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Faith

Lots of coffee and a little miracle

With being off this week, I hadn’t intended to write a column.

But then I had a little miracle on Saturday night and decided it might inspire someone. Here’s what happened.

Earlier that day, I’d had a mishap with coffee. I was on the phone talking to my daughter when the mug shattered, spilling its scalding contents down my left leg and ruining a new-ish pair of white jeans.

With quick action of cold compresses, my leg was fine. I then went to a meeting and into work.

I had left the office around 7 p.m. I still had work to do before I could officially declare myself “on vacation,” but I wanted to go for a walk before I lost daylight. My adult son Timothy met me at the door and suggested taking a quick trip for coffee.

I didn’t need much persuasion. And off we went.

We stopped at my favorite place only to find it was out of non-flavored coffee. So we hit another place I liked only to find the venue was out of dark roast. Could we wait five minutes? The venue was happy to make some more. Of course.

So Timothy and I went for a short walk, caught up on stuff and returned for coffee. All was well until we got to the car. Somehow, as he moved old water bottles out of the center console to make room for the coffee, the lids came off both coffees. All that coffee hit my left leg, from my hip to my knee.

We doused me in water bottles and Timothy ran into a nearby restaurant for ice. All the way home (for dry clothes and my laptop before continuing to the ER), we tried not to panic.

It was an extensive burn and I’m sensitive in the wrong way to lots of medications. Would all that liquid dumped into his seat short out the electrical? How would I get the rest of the work done? What would this cost?

That was the jist of our conversation, these sentences in far more anxious tones.

At home, Timothy and Daniel quickly assessed the car while I grabbed my gear and a real ice pack. Once on the road, I canceled an anniversary dinner our family was to attend the next afternoon.

Here’s the miracle.

When we got to the ER, the burn was gone. As in, all the way gone, with no trace I had ever been burned. No blisters. No redness. Not even a light shade of pink. Nothing. And I had been burned by coffee twice that day.

So we headed over to another son’s house to see three of my grandchildren: Ezekiel, 6; Jessica, 4; and Riley, almost 2. They ran around the yard, showing me flowers and lightning bugs and the grill for our cookout this Saturday.

Then Ezekiel looked up at the sky and asked if I could find “the bear.” I could not. Jessica said, “I like stars.”

And we stood there, the three of us, watching the lights of the night. And I thought, “An hour ago we were so worried. And now I’m here with my grandchildren gazing at stars.”

The work got done. Timothy’s car (and my leg) is fine. Funny how life works itself out.

However, by the time we left Morris, all the coffee venues were closed, so we never did get any coffee to drink. But then, one can’t have everything.

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