favorite Kansas City spot and saw Jim and Jenny and little Isla. We all knew we recognized each other, but it took a minute to figure out why. Then there was this mutual moment of "OHHH, The Roasterie!" And we spent a few minutes catching up on life. I drove away with the warmest feeling, because that is the reason I love what I do. Because being a barista is an opportunity to build and sustain community in the most beautiful way: by loving on people in the act of serving them, and being a part of their daily life, even if just for the time it takes to steam a pitcher of milk.

(In case anyone was wondering, yes I did write this post at my favorite coffee shop. Cheers.)