I went to visit my friend, Deb, at Starbuck’s yesterday.
And I had an a-ha. (Check out a-ha #247.)
God is not like my barista at this land of $4 lattes.
He doesn’t stand behind a counter with a astroturf-colored apron. And a black marker in hand.
“What can I get you?”
“Umm…a tall, decaf, nonfat latte.”
“Right. How’d You’d know? Oh.”
Nope. Doesn’t work like that.
I can’t give You my detailed order, have You mark my milk-white cup as you nod with hospitable service. I can’t walk over a few feet to the other counter and pick up my frothy liquid dessert – made to my exact request.
Oh, how it doesn’t work like that.
Instead, I hand you my empty cup for You to fill as You see fit. Scary. Yet I know better than to be scared. You are good. You brew only the best things that will work together for good in my life.
Fill my cup. With what You want. (But I’d really, really like something like a latte if you’re OK with that…and decaf…and…oh.)