Coffee Serendipitee

Let me tell you a story as I type and sip on my coffee this rainy morning.

My dad was fully Swedish. I grew up with most of the traditions of a Swedish-American childhood. As I grew up, my parents, aunts, and uncles drank a lot of coffee. My mom and her friends at the Swedish Covenant church I grew up in fixed huge pots of egg coffee for every church function. 

I can still remember the aroma of coffee wafting up from the church basement as I descended. It smelled wonderful.

I've always loved the smell of coffee. Imagine my surprise the first time I realized it tasted nothing like it smelled! I figured as I got older, coffee would taste better. Every adult I knew seemed to love it. As I reached my teen years and sipped it here and there to see if my "adult" taste buds had grown in, I realized how different I was from everyone else. 

I got married, had children, ordered Cokes and remarked, "That's my caffeine! Ha ha!" when a friend wanted to meet for coffee. I couldn't stand the taste of coffee! My teaching colleagues would walk the halls early each morning with steaming mugs of coffee. I stocked my classroom fridge with cold, diet Dr Pepper. At family dinners, my aunts would wonder if I was really family. Jokingly, they'd ask me, "How can you be in this family and not drink coffee?" I had no answer for them.

I learned to keep instant coffee in my cabinet, so my Swedish dad wouldn't need to leave the house early in the morning to find a cup of coffee each time he visited.

My sister, Laurie, owned a coffee shop for several years. When I'd visit, she'd always say, "Order anything you want!" My eyes would scan the long menu until I'd find the non-coffee drinks. Her smoothies were great, but I always felt somewhat like a failure. Maybe I wasn't Swedish at all...

And then it happened. I was in contact with cousins in Sweden! My sister, Kris, and I began planning a trip to Sweden, my retirement trip, and I was so excited to meet Gunnel and her family! 

One day, I talked with a friend who had traveled to Sweden several times. She listed things I could expect when visiting a Swedish home, and at the top of that list was something she considered wonderful.

"You can expect to be offered coffee at any home you visit." 

"Oh. Well, what if you don't like coffee?"

She just stared at me. "Well, I guess you could ask for a glass of water..., The water is very good there." 

I went shopping and dragged home a variety of coffees, creamers, syrups, and whatever else I could find. I needed to learn how to drink coffee, fast! I sipped sample coffee at coffee shops in tiny paper cups. I watched what my friends put in their coffee. I tried a tablespoon of coffee in a cup of milk! Nothing worked! All I could taste was bitterness! If I couldn't make it through a second sip of coffee, how would I survive two weeks in Sweden?

My only strategy left was to keep trying every chance I got. I have to admit, I also asked God to heal my taste buds!

The day finally arrived for our trip, and I, yet again, ordered coffee, this time good Swedish coffee, on the Swedish plane headed for Stockholm. I complained to Kris about it. As I talked, I added cream and sugar to the cup the stewardess had handed me.

"Kris, watch this." I raised the cup to my lips and took a tiny sip.

Kris just stared at me, then said, "You can't make that face when we're with our Swedish cousins!" 

"I know!" I was completely dismayed. "There's something wrong with me!"

My first cup of coffee in Gothenburg!

By the time we got to Gothenburg, it was lunchtime. We found a little cafe in the train station and decided to eat there. I ordered lunch and coffee, then sat down and doctored the dark liquid with milk and sugar. The salad tasted wonderful! I looked at the pretty white cup filled to the brim with "the enemy." Reassuring myself that I had a bottle of water as a back-up, I lifted the cup and took a sip. 

What was this wonderful liquid?!? I took another sip. No bitter, screwed-up frown as I swallowed. I was almost as excited to be drinking coffee as I was to be in Sweden!

I ordered coffee every chance I got for the rest of the day! In Sweden, you may find yourself with an opportunity for coffee five or six times a day! They even have a special name for coffee breaks. They call it fika, and I fika-ed several times a day that first week!

I joked that I really must have been broken and all I had needed was to "return to my ‘homeland’ to be reset!"

My Swedish cousins at Fika in Gunnel's home.

Needless to say, lots of coffee and a little jet lag might have caused some sleep problems that week. (They do drink their coffee strong in Sweden!) But it was all worth it! 

The next week, I enjoyed many cups of coffee with my Swedish cousins and never had to ask for a glass of water instead!

On the flight home, I worried that Swedish coffee was different than the coffee at home, and I'd go back to hating it. I’m happy to say that worry was unfounded. The day I got home, I tossed the pop and added a cup of coffee to my morning routine.

Think what you want, but I believe God might have smiled at my silly prayer and decided to answer it. What better time than with my first cup of coffee in Sweden? He is the Giver of Good Gifts, and as odd as that sounds in relation to coffee, maybe He decided to answer my prayer. I really have no other explanation for this marvelous little event. 

Dunedin Coindidence

 

Last Saturday, I sat on the bleachers in a small gym near my home in Kansas and watched my granddaughter playing volleyball.

