It’s the little things
I find it funny how memory works sometimes. How I can see the smallest, most inconsequential thing and immediately be transported back to another time. Logic has suites on the first, second, and third floors of our builiding, but only the first two floors have kitchens in a suite. For those of us confined to the uppermost floor, this means we have to walk down at least one flight of stairs to get to the coffee resevoir. This morning, I was walking up the back stairwell with my coffee mug and I noticed how nearly ever step along the way had the remnants of a coffee spill (they aren't all from me). I chuckled to myself because I have been known as one of those coffee-addicts that has trouble walking with a full mug and not letting some of the black liquid splash over the lip and, usually, end up on the toe of my boot. This was a daily occurrence during my summers working at camp. Every morning after dragging myself out of bed at the last possible moment before morning devotions, I would find my way to the kitchen, fill up my Eddie Bauer ceramic mug, and begin my trek toward the Lakeside Chapel where the staff would all gather together to begin the day. Along the way, I would keep stopping in order to let the coffee settle in the mug. If I made it to my chair with 3/4 of the volume I began with, it was a good morning. But, in reality, those were all good mornings. No matter how dead tired we were or what "crisis" was occurring, gathering every morning to remember why we were spending our summer working 24/7 for little money was a wonderful blessing. Incredibly good and vivid memories, all brought to mind by the little brown splash marks on the surface of a step.