carol

she works at my store and I only know about her what she's told me. I know enough to know that she would tell anyone anything, and I know that she doesn't mind who knows. I know that she's a burlesque kitten on the side of being a full time barista. she has 60 tattoos. I've seen her get hit on. she told me she had a stalker who serenaded her at her own house. she told me he got in a knife fight a few years later. she told me she wasn't sorry.

she talks about her nose and her chronic bronchitis and her cat and her rent and her sex life and her cigarettes. in that way, she and I are the same. we don't care who knows. but I think she needs to speak. I think it liberates her in a way that nothing else can. you know, divulging.

today carol made an oatmilk latte with honey. she made a leaf on top with the milk. we rarely have the time to make any latte art and the milk pitchers aren't shaped correctly to make it, she said. I wrote on the lid and drew a heart before it went out. but the woman at the window gave out a chai tea latte instead. the person who ordered it never got it. I drank it instead.

carol stayed late today to wash dishes and got told to go home. but her phone was blowing up after work and she told me she was stressed. she told me she'd walked to work and that she was waiting for a friend to get off of work in an hour to give her a ride. I offered instead. I drove carol home.

carol told me why she was stressed while I drove. my whole body felt patient while I drove slowly and said little. I wanted her to know I was listening and that I cared. she asked me if I knew the speed limit was 35, right?

I almost missed carol's house. I wanted to ask her in the driveway if I could pray for her. but I missed the driveway. carol hopped out and told me she was going to take a bath before I could say anything. she thanked me. she told me she would see me on monday.

carol's story confirmed to me that we live in two different worlds and I am scared to speak to her about what I believe. I think she would still respect me for who I am and what I say but I think she would rather that I listen than try to help solve her problems with my words.

so I prayed for carol and for courage. I prayed for peace, for her, for me. her shoes don't seem like easy ones to walk in and I wish I could show her the yoke that is light. I don't want to push it in her face but I want her to know that I care.

if you are reading this, I want you to pray for carol. for peace and openness to the love that is ready to embrace her in his arms. not the arms of a man who threatens her with hell, but the ones of a man who was silent when they accused him. not the man who condemns everything she is but the one who helps her to be free.

for all of them, really. every time I walk into work I see fragile humanity, on tap. I hear stories of breakups, overdoses, late nights, affairs, and broken relationships. they tell me and my heart feels like it expands a little bit every time to take in every inch of their vulnerability. I want to love all of them. and care for all of them. I want to do more than pray for the hes and shes and theys and thems.

I want to share the love of jesus with the people who have felt judged, condemned, and hated by the church. I know that "jesus loves you" and "I'll pray for you" will fall flatter than a flat white. I want to show them how fragile and vulnerable he was and how much he cares. I understand that evangelism is more than a byline or an instagram caption.

so it starts with my yoga and my prayers. and my sunrise and sunset drives. and my nametag making and my listening. and my patience and more prayers.

it starts with me giving carol a ride home.