A woman about my age walked up the steps and sat down with a group on the other side of the aisle. I noticed the back of her T-shirt when she turned to sit. It had a logo of a palm tree and a bagpiper. Above the logo was a name: Dunedin. Under the logo, it read: Highland Games and Festival. I remember wondering how to pronounce Dunedin and whether the name was Scottish because I had just been to Scotland.

I soon forgot about it when my daughters sat down with me. I never mentioned it to anyone, and I didn’t see the woman again.

Later that day, I saw a Facebook post with a picture of a town and a steep road. The caption above the picture read: 

World’s steepest street Dunedin, New Zealand who’s been here?

There was that name I couldn’t pronounce again. That made me curious because it seemed like a huge coincidence to see it twice in a day.

Like I often do when I’m curious about something, I opened DuckDuckGo and typed in Dunedin, and the New Zealand town appeared in the results. Then I added Highland Games and Festival to the search, and a town in Florida popped up that matched the logo on the woman’s shirt. Nothing from Scotland.

I specifically asked for Dunedin in Scotland, but nothing showed up.

Then, I asked for the pronunciation since I’d never heard or read the name before and got this:
/duh-NEE-dn/.

Finally, I searched for the name's origin and found it is the old Gaelic name of Edinburgh, Scotland, and the search engine gave me this: Dunedin means "Edinburgh" in Scottish Gaelic, deriving from "Dùn Èideann," which reflects the city's Scottish heritage. Dùn is the Gaelic word for fort or castle, and Èideann is a centuries-old name for the area where Edinburgh is located.

The last coincidental detail in this sequence is that I had just come home from visiting Edinburgh two months earlier and didn't know Dunedin is an old name for Edinburgh!

Has anything like this ever happened to you? What would you call this coincidental experience? Does it have a name? ChatGPT calls it an illusion, but I’m not so sure.

Teenagers and the Kansas State Fair!

 

 (The names have been changed to protect the dramatic, er…innocent.)

  It was September 2006. Edith, Bunny, Mac, his best friend, Joe, and I spent most of the day at the State Fair. We, girls, spent the afternoon at the exhibits while the boys rode rides, ate fair food, and rode more rides. My oldest daughter, Edith, and I had tickets to the live radio show, A Prairie Home Companion, with Garrison Keillor in the grandstand that afternoon. I had been looking forward to the show for months. Bunny teamed up with Mac and Joe when it was time for Edith and me to line up to go in, and the plan was for Bunny, Mac, and Joe to enjoy the fair together until our show was over. 

 Afterward, we would head back to Wichita, so Bunny could meet her best friends for a birthday movie at 9:15. Everything seemed to be working out great, right? Wrong!

  Edith and I waited in line and finally wound our way to our seats in the nearly sold-out stadium. Since I waited so late to get the tickets (that week), our seats were not the best, think shoulder to shoulder, but we were going to have fun anyway.

  About 40 min. into the 2-hour show, I noticed my phone was vibrating. I was a single mother and had provided my children instant access to me through their personal cell phones, so I decided I had better check. So, I handed Edith my large coke, put my bag under my seat, and dug into my jean pocket; not an easy task with people jammed in all around me! 

 As the first skit (a funny rhubarb pie commercial) began, I opened my phone. Sure enough, I had text messages waiting for me.

  There were three that I had apparently missed while in line. 

 

(I hope you can read teenage texting) ;-)

  Mac's text: 4:28pm - Call me

 Bunny's text: 4:31pm - Hey please call me we cant get a hold of u

 Bunny's text: 5:12pm - Hey please call me we cant get a hold of u

  

Then the messages started rolling in:

  Bunny's text: 5:21pm - Can u please come through the refreshment stand that's where we r

 Bunny's text: 5:25pm - Please its important and we cant get a hold of u my head hurts so bad

 Mac's text: 5:26pm - I am dying from the heat, call me because I just got robbed. I also have a headache and we all want to go home now.

 Bunny's text: 5:27pm - We r right by the ice cream shop

  OK, these kinds of messages tend to make a mother a little anxious. So I sat there trying to decide on my response. 

 

 Possible choices ranged from: 

"Should I call the police or an ambulance?"

to,

"No, and leave me alone, these tickets cost me $35, and I want to enjoy the show." 

 

  Edith insisted on checking on them so I could "stay and enjoy" the show. She squeezed through the row, wisps of smoke coming from her ears.

 I waited patiently, "enjoying the show"; I can't remember a thing from that segment!

 

 Then, the following texts came in.

 Mac's text: 5:35pm - Vending machine took my money.

 Edith's text: 5:36pm - They got robbed by the vending machine and Bunny's friends are going to meet at 7:15 instead of 9:15.

 

  Then, finally:

 Edith's text: 5:37pm - They are hot and being stupid

 

 Edith returned to the grandstand after "robbing" Mac of $20 of the money I gave them for the day. On her way, she stopped at a table to the side of the stage, bought me a Prairie Home Companion t-shirt, and handed it to me as she sat down. After that, we finally enjoyed the rest of the show. 

 We left a couple minutes before the show's end to meet the kids, who (surprisingly!) had spent the rest of the time riding rides and having fun!

