Coffee stains

Last week I confessed my lack of church attendance. Here it is another Sunday morning, and I am not at church. I’m taking baby steps. This morning I took my coffee and my Bible out to my front porch, where I could breathe in the morning air and listen to the birds’ songs.

I had to search for my Bible. I can’t remember the last time I’ve cracked it’s spine, and couldn’t remember where I had left it. I found it tucked away in the bottom of my nightstand.

One thing I love about the Bible is the fact that no matter how long I’ve been away, the sweet pages always welcome me back. I may not completely internalize the words I’m reading, but the wispy sounds of the pages are like a balm to my soul.

I turned to the Gospels. I have found that in my deepest of struggles, Jesus’s words and actions are the ones that ring most true. Even when I am doubting this whole Christian thing, Jesus is still one awesome guy.

As I flipped to Matthew, I found a couple coffee stains sprinkled around John the Baptist’s words.

Memories of being snuggled in with coffee and my Bible came flooding back. For years, the words within these covers have brought me joy and comfort. And they have convicted and torn me apart.

I have doubts and questions and fears. I know I’m not the only one. Over coffee yesterday, a friend confessed similar feelings. This faith thing is messy. Yet, we both agreed that Jesus is who we aspire to be. Neither of us are ready to give up.

I will continue to search these pages. There is truth and peace to be found.