the wolfe islander

here i sit in the bakery on the corner, a stones through from my back door. pick it up and give it another toss and you’ll find the church where i work. i have spent many a morning here over breakfast, across the table from someone i care about and who cares for me. i have consumed my fair share of afternoon coffee here as well with the same such folk. i am glad to have an employment which encourages me to connect with folk in a personal way, be it over eggs, cinnamon buns or coffee. i might add that the coffee has definitely improved since tim convinced the owner to go freshly roasted and fairly traded over the mother parkers packaged stuff they were passing off a few months ago. i wish i could say the breakfasts are on the rise, but they tend towards the wrong side of hit and miss. al has vowed never to return as two eggs scrambled seems an impossible task.

today i am here solo. have been swinging by on my own from time to time in the last few weeks. sometimes to work on my course, but more often to think and pray. i have been finding this silly little spot a sacred space. i didn’t know that God decided to meet folks at 275 queen street, but i know we’ve had a few rendezvous recently.

today i couldn’t wrap my mind around another day in the big empty building, cold and dark. i jotted a note to tim to say where i was in case he came by and headed over. i nestled into a sunny booth with a familiar royal blue mug of bitter brew. the cups are small, but the refills are steady so i really don’t mind. today i felt a sense of expectation, like i was waiting for a familiar face to show up. i thought maybe i was waiting for tim, or brett, a bell worker who takes coffee breaks here over the best toast in town. but as i opended my buechner book, i looked across the table to the empty seat and realized that i was not alone. with grattitude, comfort and some tears, i read. the words i heard were how we all long to be saints, which is what being human really means, and that such an endeavour is not nearly so hard as it may feel. that in the midst of it all we come across a pearl for which all others pale in comparison. that as much as we pursue the kingdom of joy and life, it pursues us.

i’m not sure why God has chosen this author as a voice to speak with me, but he has and he does. a thin place is what the celts called such moments. you know, those times and spaces where the spiritual seems to be so close to the firm reality of things. where tables and benchseats, mellow waitresses and coffee, black type on white pages convey the very presence of God.

thanks Dad, i needed this…