People: Arthur & Cindy*

With a job that takes lots of life energy but doesn’t have the courtesy to give some back, I have become one of those people who is addicted to something.

Luckily for me, my wallet, and the D.A.R.E program that I went through in 5^th grade, it’s not drugs. Not the kind you smoke or inject, anyway.

It’s coffee.

As oh-so-many of the Intervention TV show plots begin, I used to drink coffee socially, innocently. But now I find myself craving those little black beans with an intensity I usually reserve for really good music and pink toenails.

Enter Starbucks, stage left.

Although I go to my favorite local coffee shop, Homers, whenever I have an extra 30 minutes in the morning (read: never), I usually find myself 2 or 3 times a week screeching into the last parking spot in front of that odd green logo, dashing in, ordering my plain coffee, dumping cinnamon and soy milk into it, and throwing myself back into my car, all in one rapid motion.

Several weeks ago, peering through blurred, tired eyes as I waited for Whendy to pour my coffee into the paper cup, I noticed an unusual duo sitting at the table in the window. They were sitting quietly, peacefully, pouring over books and papers that were haphazardly spread all over the table. Occasionally, the man would tap one of the papers with his pencil. Whendy saw me watching them.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” she asked me.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision. “What are they doing?”
“That’s Arthur and Cindy. He’s her tutor.” She popped the lid on my cup. “They come here to study every Tuesday morning before school. She actually had a really big test yesterd- HEY! Cindy! How did your test go?”

Cindy grinned, bright white teeth against dark lips, the sunlight glaring off her glasses. “I got an “A”! she said, in a soft high voice.

Arthur lifted his large wrinkled hand and patted Cindy two- no three- times on the head. “She’s smart, this one.” He nodded briskly, as though to punctuate his words, and then turned back to the papers.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve made sure Tuesday is a Coffee Day. Sight only, these two have little in common. Arthur is easily 75, and Cindy is 8. Arthur’s skin is pale and stretched with age, Cindy’s is creamy and dark. Arthur is a coffee drinker. Cindy sticks to hot chocolate, extra whipped cream please.

But when they sit down at that table, I see something beautiful. I see a friendship that transcends silly labels. I see in Cindy’s eyes a growing trust, and new-found confidence. A fresh passion for learning.

A Tuesday morning community of sorts has formed. People who were strangers before are now mismatched coffee friends, as we’ve invested in our odd pair. That guy with the funny hat that sits in the armchair is now Steve, the retired Insurance Salesman who reads the paper and then brings a cup of coffee home to his wife. And there’s Laura, the young stay at home Mom who pretends that this is her exercise time, clothes and all, so she can drop her kids off at her Mother-in-law’s twice a week and enjoy her coffee in peace. Arthur introduced us. Cindy brought us into friendship with her stories about school and that mean teacher who gives really really, no guys, REEEEALLY hard tests.

We root for her, cheer for her, love her. Love them.

Two weeks ago, Whendy leaned over to me conspiratorially . “Do you know why he does it?” she asked as I walked back from saying “Hi” to the fearless study team.
“Arthur?” I asked her, as though we would be talking about anyone else.
“Yeah, Arthur. Do you know why he tutors her?”
“Uhh, no” I whispered back, feeling a bit concerned.
“He’s a Christian.” She paused.
“He’s a Christian?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in relief at her answer.
“I KNOW. I was surprised too!” She let her eyes settle on Arthur’s creased face. “I asked him why he would give his time to a foster girl he didn’t even KNOW, and he said that was why. That he thought Jesus or God or something would want him to do stuff that was good. And so he decided to give Cindy some help to get an education.”
I felt tears burning in the back of my throat.
“He said he wanted to give Cindy hope. And he wanted her to feel trust and love from somebody.”
I watched him smile down at Cindy and give her a high five as she beamed, basking in another correct answer.
Whendy slid my change across the counter. “I’ve never known any Christians like him.” She bit her bottom lip. “I mean- I wish I did. I didn’t know Christians could be like that.”
I waited, looking into her eyes.
“I’m not- not religious. Not a Christian. But I like the kind of faith that Arthur has.” She coughed. “If I believed something, I think I’d want it to be that.”
I blinked back tears. “Me, too.”

I waved goodbye to my Coffee Family, and unlocked my car door. For several minutes I gripped the hot black steering wheel, immobilized as I asked my Creator how my faith plays out not in abstracts or through swinging church doors but in real day-life.

The answer? It doesn’t always. Not very well, anyway.

When I really look at how much I’m open, giving of time & talents & pouring back the immensity of blessing that is this life, I’m not doing that well.

Meeting Arthur is shifting that. He lives his faith.

He lives faith.

He lives faith in a coffee shop five minutes off the highway in the middle of Kansas, in a way that makes Laura and Steve and Whendy notice. In a way that makes me notice, too.

Arthur, you inspire me to be a better human. A better Believer. To-

follow Jesus better.

So, thanks. For the reminder that following Jesus is sometimes about sitting with a little girl with braided hair and a math book and loving her.

(Praise).

My goal is God Himself – not joy, nor peace
Nor even blessing, but Himself, my God.

* Names have been changed since I didn’t ask permission to put this story out into the world. I promise you, their real names are just as precious!

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Tags: Arthur & Cindy, Coffee, Community, Following Christ, Learning, Love, People