This week, I found myself in an eclectic coffee shop in Amarillo, TX. I chose the shop because of an image of a comfy looking couch on Yelp. I neglected to read any reviews or further my research, and I was startled by what I found. First off, the shop was located on a shady street of buildings with broken windows and homes with chain-link fences. I approached the door and hesitantly entered a dimly lit shop with darkly painted walls. Green ivy plants sprawled out in the corners of the room and awkwardly draped to the floor. Hard rock blared on the speakers and nude sketches lined the walls. As I took a few more steps, the smell of urine and smoke invaded my nostrils, and I regretted my decision, but it was too late because the barista had noticed my arrival. I inched toward the counter, stepping up the two stairs to order. Around the corner, I was met with a giant penis painting. "Good God, help me!" I mumbled under my breath. The barista took my order with a stoic expression and a total of four words, "What do you want?"
I sat down with my iced coffee and prayed I wouldn't contract a disease from the restroom I just visited. I attempted to read Isaiah while a pissed-off feminist screamed angry lines on the stereo. My focus shifted as a group of middle-aged friends gathered at a table. I tried to redirect my attention, but I was interrupted by a wheelchair which tried to enter the shop. After some struggle, it rolled inside and I saw its driver. He was a gray gentleman, his face speckled with the scruff of a sparse beard and his skin reddened by the reality of a hard story. He rolled to the base of the two stairs before the ordering counter and stopped. He stayed there for a moment, waiting. He was close to the three friends, and for a second I hoped he knew them and thought they would welcome him to their table. No invitation came. Instead, he just stayed. He cleared his throat and said to the barista, "Hey." She nodded and continued wiping her counter. My heart began to race and questions flooded my mind, "What the heck is this barista thinking? Doesn't she see he can't get up the stairs? Don't these people see this man needs help? What do I do? Should I go order for him?" I sat, frozen; my palms sweaty with the nerves which stiffened my spine. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the barista approached the man and he asked, "May I play your piano?" She nodded and returned to her station. Contentedly, the man nestled his wheelchair under the keys and stretched his hands out to play. That's it? No coffee? He was not angry or offended? I watched him, perplexed. He removed his fingerless gloves and took a deep breath. His weathered hands touched the keys and the melody began. He bounced between several songs and eventually became lost in Somebody to Lean On. It was as though I could see this man's memories flicker across his face as he played. He looked comforted by the notes and a calmness settled in the room.
I expected this man to grow angry. I thought he would create a scene and the room would grow uncomfortable as the barista confronted an unhappy customer, but this man was simple. He wanted to play the piano. He was a gentleman. He patiently waited for permission to play. I was afraid when this man entered the room because I judged him. I thought he needed something, but in fact, I needed something. I needed to see this musician transform the shop I entered and shatter my expectations. To lift the heaviness of the room as his notes carried through the air and to unveil the assumptions which mask my reality.
This is not a post about shocking coffee shop genitalia, or about including displaced people in our lives. It's not a post about disability and customer service. No. This is a post about how my fear keeps me from experiencing God's beauty and His power. I wonder how often do my judgments keep me from seeing the truth? Why do I allow the controlling nature of my mind to box people and places into assumptions? Why do I try to seek comfort and protection over faith and freedom? My sinful eyes see the temporary and the external, but God sees the heart. He knows the heart of man because He created it. God knows what makes the heart sing and what potential it holds for His Kingdom. He holds the stories of weathered hands and creates the memories of piano melodies. He uses wheeled bodies to lighten dark corners of the city. And He uses me in the failure of my judgments. May I have His eyes to see and know others as He does. I will continue to assume. As a human, it proves inevitable. However, I pray my assumptions are of the Lord. May I assume He will show up. May I assume He will work in mighty ways. May I assume He will shine a light in the dark moments and wisdom in the grey mysteries of life. May I hope in the victory of the Lord and praise Him now for what He will continue to do.
I sat down with my iced coffee and prayed I wouldn't contract a disease from the restroom I just visited. I attempted to read Isaiah while a pissed-off feminist screamed angry lines on the stereo. My focus shifted as a group of middle-aged friends gathered at a table. I tried to redirect my attention, but I was interrupted by a wheelchair which tried to enter the shop. After some struggle, it rolled inside and I saw its driver. He was a gray gentleman, his face speckled with the scruff of a sparse beard and his skin reddened by the reality of a hard story. He rolled to the base of the two stairs before the ordering counter and stopped. He stayed there for a moment, waiting. He was close to the three friends, and for a second I hoped he knew them and thought they would welcome him to their table. No invitation came. Instead, he just stayed. He cleared his throat and said to the barista, "Hey." She nodded and continued wiping her counter. My heart began to race and questions flooded my mind, "What the heck is this barista thinking? Doesn't she see he can't get up the stairs? Don't these people see this man needs help? What do I do? Should I go order for him?" I sat, frozen; my palms sweaty with the nerves which stiffened my spine. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the barista approached the man and he asked, "May I play your piano?" She nodded and returned to her station. Contentedly, the man nestled his wheelchair under the keys and stretched his hands out to play. That's it? No coffee? He was not angry or offended? I watched him, perplexed. He removed his fingerless gloves and took a deep breath. His weathered hands touched the keys and the melody began. He bounced between several songs and eventually became lost in Somebody to Lean On. It was as though I could see this man's memories flicker across his face as he played. He looked comforted by the notes and a calmness settled in the room.
I expected this man to grow angry. I thought he would create a scene and the room would grow uncomfortable as the barista confronted an unhappy customer, but this man was simple. He wanted to play the piano. He was a gentleman. He patiently waited for permission to play. I was afraid when this man entered the room because I judged him. I thought he needed something, but in fact, I needed something. I needed to see this musician transform the shop I entered and shatter my expectations. To lift the heaviness of the room as his notes carried through the air and to unveil the assumptions which mask my reality.
This is not a post about shocking coffee shop genitalia, or about including displaced people in our lives. It's not a post about disability and customer service. No. This is a post about how my fear keeps me from experiencing God's beauty and His power. I wonder how often do my judgments keep me from seeing the truth? Why do I allow the controlling nature of my mind to box people and places into assumptions? Why do I try to seek comfort and protection over faith and freedom? My sinful eyes see the temporary and the external, but God sees the heart. He knows the heart of man because He created it. God knows what makes the heart sing and what potential it holds for His Kingdom. He holds the stories of weathered hands and creates the memories of piano melodies. He uses wheeled bodies to lighten dark corners of the city. And He uses me in the failure of my judgments. May I have His eyes to see and know others as He does. I will continue to assume. As a human, it proves inevitable. However, I pray my assumptions are of the Lord. May I assume He will show up. May I assume He will work in mighty ways. May I assume He will shine a light in the dark moments and wisdom in the grey mysteries of life. May I hope in the victory of the Lord and praise Him now for what He will continue to do.
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