I didn't intend to be a once-a-week barista at our local coffeeshop. It happened like this.
One morning my wife was going into the local coffeeshop to interview for a very part-time job to help cover the cost of her return to college. Just before she walked out the door, without much forethought, I asked her to see if the owner would let me work one night a week with her. We were both surprised when he seemed to think this would be a good idea.
Surprised, because I'd never met the owner, didn't drink coffee, and couldn't tell the difference between a latte and a cappuccino if its frothy mug was staring me in the face.
Not surprisingly, after working there three years, I've learned a lot about coffee.
Somewhat surprising are the connections I've observed between the coffeeshop and the local church where I'm a pastor.
Our church is a highly structured and very busy suburban environment where spontaneous interaction with friends rarely happens. Just getting together with some folks ...1