If you took me out to coffee, you would arrive before me. Despite my best efforts to be on time, the clock always seems to be a handful of numbers older when I pull into the parking lot of my destination. At that point, you would have already had time to order, debate the merits of the sofa in the corner versus the two chairs positioned face to face along the opposite window, and would have finally sat down at the latter to await the arrival of your punctual coffee and your less-than-punctual guest.  

If you took me out to coffee, your eyes would wander, and you would try and figure out what I would look like before I walked in the door. Your lips would turn down slightly as you scanned the occupants of the northside coffee shop, noticing the cozy apparel of a weekend morning in a college town. How would you ever identify me among the t-shirts, denim, joggers, and hoodies of college students crowding the baristas, crammed into corners and on top of chairs, and clamoring to be heard above the constant static of rising and falling voices? 

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The overworked bell above the door wearily tolls, and you look up. The girl who just strode in with steps like a sanderling scurrying along the Floridan coast doesn’t quite fit in among the patrons of the mid-morning rush. Where had you seen a dress like that before? You narrow your eyes, contemplating as she scans the café. She is searching for someone, dismissing faces slowly until her uncertain gaze tangles with your narrowed one. Recognition dawns, and in that split second you realize two things: the first is that you recognized the dress from a romantic film set during World War Two you watched once with your mom; the second is that the girl wearing it is the one you came here to meet.  

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I would walk toward you now, and you would wonder vaguely if I had just crossed the city of Springfield or several decades to meet with you. My shoes would be heeled and clop slightly, and if you took a second look you would notice that the soles are carved from wood. My hair would be worn curly, spilling like a muddy waterfall over my shoulders, foam and frizz completing the image. I would wear only gold jewelry with a diamond ring in an antique setting on my right hand, a gift from a grandmother. I would smile at you as I sat opposite and would perch on the edge of the seat’s stiff surface, as if fearing a reprimand from said grandmother for slumping.  

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We would get introductions out of the way quickly and just as quickly our drinks would arrive. I would have ordered a light green drink that tastes a little like soap; I would laugh and explain that I had recently discovered my dislike for espresso after years of forcing myself to like it and that I was now experimenting with lavender and matcha. You would sip and I would tell you about my family, my twin sister who makes me laugh harder than anyone else, my two little sisters who I sometimes parent against my better judgement, and my brother who’s spoiled and sweet and I would do anything for. The ice in my drink would melt as I admitted that I call my mom every day, and that sometimes I call twice; when she’s your best friend, you tell her everything.  

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I would tell you that I attend Evangel University and that it was never my plan to do so. In fact, I fully planned on never attending college after I graduated from high school, but, as He often does, God had other plans. I would tell you that I am an English major but that no, I don’t want to be a teacher. I would sigh and admit that I don’t really have an ideal career; I have no specific calling towards a vocation and sometimes wonder if I’ll even have one. What I do have are passions: a deep love for people and for the art of biblical hospitality, a knack for interacting with the elderly generation, a desire to learn about the complexities of human nature and our relationship with God and with our world, and yes, for writing pieces that reflect God. I hold all these passions with the belief that somehow, someday, God will use them all the do something meaningful, not just in my life but in the lives of the people I touch.  

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Daydreams are a hobby for many; a way to pass the time before sleeping or waking, or perhaps to wile away a crawling class period. For me they are simple prayers, a captured feeling of what I hope my future will look like. I see a candle-lit living room, decorated in soft and jewel-like tones, with dark wood and soft furniture, mixed and matched to fit the people who fill it. I dream of conversations that feel like dams being broken, relieved of the burden of holding the waters back all by themselves, allowing the streams to disperse and the waterways to be filled with joy and pain, love and grief, held by many instead of one. I long for the works that are written by my hand to be touched by the Spirit who knows what my readers need before I even think about writing. I feel the kiss of family, the embrace of friendship, the glow of home, and the presence of the One who weaves the future with threads of dreams and dreams with stitches of the future.  

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What about now, you ask? What did life look like yesterday and what will it look like tomorrow? I probably wouldn’t describe anything that would sound substantial. I would tell you that yesterday I didn’t get any homework done because a friend needed to go on a walk and talk for a while, today I was planning on writing and rewriting a poem for class, my disdain for the genre lessening with every stanza, and that tomorrow I planned to go home to bake a loaf of bread to share with the girls on my floor who hadn’t had “real food” in three weeks. I would be thinking of the next person to buy coffee for, about calling my mom, of the meaning of life and of how soon I could rewatch Pride and Prejudice. Nothing big, nothing grand, but all things I would hope God would use to lighten the gloomy sky in a person’s life, even if it was only one.  

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If you took me out to coffee, we would talk for a while, but not just about me. I would want to ask you questions too. What is it that makes your heart leap, your stomach flip, your mind whir, and your soul sing? What scares you but also fills you with so much longing that the fear is eclipsed by anticipation? Who do you love more than anyone in the world and what would they say if I asked them to describe you? What do you want to be known for, to be remembered by, to leave behind? What is lasting about the person God created and named _______? 

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I look forward to finding out when I take you out to coffee. 

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