But there’s something in His voice that she hasn’t heard in — well, she can’t remember how long. Kindness? Is that what that is?
“We were thinking,” another continues. “That maybe if we carried you to Him, He would see you and —“
Something warm is on his eyes. It’s gooey and gritty at the same time. And it smells weird. He’s frozen, unsure what’s going to happen next.
His arms look normal. It’s probably just the adrenaline, he thinks. He hasn’t run in years. Maybe it’s just a weird reaction.
Her plan did not include telling her story. But oh, the power when she did!
Starbucks is less of a destination to me than it is a mobile office. One where there's always lots of stories. (And coffee.)
Why do I keep writing about mugs? It's simple really: Because you have a story.
Here's to new places, fluffy pancakes, good coffee, and soul-lodging friends.
The good ol' days weren't always so good. But maybe this moment wasn't so bad.