 We left the midway, with Bunny rushing us to the exit as she talked to her friends on her cell. Just as we got outside the gate, she pocketed her phone and turned to me. Her friends had changed their minds again and decided to go to the 9:15 movie, after all. Bunny turned to me, smiling innocently, "Do you want to stay a little longer, Mom?"

 Well, I thought… We saw the animals, cakes, pies, quilts, the 619.5 lb. pumpkin, and the butter sculpture. We rode the rides, ate pronto pups, and drank lemonade, plus I got to watch "A Prairie Home Companion" live.

  No… I think we'll just head home.

  I love my kids!

 

My Desire, Yours, or Ours, Lord?

I have an example of a time that Christ challenged me to serve Him before I received answers to my prayers. I hesitate to tell the story because I remember my faltering attempts to try what God asked of me and a whole bunch of times I refused, forgot or failed to live up to what I assumed was "God's Plan."

In March of 1993 my comfortable but hectic life as wife, mom, and teacher was dealt a shattering blow. My 4 year old daughter, Brittany, was diagnosed with an aggressive form of childhood leukemia. I heard the words her doctors spoke but couldn't comprehend what they truly meant. I felt both numb and panicked simultaneously.

I prayed, pleaded, and prayed some more during the first few days; fully believing that God would take this whole situation away and we could go on about the business of living.

One night during the first week in the hospital, I was hiding out in the bathroom of Brittany's room, praying (crying, pleading, begging, kicking, stamping my feet) so my tantrum wouldn't wake my sleeping daughter. I asked a question that I didn't realize I would get an answer to. After all, it was just me demanding answers of a God who should have already been answering!

"God?! Why us? Why me?" I had asked God several times and had failed to hear the answer amid all of the noise of the situation we were living. "Why me?" I whimpered and cried. That room in the early hours of the morning must have been quiet enough or God spoke in a still, but little bit louder, voice to reach through the din of the tantrum of His child because when I stopped talking, I heard His voice.

"Why not you?" His voice nearly echoed in the small room; at least in my heart it did! Why other people but not you?" In other words, "Did you think you were living in a rose garden? Have you looked around this place, Shari? Do you see all of the other people who could ask me that same question?"

That stopped my sobs cold.

I was stunned but I couldn't argue with His reasoning. And surprisingly, I didn't feel condemned. I went back to bed on the little fold-out chair/bed that I was becoming accustomed to and fell right to sleep. The only thing I can remember is a feeling of being on the edge of understanding something bigger than my earthly problems. I could almost see what God was showing me but not quite in my very dim way of understanding.

The next night, I was awakened late in the night. God suggested that I get up and go read my Bible in the waiting room next door. Since I was no longer sleepy, I got up, pulled on some clothes and took my Bible into the empty waiting room.

As I read, the door opened and a couple, looking stunned and emotional, walked in. I felt called to ask them why they were there and they seemed relieved to have an ear. We quietly visited for a while as they recounted the late night trip to the hospital with their little girl. A re-broken leg had led a doctor to run more tests. The long drive from the small town they lived in must have been exhausting since they had just heard the word "leukemia" and were trying to wrap their minds around it. I can't say that it felt like I did anything but let them see that they could still expect to breath, walk, and probably live after hearing that word in conjunction with the health of their precious child.

I'm not going to tell you that after that night I "got it" and lived seamlessly through the next two and a half years. I "got it" as much as my limited understanding would let me, but it was enough. God led and I did my best to follow Him through days and months. Sometimes I felt I was almost walking alongside Him as He taught me lessons through this inescapable situation. He showed me people who needed a kind word, hug, or smile.

I soon understood that people would let me talk about my faith because of who I was in this situation. Not a hero but,
a poor mom of a sick little daughter that we can't stop from talking because look what she is/was going through so just let her finish and listen politely even if you wouldn't normally let someone talk so freely about God without throwing out our disdain for people who weakly follow something they can't see and so talk about God and faith to other people who might not want to hear because... just look what that poor woman is going through!
I know. It's a little sneaky but God put me in the place where I could be "that mom" through what He allowed us to walk through.

During the next few years, God led me through some dark and scary times. I tried to learn as I went but failed as often as I felt I had succeeded. It took me years to stop regretting those failures. Sometimes I still think of the hours of worry, frustration, anger, despair, and doubt that I experienced in my down times. I think of them, but I only feel condemnation from myself; not God.

God allowed me to witness many miracles firsthand and my treasure chest of stories of God's blessings grew. (If you ever want to see my inventory of that treasure chest, just ask!) I told about God's faithfulness and power every chance I got.

One evening, I found myself looking at a darkened stained glass window. It was dark outside and I was having a hard time making out the details of the picture represented by the pieces of broken glass that had been carefully arranged to form a beautiful picture. As happens to me many times, God used an object, this time a window, to show me a part of His plan and an answer to my question many months back.

"Do you remember what this window looks like when the morning sun shines through it?"
"Yes, God, it's beautiful."
"The same thing happens to your broken pieces when you let me arrange them. Then, I can shine my light through the shattered window of your life for others to see. It's my light that turns a shattered mess into a beautiful picture that others can observe. No matter how unworthy you feel, they can see me through you, if you choose to walk with me."