In Love...With Coffee Shops

There's something so romantic about a coffee shop.  It attracts people of all kinds.  It welcomes them in with the bittersweet aroma of espresso, promises them a peaceful seat, and provides them with free wifi.  At any given coffee shop at any given time, you can spot the elderly gentleman reading the paper, a young student frantically cramming for a pending final, a middle-aged intellectual putting the finishing touches on his novel, and a wayward twenty-something inspired to write a post on her darling and continuously neglected little blog.  The sounds will always be the same, the screeching of steamed milk, the low hum of chit chat, and someone's really loud great aunt catching up her friends on the latest family gossip.  There's the first-daters, nervously playing with their now empty coffee cups.  The couple meeting after work, she's greeted with a kiss as he grabs his usual drink she has waiting.  The random out-of-towner with a British accent, and the awkward gamer in the corner, glued to his computer.  

Perhaps they're romanticized because every coffee shop makes us think of that overstuffed couch that Ross and Rachel flirted on, or that Starbucks where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks ordered their coffee in passing, or Luke's Diner where Lorelai banters as Luke fills her with yet, another giant mug of coffee. 

Maybe we're obsessed because of the people we've met in them.  Friends from high school, mentors, potential bosses - people that have shaped our past and who matter in our future.  Perhaps it's the delicacies guaranteed inside.  The familiarity of a piping hot latte paired with a cinnamon spice scone that almost speaks to you.  Or the music - the soft jazzy and relaxing tracks that dance around the room and get stuck in your head.

What the romantic draw to these establishments is, we may never know...but this I can tell you: If you ever get the chance to go to Moravia, Costa Rica - there's a hidden little cafe at the back of a bookstore there.  If you sit outside, it feels like you're sitting next to a rainforest, and their pastries are delicious.  In Traverse City, MI there's a coffee shop next to an old insane asylum called Higher Grounds.  They roast their own beans, and a batista there can do the best latte art.  In Cedarville, OH there are two rival coffee shops.  Stoney Creek Roasters has the best coffee, a fire place, and you'll always run into someone you know.  Beans n Cream has been around forever, and they have an upstairs where you go if you need to hide in a small, small town.  Go to Stoney Creek if you're in a hurry - Beans n Cream to take your time.  In Grand Rapids, MI Bitter End is open 24-7 and has some of the best people-watching and parking in the city.  It's usually where you find yourself surrounded by some of your favorite people.  And, finally, when you find yourself in the quaint little town of Mattawan, MI - Java Joint has a chocolate pastry thing that gets me every time and you can never go wrong with a blended mocha.  Just down the road, Nadean's Coffee Shop boasts one crazy owner for sure, and she was the first person to put cinnamon syrup in my Americano, which changed my life.  You have to have her scones warmed, and you can call your order ahead...if you ever happen to be running a little late...

Wishing you a much love with a coffee shop,

A cafe-sitting, coffee-drinking, completely smitten with coffee shops everywhere little darling  

Burning Red

And that's when I knew. I was sitting on a sticky bus, on my way back from a weekend at the beach, and I wanted to cry. Everyone warned me “don't lead this boy on,” “protect your heart,” “don't make it serious.” But at that moment, as I stared out the fog-framed windows, I knew...it was too late.

His name was Hro. I had come to Costa Rica to do my Student Teaching and would be there a total of three months. A couple weeks in, on the way to a local concert, I saw him. I was in the car with my friend Maria Paula, waiting for some boys we were picking up. The first thing I saw was his shadow – broad and tall. I looked up as he was running his hand through his perfectly combed over hair, eyes sparking, laughing as he and his friend made their way to our car. We made eye contact through the window and I involuntarily stopped breathing.

As he walked around the front of the car, I caught my breath,

“Mari, who is that?”

“Hro...why?”
 

At that moment the car doors opened and the boys jumped in. As Mari introduced me, I flashed a smile at the adorable friend named Uribe, and then found myself unable to look away Hro's gaze.

“Hola.” He said with a rather shy smile.

“Hi.” I mustered, then I turned back around. Mortified.

