A sweet woman from my church community slipped me a dozen home grown eggs on Mother's Day.
All week John has been eating eggs- and I have been savoring a look. . . tiny, extra large, blue, brown,
speckled white eggs.
Five years ago John and I visited Abigail and Nathaniel in London and there we celebrated Mothering Sunday. Bunches of spring daffodils awaited all the women that day. I love the term Mothering Sunday- because in
every culture women nurture and mother others in all sorts of relationships and contexts.
Early Thursday morning Isa sent me a text, "Can we switch our 10 A.M. date to a coffee shop on Broadway?"
"Perfect! I'm on my way to an impromptu 8 A.M. date at a different shop on Broadway!"
Ahh, I'm a rich woman- 2 coffee dates on a single morning at 2 shops where the coffee is good.
So, I pushed open the heavy door to #2 shop on Broadway and spotted sweet Isa bent over her laptop. We hugged and I scooted my chair close while rummaging deep in my bag for $2 for a coffee.
#2 coffee shop on Broadway felt familiar yet changed- I surveyed the shiny tables, the leather chairs, the urban mural. . . Ahh, indeed! a dozen years ago I met Mary week after week in this place- mothering of sorts happened here.
Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have rolled over me. . . (Psalm 42:7-8)
Sometimes life's rolling waves crash in on one's soul- the roar seems deafening. . . By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.
Week after week over coffee and God's Word we exposed our hearts- and mothering of sorts happened here.
Friend! Guess where I went for coffee today? Remember? Thanks for letting me know you, really know you-