For me, coffee really hasn't ever been about the drink, it's always been about the shop. I can hear coffee gurus in Denton mourning as they read that sentence. "But Stacie, it IS about the perfect cup. Without the perfect cup you have NOTHING." Well, On a trip to Oregon 13 years ago I discovered my own personal truth about coffee.That Oregon trip is memorable, really, for lots of reasons... I went camping with my cousins, crossed into Washington and drove through snow covered mountains, and I went to the Pacific Coast for the first time. I also pooped on a trail next to a waterfall that was famous for being in Last of the Mohicans (and yeah, I really did poop ON the trail... while my dad tried to cover me up with his trusty trail map while other tourists giggled as they hiked by... it was horrifying considering how old I was. Embarrassing moments numbero uno for sure. Lets talk about coffee some more).

On that trip, we ventured into a  small Oregon-o-tized brick town to do some antiquing. We'd been window shopping for awhile when my mom stopped us with a dire excuse that she couldn't go any further without a cup of coffee. You know how middle aged mom's are on vacation. They need that coffee or else vacation starts getting stale real fast. So like a woman who needs her coffee... she found a coffee shop within five minutes.

And that's when it all happened. We walked through the doorway and I found myself. I looked around and thought, This space must have been created for people just like me. Big glass windows lit the room with natural light. There was an enticing loft above the entrance that had a ladder leading up to it. I imagined that baristas would go up there to read, nap, and watch people. Every corner and wall was couch and comfy chair infested (just the way a living room should be) with book shelves and lamps shoved in wherever they would fit. Quiet, calming and warm. Inviting. And spacious. A resting stop. A safe place. A place I'd show up to dream at every day if only I lived there. I walked to the back of the shop and found a door leading to a porch outside, crammed tight with chairs and tables. We sat on the porch while my mom drank her coffee. To top it all off, every shop and building on that little street backed right up to a rushing river. We watched that river flow right below us for awhile as she sipped, I daydreamed, and sun rays lit up our faces. Beautiful and peaceful was this thing they call a coffee shop.

At that very moment my dreams, hopes, and desires started smelling like coffee.

I was eleven years old when I walked into that coffee shop for the first time. And from that day to this day, it's my dream to own a place of wonder like that (that maybe serves a not so crappy cup of coffee)-- where others can come in and rest. Where the sojourner can dream and be filled. Where quiet can be rediscovered and consumed. Where hearts can fall in love or sit quietly and mourn. Where light can give life and restore.

Honestly, I may never get to own a coffee shop, but I do hope that the home I live in or the office I work out of can be what that coffee shop was for me in the 30 minutes I spent there. I hope to be a person that can physically and relationally create space for others to rest and dream. A person who can value giving others space that is life-giving to them. So whether the gourmet, crappy, or booshie coffee happens or not, I hope I'll always be and embody... the life-giving, rest-giving, and dream-growing shop.

What is your dream? What is your coffee shop?

Our bedroom windows are open to a cool breeze. The lights are low and calming. My make-up's scrubbed off and my feet are free from a night in heels. Brett's reading the Silmarillion, a nerd's vacation light reading. A night of wine, table, delicious food, pretty wood floors, good laughter, and deep tears. A wedding rehearsal I hope I never forget.

Weddings to me, are like a short indie film that does a good job at depicting what heaven will be like. Everyone you both love are there with you, celebrating, not just your marriage, but a covenant even greater than your marriage. Everyone excited. Everyone encouraging. Everyone dressed up. Everyone laughing, smiling, crying, dancing, eating, watching, feeling.

Tonight I toasted my big brother, Michael, and his fiancé (oh my gosh almost his wife) Erin. I told everyone about the time my parents accidentally locked us out of the house for a good three or four hours; enough time for me to have to desperately pee, go pee in the yard, then have Michael hose me off with our garden hose. I told Erin that's the kind of guy she's getting... the kind who hoses you off when your parents accidentally traumatize your childhood. And then I cried telling her that she's marrying one of my heroes.

Others toasted them and I was reminded of how sweet, wonderful, and ridiculous my hero is. My Uncle toasted to the fact that my parents could never get Michael to smile in pictures when he was younger, but somehow these days we've never seen him smile as much as he does, especially around Erin.

My sister had every head in the room nodding in agreement that Michael is one of the best gift givers she's ever met... and how fitting it is that Erin is a pretty great gift for him, for the rest of his life.

One of his college friends, Ben, encouraged him to live his marriage in the same ridiculous way he and Michael used to workout together in college. He said they'd start running together and when they neared the end of their run, Michael would yell "FREEDOMMMMM" (a Braveheart quote of course) then sprint as fast as he could to the finish. I'll never forget what he said, "Marriage can be tough and hard work, but I hope the gas never runs too low for you not to yell, 'FREEDOMMM' and keep running forward." I hope he'll always musters up the strength to yell that word until he is hoarse that he may love and cherish and fight for his Bride.

A few years ago my brother flew out to California and we drove up the Pacific Coastal Highway together from L.A. to San Francisco. We didn't talk much on that trip...we just let vineyards, small towns, ocean, and forests pass us by. We listened to a lot of music and drank some great Horchata. It was on that trip I asked Michael a few I'm-your-little-sister-let-me-probe-too-far questions about marriage and he told me he wasn't going to get married and that he didn't want to keep talking about it. I'd like to take this moment to be a little sister and say, "In your face Broski." Tomorrow you're getting married and I've joyfully witnessed that your heart has changed.  And I'm grateful for the gift you've been given.

Erin, Welcome to the family.