_______________________________

So that is how we first met. I was warned against him, a few times. (Maria Paula, Maria, Mela...I wave my white flag of surrender). After the concert, he followed me on Instagram, left flirty comments, and floated to mind from time to time. It wasn't until one Sunday, standing alone, waiting for my ride after church, that someone tapped me on the shoulder. About a month after meeting him, he magically appeared before me. I was so excited to see him that I wrapped him in a huge hug. We stood there with sheepish smiles, and talked Spanglish for a moment before he had the audacity to ask for my number, which I gave to him, of course.

Later that week, while relaxing at home on a Thursday night, I invited him over to my host home. We had been trying to hang out all week, and it just so happened he was free the night I was making cookies (the key to any man's heart). We ate chocolate chips, showed each other pictures of our families, and shamelessly flirted the entire night. We spoke Spanglish, more Spanish than English, but somehow we understood each other perfectly. As I walked him out to his car and hugged him goodbye, we stood under the a perfectly full moon in the rich Costa Rican breeze, and suddenly I couldn't help myself. Maybe it's all those chick flicks, or maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me – irreguardless I looked up at him with my baby blues as the following words thoughtlessly poured from my mouth, “Hro, I feel like I want to kiss you.” To this day I am still amazing that at his rapid response as I motionlessly experienced the most electrifying kiss. Even now, as I reflect on it can't help but smile...it was perfect. He drove away, promised to text me, and I promptly walked inside and collapsed to the floor. What. Was. Happening.

The next week involved cuddle sessions, dates for ice cream and pizza, a late night tour of the city on his moto (don't tell Dr. Brittan!) and precious texts that I woke up to every morning. To say I was swept off my feet is an understatement. During my week vacation from school, I left for a short adventure with my gringa friend, Kat. We had a wonderfully amazing and hilarious time, but I'll admit I was restless to get back to a certain Tico who had remained in the back of my mind. On our bus ride back, I texted him something to the extent of, “There's a certain gringa excited to see a certain Tico very soon.” And he immediately replied, “A gringa who holds the heart of this Tico.” Ok, as I write it sounds cheesy, but in that moment a profound butterfly-like sensation made it's way from my heart to my toes. Subconsciously, I reached for my ipod and journal. After putting Taylor Swift's “Red” on repeat, I scribbled the excerpt you read above. It was then that I began to feel something more than “like” towards this romantical young man.

The next weeks were much of the perfect same. He as a gentleman – he would walk on the side of the street with the cars, insist on paying for everything, and held my hand...fingers intertwined. He took me to his house, introduced me to his family, and always texted me goodnight. His last adorable moments were the night before my last day of school. I was making cookies and notes for my students and he came over just to hang. We played tic-tac-toe, doodled tattoos we'll never get, and each wrote the each other a note, which I still have (but may end up throwing it in Cedar Lake – for those of you who know that story, I'm laughing with you. If you've never heard it, ask me sometime, you won't be sorry :).

My last weekend there, he wanted to go to the beach for a day. We planned it weeks in advance, and I was beyond excited. The day, however, ended with me sitting on a bus, deciding that I'm not in love with this Prince Charming after all. I'm thinking there may be another girl (or two), or maybe he became blatantly bi-polar overnight, but that day, everything was different. He wasn't excited to see me, he didn't hold my hand, he didn't make me laugh like he always did...and the sparkle in his eyes was gone. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me he was just sick and tired. That was true, but the end fact was: he wasn't there. Even though he was right beside me all day, he was long gone. (This is the part where I had “I Knew You Were Trouble.” on repeat if that last line sounds familiar.) So it was there, on hot an sticky bus ride, equal to the one I took only a short month before, that I pulled back my heartstrings...one by one.

Although I was warned (several times) about getting heartbroken, I don't think that's what I am. I think my heart, ironically, is wiser than ever. Hro taught me so much: he gave me a glimpse of what a relationship looks like, set a standard of how I deserve to be treated, and confirmed that this little darling seriously isn't ready for anything serious. I have Taylor to thank for writing songs about me and my heart, that I still can't stop listening to.  More importantly, however, I am grateful to my Savior, because He knew I needed a little Hro in my life. For one month, for the first time in my life, I needed to be treated like a Princess. I needed to add a million bullet points to my “Liem John Gilmore III” list (what I named my future husband – God bless him). I needed to realize, again, that above all I am HIS Princess, and I am fine china.

I needed a taste of what's to come, and to surrender (again) to HIS perfect timing.

In closing,

“Loosing him was blue like I've never known

Missing him is dark gray all alone

Forgetting him is like trying to know somebody you've never met...

