A heart for God.
I am sitting here in Aromas, a quaint cafe in the middle of the William and Mary campus in my hometown Williamsburg, Virginia. It is snowing off and on big snowy flakes. Esta nevando. In front of me is an unfinished bowl of oatmeal whose caramelized banana was devoured instantly and a medium, I mean small but these cups always confuse me because they are more of a medium to me than a small.
After hitting his head on the thick wooden board that is my table, a student successfully stands and returns to his now charging electronic device. Flashback to the Avengers movie where Captain America is asked by Iron Man to report on the status of one of the engines, after a glance at the bright flashing lights he reports, "It seems to run on some type of electricity." That would be my reply exactly.
I have finished one of fifty homework assignments por classe de espanol. During my writing and conjugating, I have taken constant breaks to listen in on the conversation of my neighbors. Two ladies converse on spiritual topics over bagels and coffee. As I considered my decision of thick oatmeal over lighter fruit or the creamy cheese that would accompany a thick bagel, I heard the phrase, a heart for God.
The women continue to speak of David and compare him to another biblical character. Righteousness and what that entailed for the Savior and the sinners. Faith, bible study, church attendance. And now as I listen carefully they are speaking of a theologian.
"He is the only seventh-day adventist who is also a Catholic bishop." Mr. Jay tells of stories from his younger years this past Saturday at the Berryman house. I am always interested in stories, narratives. How a person got here from where. What could have possibly made a person who they are at this moment. The scraps and pieces that contribute to who they are. Who are they? As I listened then to a couple who I have known for almost my whole life, I am in awe of their faith, their strength, loyalty and I wonder how it is possible for people like them to have been young at one time.
One the women talk. Computers open, across the cafe sits a guy I always see in here. Hat, beard, jacket, always orders a simple cup of self served coffee and then opens up his nook and reads. He stares now and our eyes have caught for a moment, looked away and caught. He scratches his beard, strokes the hairs and stops. I feel like a creeper as I continue to stare while typing. Smoothing, pulling. His hand over his beard moves again.
What is the point of this time in my life? Lately I have been asking myself this question over and over. I hope one day to awake to my once motivated and excited self. What happened to the teenager, young girl who jumped at any opportunity she could get to serve, help, do more, try more? Witness more? I now no longer have that feeling of urgency. I have relaxed. Have I mellowed out? Or is this just a stop pit as I wait for the next chapter to start? Wait for the next chapter to start...that is an misleading statement I think. In a book you do not come across blank sets of pages between chapters. This is where the waiting for the next chapter to start occurs. Or not. Because this is not so. In life the book continues. Reader or not. The movie keeps playing there is no intermission.
Awkward moment as gray haired, glassed face meets eyes with me as I look away I feel him continue to stare. "Do you want your receipt?" I miss that statement as the girl at the register speaks to a customer. I think of the water, food, and grease I will encounter this evening a work. The spanish I will attempt to speak at noon and the old friends I may encounter on the steps in half an hour.
I look over to who I believe is the father of a young girl who dances at In His Steps studying dilligently at his computer, book, which I would like to imagine as a bible, open in front of him. I feel impressed to leave.
rigthbrainedbeauty saw your photo. Thank you instagram.
rightbrainedbeauty commented on your photo.
"That looks glorious."
White bowl of oatmeal, not too sugary not too bland, cranberries, and caramelized brown sugar atop a half sliced banana.
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