I shared the beginning of a story last week and today, the tide of the war has turned once more. This morning usurper guy was back in “my” spot. I think he may have looked a tad guilty as I walked by.
John says he thinks it’s more like an illegal immigrant situation than a land fight in the Middle East. He blames our friend Cory, the barista, or “border guard” for letting usurper guy slip through. Cory says he just turned his back for a minute…took a break. He doesn’t want to take responsibility for losing ground on his watch.
I sit at my “less than best” table and look longingly at what I’ve lost. But then I screw up my courage, walk over, introduce myself. I try to make small talk.
Dang. His name is Harry. He lives above Starbucks. He’s a business writer from Canada. Books. Articles. Helpful stuff.
He’s not particularly chatty, but he’s got a story. He’s a real person. Harry. Not just “usurper guy”. He has hopes and dreams and fears for a place in this world, just like I do. Maybe he has grandkids. Maybe he’s allergic to shellfish or bananas like my husband. Maybe he likes to play tennis.
My table is small, silly, unimportant territory, but it causes me to ask, “Where have I forgotten that the large story of reconciliation God is writing is made up of the small letters of my story and yours?”
If God is about the large story of redemption and reconciliation, what stories are we writing in small letters at the Starbucks of our lives?
So, for today someone else is at “my” table, but it’s easier to live in peace with Harry than with “usurper guy”. Maybe I’ll invite him to join me at a different table for Thanksgiving.