Third Floor Coffee

When God Sends Humans to Help Us

Photo by Nicolas Tsakos on Unsplash

Sunday morning I woke up knowing that I did not need to catch a shuttle. The shuttles are run by the university and do not run on the weekend. Scott and I had decided I needed to take the day to rest.

I also needed coffee and that meant I would need to climb to the third floor of the hospitality house where I was staying. Why that was true is a long story . . .

When I registered, they only had rooms available on the third floor. “Are you OK with stairs? We don’t have an elevator.” Yes, I was fine with stairs. My no-stairs cottage meant that my legs needed more stairs to climb. My son could help me with my suitcase.

I was on the third floor for three nights.

There is a kitchen on each floor—with coffee makers. I never measure right—ask Scott. I have no idea why, but it is true. To my delight, there was a Keurig! But I had ignored my intuition to bring K-cups. So when relatives came to see Scott I said, “Can you bring me K-cups?” Problem solved.

When I extended my stay, there wasn’t an available room for the next night so I stayed at the hospital. The staff at the hospitality house kept my suitcase in the office and I stashed my food in the refrigerator. When I returned I was assigned a room on the first floor. Wonderful!

I soon realized though that there was no Keurig on the first floor, or the second. This meant I needed to go to the third floor for coffee or wait until I arrived at the hospital. Some days I climbed; some days I waited.

I mentioned this to the staff in the office when I went to check on something else. “Oh, that is right. Someone left the Keurig when they stayed here. You could just move it down to the first floor. I don’t think anyone uses it.”

Yes, I could have but I didn’t and that is important.

Sunday morning I had no choice but to climb to the third floor for coffee. I woke up desperate for coffee. This obsessive need to have coffee immediately is normal but the intensity felt strange. I half-dressed myself—forgetting to brush my hair—and stumbled up the stairs hoping no one would be there.

But someone was there and we struck up a conversation.

He said his name was Al and he looked to be about my age. He was making coffee and apparently knew how to measure. He and his wife were from Alaska. They had flown down for a surgical follow-up appointment for her. I told the story that brought us to the Medical Center including how a much younger Scott had rescued people from a car wreck and contracted Hepatitis B.

Al looked at me and said, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

I knew we were going to be friends. I laughed and then responded, “Exactly, that is one of our family sayings.”

Then Al said, “My friend from Alaska is here also. He had a liver transplant a few years ago at the Medical Center. He is doing very well.”

“That is so encouraging,” I said. “Do you think he would be willing to talk to us?”

Al was positive his friend would, delivered his wife’s coffee and brought back paper and pen to exchange information. My name—there is always a conversation about my name—my new friend said the pronunciation made complete sense. I told him that I was an author and the name was my website. Al said, “You can look me up too. I am known as the Alaskan Shrimp Whisperer.”

What?

I really can’t explain how magical my life is sometimes. People are fascinating and there are so many who are kind. A day in the life of Janyne is always full of surprises. If you check out Al’s website you will understand how true this is. Or just watch this PBS video or this shorter video.

That was the magical part, but there is more. The more is the miracle part.

I had a phone conversation with Al’s friend and his wife. She offered to help me navigate this complicated process of being a caregiver for a liver transplant recipient. It is a huge commitment and yes, I cried.

Later that morning I suddenly felt the urge to go wash my dishes. I started to ignore that ambitious thought, but I have spent the past ten years learning to listen to those urges. For some reason, I needed to go to the kitchen.

Sure enough, it was at the kitchen sink that this kind couple found me. We had another life-giving face-to-face conversation and agreed that my day was not by coincidence. They will be leaving to go back to Alaska and I needed that face-to face meeting.

“Call us anytime. We are here to support you,” they said as I left the kitchen with my clean dishes.

Before the day was over, Al’s friend had a phone conversation with Scott and introduced him to his liver-transplant mentor whose transplant was completed at about Scott’s current age. He lives in Seattle and holds a support group at the hospital on Tuesday evenings.

That third floor cup of coffee brought us several new friends and so much support!

Sometimes, after learning about the extent of abuse I experienced that was always connected with the church in some way, people remark about how unlikely it is that I would retain my faith in God. This is why.

While I call this guidance God prompts, some would say the universe is guiding them. I say God because it feels very personal but I also validate other ways of saying this. It is what I know as that unexplainable presence that nudges me to climb stairs and wash dishes. It is the blanket of comfort that wraps around me in times of deep distress.

For me, it is the God who knows me well, knows our needs, and sends us angels in human form. I live with expectancy because one ever knows what climbing the stairs for a cup of coffee will bring.