But loving him was red. Burning Red.”

-Taylor Swift Red

Xxoo,

From a not-heartbroken, optimistic, memories-filled, expectations heightened, stronger little darling

p.s. Hro, if you're reading this (or more likely if Uribe is translating it for you) just know that you're lucky you're out of range of my daddy's shot gun...but word on the street is he's building a missile. Watch. Yo. Back.

 

 

Adios, Miss. Britt!

As I sit down to write one of, if not my last, blog from Costa Rica – even here at my little cafe, with a grande latte, this. is. hard.
 

This one's about my school. Over the past three months I've been a Student Teacher in Mr. Valverde's 5^th grade class at International Christian School in Heredia, Costa Rica...with a bunch of rambunctious little munchkins. I could fill pages and pages of things they've taught me, ways they've made me laugh, and how they've loved on me. But, I think all I need to do to demonstrate this is recall the events of last Friday, my last day at school.
 

There was a blanket of sadness throughout the day as the students and I knowingly exchanged “the glance” that meant: “I can't believe you're leaving us” and “I'm so sorry I have to go.” The day before my teacher sent an email letting parents know that today would be my last, and I wrote a small paragraph thanking them for each of their children. Shockingly, this translated into the idea that we needed food, and lots of it. For, while exchanging sad glances, students and parents kept bringing in snacks and goodies that eventually accumulated into an entire feast.

 

That day, we ate fresh Chinese, chips, cookies, candy, ice cream, cake, brownies, and a whole slew of other things that made these fifth grade kittens jittery with sugar, all in my honor. It was incredible the way the parents had, in the past 24 hours, rallied together to create such an amazing celebration of my time spent there. After lunch, we all ran back to the room, where I assumed the impossible task of settling the kids down for lessons would begin. Instead, my teacher opened the closet in the front of the room, and one by one the students went up to the hiding place, grabbed their gift for me, and proudly presented it to my shocked self. Before I knew it, my desk was a mountain of coffee (of course), chocolate, flowers, hand-written cards, and other gifts, along with a blown up picture of all of us, that they had each signed. I. Was. Stunned.
 

As the day ended, I left them each with their own little note to remember me by – filled with a memory or two and the promise to never forget them. Well, that's what did it, and from them on came the waterworks. They all hugged and kissed me (even the boys, which never happens!) and promised to email/Facebook often.
 

As I sat down to collect my gifts, still in shock at the accumulation of them, my teacher asked me to run and give a message to someone in the teacher's lounge. I promptly went on my merry way, and entered to find balloons, signs, coffee, and more food. Thinking I was interrupting something important, I uttered, “excuse me...” and they all cheered, “Yay! She's here!” I stood there like an idiot and asked, “Wait, is this for me?” They all laughed and nodded. We ate more food, drank more coffee, and they said the most precious things while trying to convince me to return. It was wonderful.
 

To my (almost always) precious students: Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for making me laugh every day. Thank you for welcoming me to Costa Rica. Thank you for trying my patience, because it made me stronger =) Thank you for your love - I will never forget you!
 

To the staff/teachers at ICS: Words can't even describe my thanks to you. In these past three months you have made me feel so special – beyond what I deserve, and I can't thank God enough for each of you! You all hold a special place in my heart. Thank you for helping me get through each school day with laughs, coffee, and a break from the little humans. I will never forget your kindness. Until we meet again <3

I'll Be Seeing You,

From a little darling who's leaving a little piece of her heart in Costa Rica.

Xxoo

 

 

My Missionary Monday

Memories, laughs, a full tummy, and a renewed appreciation for missionaries everywhere are just a few things I left with after visiting the Roughts and McGinnises a couple Mondays ago. After a rather adventurous trip to their house, I was greeted by the ever-beautiful Gretchen, warm Ryan, and was soon-after awestruck at the size of their girls! The last time I remember spending some quality time with these beauties was five years ago when I was with them for a week here on a mission trip. These young ladies before me were talking to me like the teenagers they were becoming, and I felt old! Minutes later, that dynamic duo, Jon and Joni, arrived with their whole kitten-kaboodle!  After hugging the oh-so-grown-up, Katie, and next-oldest Megan, I smiled at Lindy and JD, who simply blinked at me. These poor children had no idea who I was, but I made them hug me anyway :)

As we sat drinking coffee (of course) I updated them on all things Sarah, and then later I was privileged to get a peek into what “Missionary Talk” looks and sounds like. Planning meals, accommodations and other necessities for the pending arrival of their TACTICA team, asking questions about the correct way to conjugate a Spanish verb, and hearing about how they've been adjusting to the culture in general, left me wide eyed and speechless as I soaked it all in.

