Soaring

I had to tell you. I just had to tell you this.

Not an hour after posting to my blog... after crying hot, salty tears and gritting my teeth and determining to embrace opportunity... someone knocked on my door. Which isn't unusual. Freeman House is a hub of comings and goings.

It was a lady who owns a building downtown. I want you to come see this, she said. Be at my shop at one o'clock.

I wanted to argue but didn't. At one o'clock, I walked past seven houses, the old jail, the railroad tracks, and past two shops into her building.

I just had the floors waxed, she said. Then, I want you to take the front of this building an open a little bakery.

We smiled at each other and then I said, slowly... thankfully... Thanks. Thank you. But I can't afford to.

Yes, you can, she said. I only want $50 a month rent. And you can paint or do whatever you need to do.

We talked for two hours. And by the time I'd walked home after three o'clock, we'd made a tentative deal.


That means this will be henrybella's, my little dream of a bakery. This means I can bicycle or even walk to work. This means this sidewalk will soon be dotted with tables, flowers, and sweets. This means I'll get my shot.

This means that even as I was crying my hot, salty tears, God was making my way where there seemed to be no way. This means that everything I've lost made room for the thing I wanted most.

And this means that soon you can come and sit in my little bakery and pull up a chair - for real, this time - and you can see for yourself. Together we can see what it means to soar....