What's in a Blog?

Many of the blogs I read have sevefral links to other blogs on their side bars. I am enticed by blogs with such names as One of Six... six what???...so off I go to search for answers - or - how about Shouting in My Sleep, sounds like a nightmare to me but I better check it out to KNOW why someone is shouting in their sleep - or - how does Road to Sanity sound...sounds like I could use some sanity. (ok, so this is my son, but the title of his blog fits this post so I used it anyway!)

So, I click on the link and read the latest 2 or 3 posts. If I am still interested, if I am drawn in, I do the thing that makes the most sense to me, I go to that bloggers very first post and I start reading-from the beginning, no matter how long ago they began or how many posts are on their blog.

Now, there have been a few blogs that I read the most recent postings and go back for a new link, finding that their blog title was the most interesting thing about their blog (one such blog my son and I both read, and we both STOPPED reading when it really got out of hand!)...but there have been a number of very good blogs that have really made me sit up and take notice, like What Would Jesus Blog, which, but the way, led me to One of Six. Both of these blogs I read from beginning to current and continue to read each day. These two women (who, by the way, are 2 of 6 sisters) have lots to say, I love Tinks way of boldly sharing her faith, challenging us to speak our faith, and be ready for our Homecoming-Tink and I also share a love of crafting so it was a given that I would add her blog to my links and to keep in touch with her via email. Darlene is a fun-loving-goofy mom, who readily laughs at her children's antics and has a giving heart that shows in so many ways throughout her postings. She laughs at herself, she makes me laugh at myself.

The last few days I have been reading Shannon's blog, Wind Scraps...and yes, from the beginning to current. This wife, mom, sister and daughter is full of funny tales with a twist...alot like Darlene. A couple of things caught my eye right off about Shannon...first, she is from the Pacific Northwest - and so am I! She and her husband are in the ministry, I have just concluded a 16 year ministry.

While reading through Shannon's blog I read this post, which caught my interest because the Clackamas Town Center Mall, which she refers, to is sitting right on top of the land where the first home my husband and I had once was. Shortly after we married the houses were moved out, torn down or burned to make room for the mall to be built. But I digress...the message behind her post speaks to my heart, says what I have so many times wanted to say, but didn't...judge not, least you be judged...I asked Shannon if I could re-post to my blog her June 12, 2005 post...she graciously agreed...here you go...this post speaks for itself...

Saturday, June 11, 2005

coffee at clackamas

My friend had driven four hours to see me. Not only that, when she arrived, she immediately rolled up her sleeves and helped us move a garage-load of boxes from one storage shed to another -- a job that took the better part of a day. When we finished, I asked if she wanted to go get coffee at a nearby mall.Women don't turn down trips to the mall.

We don't get that tired.

We chatted ferociously all the way to the Clackamas Mall. I hadn't seen her in months, not since we left our farm and moved south to be closer to Dave's seminary. Though we'd talked nonstop while transferring boxes to the new shed, we hadn't yet run out of topics. Away from the apartment complex, my friend had lots of questions about our neighbors and how Zac was adjusting to the new environment.

"He misses the woods," I told her, "but he likes having cement." Back home, Zac never got the chance to ride his bike on a smooth surface. It was all bump and slide and skitter as he maneuvered his wheels over our dirt driveway.

My friend was impressed with the mall. It's not everyday you see an ice skating rink dropped in the midst of shops and restaurants. The espresso stand I brought her to was situated just in front of the broad glass windows above the rink.

"Let's get our coffee and watch awhile," she suggested.

As we approached the stand, my friend said, "I've been craving a mocha. I know exactly what I want."

The stand looked empty when I leaned against the counter. The structure was shaped liked a horseshoe, and I couldn't see the barista tucked around the far corner. But he heard us and came into view.

"Hi," he said. "Can I help you?" he asked, looking directly at me.

"She knows what she wants already," I said, nodding to my friend. But my friend shook her head.

"No, I don't."

That seemed odd since she'd just told me otherwise. But I didn't argue. "Well, then ... let's see ...." I scanned the menu and nibbled my lip. "Hmmm. I think I want a grande almond latte, but I don't want it too sweet."

"How about if I give you three pumps instead of four?" the boy asked.

"That sounds good."

As we settled on my order, a second barista appeared from around the corner, saw my friend standing at my side, and said, "I can help whoever's next."

My friend left me and walked around to the far side of the "U." I couldn't see her, but I could hear her giving the girl her order.

I watched my barista empty the metal, coffee-ground holder thingy and fill it with fresh grounds. He was a nice-looking boy with wild hair, earrings, a pierced eyebrow (the first I think I ever saw), and two arms full of tattooes.

"I have to ask," I said.

"What's that?"

"The eyebrow ... did that hurt?"

He grinned. "I won't lie. It did. But I got over it."

I laughed. "I almost left with just one ear pierced when I was sixteen and sitting in the back of a jeweler's store. That first one hurt so much, I didn't think I could take the second."

I watched the boy fly through his routine and listened to the birth of my latte. Click, twist, burble, drip. The slurp and splat of three pumps of almond liquid dropping into my paper cup. The "hooo-whaa, hooo-whaa" of the milk steaming to a froth. As he was sliding a lid over the milky concoction, I noticed the tattoo encircling his left wrist.

"Hey! That's Greek!" One of the perks of seminary was that I got to sit in on Dave's classes with him. For a few months, I'd been learning Greek alongside him, and while I couldn't read the word upside down, I did recognize the letters.

"You're right," the barista said, grinning again. "It says, 'Savior.'"

"Are you a Christian?" I asked, smiling back.

"Yep."

"What a great tattoo."

He handed me my latte and turned his wrist so I could see all the letters. "I know. It's my favorite. I'm going to get another on this wrist that says "Messiah" in Hebrew."

We talked for another minute or two about seminary and tattooes and Jesus, until I noticed my friend sitting by the window of the the skating rink. "Well," I told my new favorite barista, "it was nice talking with you."

"You, too," he said.

"Perfect latte. I'll remember to ask for three pumps."

"Good. And I'll remember when I see you next." He gave me a last smile and we exchanged 'God bless you's'.

Feeling very happy with the coffee and the conversation and the way God has of crossing our paths with lovely souls, just to surprise us, I crossed the floor and took a seat next to my friend.

She looked at me, looked at my coffee, looked back at the espresso stand ... and shuddered. "I nearly died when that boy asked me what I wanted. I wasn't about to let him touch anything that was going to go in my mouth." She glanced again at the cup that had paused itself halfway to my lips.

"How can you drink that?"

I didn't know where to begin.

Shannon