After I sat at the “grown-up” table for dinner we headed outside in the drizzle for a good ol' fashioned bonfire. It was there that I was able to hear exactly how all their kids have adjusted – especially Jon and Joni's, and the difficult decisions their families have to make regarding education for their kiddos. It suddenly occurred to me that the rather difficult time I had adjusting to this culture here for the first month or so was absolutely minuscule compared to what these family have been and are currently going through. I don't think I ever personalized their transition of packing up house and home and throwing themselves into a completely different culture...

As I hugged them all good-bye, and Ryan and Gretchen kindly drove me home with their exhausted girls, I was beyond thankful for these incredibly close-knit families willing to sacrifice everything familiar for the sake of spreading the gospel of our Savior. Wow.

So thank you – Ryan & Gretchen, Jon & Joni, and family (and missionaries everywhere) ...for everything!

Much Love,

 from a blessed, enlightened, and thankful little Darling <3

I'll leave you with some snapshots with the cutest kittens around!

 

 

 

A Tribute to My Grandfather

Grandpa Stewart

My favorite memories of my grandpa are recent, after he hovered on death's door. If he told you about his near-death experience this summer, he would have said that I saved his life. I promise I did nothing more than schedule him a doctors appointment. However, after his heart was literally zapped back into rhythm, he approached life differently. Suddenly it didn't matter how loud we were laughing in a restaurant, how much dirt we tracked into the cabin, if we ate cookies in the living room, or if we took over his garage with motorcycles. What mattered was his family, and the precious moments he had left with them. At any random moment he could be found attempting to hand his grand kids a twenty or take us out for a bite. He actually tried to pay me after I took him to the emergency room, ever afraid of being a burden.

There are things about my grandpa that I will never forget. According to him, his grand kids were going to rule the world someday, just like their mother was already doing. Growing up, us Brittan kids got called the wrong name by grandpa so many times it's a wonder we don't suffer from identity crisis. On the other hand, what better compliment than to be mistaken for “Kathy” every time grandpa visited? If you ever met his dog, Sandy, she was his baby. She had a chair in the house that no one dared sit in, and a special place on his bed and in his heart. She temporarily replaced the void of my grandma who is ten years passed, the void that will now be forever satisfied.

Grandpa enjoyed hitting a tennis racket well into his eighties and had a sweet tooth or two in that golden smile of his. Probably one of his more well-known attributes was his ability to tell awkward jokes at the most random of times. Often we would laugh not at the joke itself, but at the absurd moment of its delivery. Family dinners will never quite be the same.

However, there is one family meal that rises above the rest. Grandpa insisted on taking his family out to dinner, his treat. He chose Pizza Hut, one of his favorites, and somehow all six Brittans found a free night a few months ago to spend together with grandpa. At dinner, I noticed he didn't say much, but rather reveled in his surroundings. He was engulfed in his legacy. They were laughing, eating, and enjoying one another all around him. He was proud, and he was thankful.

After that, for the next couple of months he could be seen muttering to himself, that was when he was talking to his Jesus. He started praying ceaselessly, and thanking his father for every little thing. At the end, in the hospital and later in Hospice, not a complaint could be heard. He could be found flirting with the nurses while he was flirting death itself.

But the truth remains that I believe my grandpa was never happier than when he was dying. It took a life-threatening experience for him to declare everything in life a blessing. He started giving radically, realizing the fleeting value of material things this side of glory. His glass went from half empty to perpetually half full. As I sit down, far from home, to write this, I can't help but realize what a valuable lesson he has left behind.

My grandpa wouldn't want a fuss over him, he never did. He would want you to live, and live to the fullest. Abandon the dirt covered floor and crowded garage. Forget the loud laughter in public, and eat cookies in the living room. Live for the things that will last, the things you can reap the befits of when your short life here is over. Above all, consider it all joy...and it never hurts to add a tasteful joke or two.

Read at my grandfather's funeral 9.21.12



XXOO, from a little darling far from home