I met a man in a coffee shop.

There is a time and a season for everything. At least that's what they say. And as far as I'm concerned that statement goes for days and weather as well. Sunny days beg for a book, a front porch and bare feet. Long winter days inspire a flicker in the fireplace and an over-sized blanket. Rainy days, whether cold or warm, are a whole other category in themselves.

As I left work yesterday, I decided I couldn't go against the forces of nature. The clouds in the sky, the droplets in the air, and the puddles on the ground told me exactly where I belonged. A coffee shop. Surprised? You shouldn't be by now.

I was planning on meeting a friend for dinner but had a couple of hours to spare. Lucky for me, I had the choice of two coffee shops on the street I was headed to. I opted for the "chain" option and pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. As it turns out, I was not the only one in the area embracing the same concept of how rainy days should be spent. This Starbucks in particular is rather short on seating to begin with, and yesterday, they were filled with rainy day goers such as myself.

I ordered my skinny caramel machiatto (which I am not so convinced was made skinny. I'm not complaining though. Who doesn't love an extra pump of caramel?) and scanned the room for an open chair. The idea of standing for an hour and half wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my rainy afternoon.

As I looked a second time, I spotted one seat open in a pair of easy chairs (do people still use that term?) in the corner of the room. The other in the pair was occupied by an elderly gentleman. I walked over expecting him to tell me the seat was being saved for someone, an adorable wife perhaps? However, when I asked him if I could take a seat, he informed me that it was unoccupied and I was welcome to sit down.

I took a seat, pulled out my book, set my laptop down, and set my phone down on the space on the chair beside me. Before I knew it, I was texting and tweeting (ironically to the same person), had my book open, and was running through a list of things I needed to accomplish later that day in my head.

When I looked up, the gentleman sitting beside me once again caught my eye. I noticed he didn't once look at his phone, he didn't have a book to read, and didn't appear to be waiting on anyone to arrive. Concerned I was taking the seat of a companion he would soon be meeting, I asked him if he was waiting on anyone to arrive and told him I would be happy to move if I was taking someone's seat. He quickly smiled and said, "No, I'm not waiting on anyone."

I tried to make small talk with him about the rain outside and the quintessential weather for visiting a coffee shop. However he just smiled and nodded his head, turned forward, and continued to be still. (Much to my dismay, I have determined that the only place people feel obligated to have a conversation with a stranger is on an aircraft. The option to exit the building takes away a sense of obligation from most. Take my word for it. Some of the best conversations happen on flights.)

Now that I had confirmed I wasn't taking someone else's chair and had accepted the fact that small talk was not what this gentleman had in mind for his afternoon, I turned back to my book, but instead of reading, I began to think.

I put my phone down and closed my computer. I of course, had come to Starbucks alone without the intention of meeting anyone or speaking with others. However, I had brought at least four different options to fill the void of silence and singularity in my afternoon trip. Though not connected face to face with anyone, I had with me connectivity to a list of phone contacts, social media profiles, and the author of the book I was reading.

My easy chair companion, however, as it appeared, had come with the intention of one thing and one thing alone, to be still. Just to be. 

I can't remember the last time I did that. No phone, no book, no headphones. Just myself.

But why?

Perhaps we have a fear of being alone. Perhaps we have trained ourselves to always be busy to the extent that lacking a task at hand leaves a pit in our gut. Silence is uncomfortable for many. I am sure the majority of you have been in a group where someone has drawn attention to "awkward silence". Maybe it's not the silence in the group that makes us uncomfortable, but instead the possibility of what the silence could draw attention to within ourselves.

Yesterday, I met a man in a coffee shop. I don't know what his name was or where he was going when he left. I don't know if he had a wife and kids or if he was retired or working. He did, however, have one thing that I envy. The ability to be still, the ability to appreciate silence, and a smile on his face to go along with it.

I believe joy is a God given gift. We are given moments, days, weeks, and years. We fill the time and the seasons with those things we deem fit. Maybe, just maybe, there is joy to be had in not filling every moment of our days. What God has for us in the silence is unknown, but perhaps it's the key to what we are missing to live a joy filled life.

In Psalm 46, we are told to be still. Not only that, we are told to be still and know that He is God.

If I really took the time to be still, that knowledge, that God is who He says He is, would be more than enough for me to put down my phone and shut off my mind. To fully grasp who God is and just be in His presence, I'm sure, has the power to make all that I busy myself with seem trivial. That void, awkwardness, or silence we fear is just that. A fear. Whispers from God aren't something to be met with fear, but with joy. 

Yesterday, I went to Starbucks thinking I was seeking silence, but realized all I was doing implied I was running from just that. 

Yesterday, I met a man in a coffee shop. He was still. What He didn't say told me everything.