Clouds In My Coffee

You’re so vain, you probably think this is about you. Probably not the best way to start a piece, but this one is written out of both frustration AND irony.  The hours upon hours I spend contemplating the world around me is compounded by MY need to address every single injustice in my own view. So although not everything I say or do is in reference to someone else, it is about me.  
And so I began this Sunday like any other. Preparing for worship!  The routine consists of hopping out of bed, thanking the Lord for another day, a round of food for the household pets, and a rush to prepare the music for Sunday service. 

*We can’t forget the pets here, because they bring added joy to my life, even though their joy can not be shared by many house guests during parties and soirées.  

But when I arrived to church, I was informed that I wasn’t needed to play the morning selections.  I wasn’t disappointed, but I wasn’t relieved. The trustees advised me that we had a new pianist who’d defected from another ministry.  He was blind, but will be playing music from memory.  This was glorious and an unanticipated relief.  We’d be blessed with live music as opposed to the canned hymns I had stored for the congregation.  

As I sat idle awaiting the daily word, my sister-in-Christ sent me a text message. She attended yesterday’s soirée in my home, and was taking me up on my offer for brunch.  I was excited. 

The day was going to be a great sequel to yesterday’s gathering–an attempt to bring my close friends (and core team) together for my next step. And it was about to get better.  I’d already planned to attend a party in the evening: 

My big announcement had been delayed.  It wasn’t about me at all.  As host, I made it about my guests!  It was about fellowship.  It was about stories and sharing.  It was about opportunity. 

I hadn’t had the opportunity to explain my reason for the event.  My guests were eager, but confused.  Why were we here?  An age old question, philosophers my guests were not.  

I’ll recall the nights interactions for months to come; the questions, the explanations, and the opportunity.  I’d waited 90 days for a promotion.  It had arrived. I was nervous.  I called for an intermission.  I offered an explanation, and asked for an intervention. I got it!  

Rattled but encouraged, I am eager to celebrate my life today (and tomorrow).  


Sunday service, brunch, a long drive though the country, and a great follow up.  And it wasn’t about me?  No, I am just a catalyst.  But I’m ready to be the driving force.  

The promotion that I sought has arrived. The injustices that I encountered along the way we’re revelations but not inhibitors.  There will be other struggles. There will be obstacles, and there will be people within my circle who will challenge me.  

I will meet each with enthusiasm and passion. I will take no prisoners.  I will take liberties that were once reserved for someone else, but I am cognizant of this:  

“Although we have rights, not everything we do is right!” 

I’m prepared for the wrongs.  I take responsibility for those wrong things I’ve done deliberately, but I am unapologetic for the feelings that get hurt along the way.  I’m am not going to empathize with you if you’re injured by a third party.  Instead I will encourage you to stand up for yourself and take hold of your own energy. And finally, I will stand tall to repel any weapons formed against me–vehemently!  

And if you think this is about you, well… It could be. But it’s not.  I am speaking from my perspective.  And when the facts change, so will my narrative. 

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