Wednesday, Nov. 6, 2024 6:28 a.m. 

Got up yesterday morning feeling … untethered. Outside, the sun was coming up on an unseasonably warm November day. The kind of sunshine we almost don’t deserve. I was feeling the heaviness of everything.

All the noise would soon be coming to its unnatural conclusion. I’d just poured my ritual 10 Tuesday ounces into my Thermos, but my cup still felt empty. 

So I got in my car and drove towards the small coffee shop on North Main Street. The one where I like to write my daughter postcards on Saturdays. It’s quiet. One room. Handful of tables, small counter on which is perched a little clear case with baked goodies made by Nicole, one of the kind staff there. Reliably chill playlist. 

I didn’t need a coffee. Just some humanity.

So, halfway up Main Street, I peeled off into the drive through at the bank. Got some cash from the machine. Humble pebbles for the scale, I told myself. 

Got to the coffee shop right as it opened at 8. Parked across the street, and followed a woman in the front door. She was friends with the barrista on duty, and they dove right into easy conversation. Denise, the barrista, paused their conversation to wait on me. I ordered my cortado, paying with my Darth Vadar credit card. Added a small tip. 

After placing my order, I asked Denise if they still did Pay It Forward. She nodded. I handed over what I’d withdrawn from the machine. 

She thanked me, and I took a seat by the counter while she prepared my to go order. 

When in walked a middle aged man in a ballcap. Kinda scruffy. Came in chatty. 

Asked Denise, “What’s the strongest coffee you have?” He went on to say that he’d been nine years sober, mentioning the exact number of months and days for good measure. “So coffee’s a very important thing in my life.” 

After Denise informed him of the dark roast of the day, he asked what sizes they had. 

“How much is in a large?” he asked. Twenty ounces, she replied.

He asked her how much refills were. They’re free, Denise said. 

From my chair I apprehended that maybe he didn’t have much on him. Probably didn’t have anywhere in particular to be. Interested in how far and for how long his dollars might stretch.

The stories we tell ourselves about the world around us. 

He ordered his 20 ounces, asked her what he owed. 

She told him not to worry about it. 

“I’m sorry?” he said. 

I tensed up a bit. I didn’t want to be around to watch anything. 

I just came in to put a few pebbles on the scale and be on my way.

“It’s taken care of,” was all she said. 

I exhaled.  

“Wow,” he said. “Really? Um, thank you.” 

He paused a beat. 

“When I came in, I could tell that you had a really kind face.” 

I smiled from my chair, because I think I said those exact words to Denise the last time I was in. It occurred to me that was also the day I dropped off my mail-in ballot at the county’s voter registration office. 

I needed some humanity that day, too. Denise’s gesture unlocked his. 

“You know, I was always a big egomaniac. I hurt a lot of people with my ego. But one of the biggest things they teach you is humility.

“A big part of learning humility is that receiving kindness is just as important as giving kindness. It’s not easy … but I’ve learned how to receive kindness.”

He asked Denise her name so he could thank her by it. Gave his in return.

Strong coffee in hand, he started to make his way to a table. Then he paused.

What he did next … I will never forget.

He turned back to Denise. 

“Now I’m going to just have to find someone to pay your kindness forward,” he said. 

He sees me sitting in my chair. 

I met his gaze just in time to see his eyes alight.  

“Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked me. 

The best sermons are the ones you don’t see coming. 

I thanked him profusely for giving me what I woke up needing from the world. What I’d hoped to find driving up Main Street not needing a coffee.

The way it came out was, “Already got one on the way. But, next time I see you, maybe we can have one together.” 

He asked me my name. Gave his in return. 

“God bless you, Pete,” he said. 

“Backacha,” was all the lump in my throat would allow. 

Pebbles on the scale.

Denise parked my cortado on the counter. I got up from my chair and met her at the register. 

Exchanged fist bumps, and received the warmest smile from her kind face.  

The kind of sunshine we most certainly deserve.

There are saints all around us. Most are hidden in plain sight. Sometimes they don’t look like you or me. 

We need to humble ourselves to see them.

So we can receive their kindness. 

So that when our own cups are empty, we can be reminded that refills are free.