Rooted
Adventures in Americanos, Coffee Shops and Barber Chairs
“I’d like an extra-hot pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream and a caramel drizzle.”
“Sure. That will be… wait. What?!”
“Just seeing if you were paying attention,” I laughed as they handed me the black, iced americano they started making when I entered.
“I was so confused there for a second,” they said with a relieved smile.
It’s an odd, out-of-place building in downtown Fort Wayne. The tan, stucco exterior walls feel much more like Arizona or New Mexico than Northeast Indiana. Inside, the copper ceiling, concrete bar, and black felt letterboard menus offer a sparse, chic vibe. In the warm months, the windowed garage doors (at one time, it was an auto repair shop… they use the old oil change bays as basement storage) open to a patio overlooking the eastern edge of downtown. It’s also a bar. Soft backlighting illuminates a selection of bourbon, rum, vodka, and other spirits on a shelf above the workspace. There’s also a barbershop. Yes, there are two barber chairs in the middle section of the building. I don’t have enough hair left ever to need the barber's service, but I watch with envy as people come for a shave and a haircut, leaving dapper and freshly trimmed.
I love this place.
It’s rarely quiet. Music plays above the constant hum of patrons and drink preparation. It’s rarely quiet, but this is my place to think. This is where I write and try to put order to my often jumbled thoughts and feelings. I feel at peace and welcome here. Others clearly do too. I watch as people from every walk (just imagine for a moment all the labels we put on people) come and go. This is a place of welcome for me. That’s why I keep coming back. That’s why I come and order my same black Iced-Americano and sit quietly at the same table almost every day. It’s familiar and peaceful. I need places like this.
Next week I start a new season of work. I’m returning to pastoral ministry in a church setting. It has been over two years since I stepped away from my last church to serve full-time in the hospital. While the church (Messiah Lutheran) and some people there are already familiar (my family and I have been part of the congregation since we left our previous church), there is still much unknown. I’m ready (and excited) for the adventure of it all. I’m eager to know the people better and to be known. I’m grieving the loss of time with the team at the hospital, some of whom I consider among my closest friends. I’m nervous about uncovering and navigating the hidden expectations and dysfunction of the church (something I’m confident exists in EVERY church community.)
And I’m ready.
I am ready. The change feels good and right.
Today, as I reflect on the coming change of work, rhythm, community, and co-workers, I’m grateful. I’m grateful for a new adventure AND for the familiar black metal chair, wooden table, and acid-treated concrete floor of Penny Drip. The smiles and welcome of the staff, the taste and aroma of the coffee, the buzz of conversation and clippers all feel like home. This little, quirky shop feels like a place where I am rooted when nearly everything else is changing. Maybe I’ll get some fresh ink to mark this time when they open the tattoo shop upstairs.
This is so exciting! Congratulations on the transition, and many blessings. I think you've hit the nail on the head - every church group is dysfunctional, but you just have to help it veer towards health, and a big part of that to me is healthy paradigms. If we can understand that we are loved, then the out flowing action begins to show healing. Heard a great analogy, a farmer doesn't need thunderstorms and crazy drenching rain, he needs a slow steady rain to water his crops. This is what really grows the seeds. So is true for the pastor, a slow steady rain of truth on a congregation will slowly start to show little seeds growing. Prayers for you and them!