this last week was about the search for the perfect cup of coffee… (amongst other vacation-like relaxing goals) to us, Cannon Beach- the sounds, smells, misty air embody the very state of mind that clicks with us. its not about checking weather reports obsessively and feel justly surprised when the sun pokes through for a day, or even wish away or lament the stormy weather… we take it all- fickle, salty weather, or warm misty sunshine…
one of our original go-to coffee places was still open and thriving. same four walls in the same little enclave off the “main drag” (whatever main drag means in such a laid back town as CB). however, this shop now has more accoutrements, multiple locations, tee shirts, and other much needed accessories. to our slight dismay, each visit became more of a disappointment as discussion at the counter was curt and kept to a minimum as we ordered. when I stood to the side waiting for my long-awaited cup, I shuffled to the right, then the left, then plunked in the nearest seat as I was constantly in someone’s hurried way. this had become more of a drive-by coffee shop where people from outside shouted orders into the distressed spouse inside. complaints were made loudly at the pace, taste, and lack of choices. (how many choices does one really need?) never before had I seen this sleepy, art-laden, walk-in shop look so much like a starbucks. baristas and customers alike were quick to be offended more often than joyful, and the coffee itself? well, let’s just say it was comparable to every other coffee stand, house or chain in other towns in other states.
in the midst of our other weekly activities, (services throughout the week, book hunting, beach sitting, etc) we would mutter to each other in a by-the-way kind attitude, that we had to get to the Sleepy Monk coffeehouse- recommended by several friends from in town and out-of-town. we slurped down ho-hum cups of joe while knowing we’d make our pilgrimage to the much sought after coffee eventually. after all, this waiting was only making it more and more coveted and special, right?
so finally, Monday morning, a baby-sitter was procured, the hour carefully observed (not too late for coffee that our appetites would outweigh the mid-morning sip) and we set out on our 20-30min walk up the hill to Sleepy Monk. we spent less time in our beloved galleries, gazing at new artists with a quickened (as opposed to lingering) appreciation, so we could have enough time to soak up the “ness” of this new coffee experience. would we love the music playing lightly through the shop and outside seating? would the owners be so excited about or fervor for the pilgrimage that they would insist the cups were “on the house”? would the top of the coffee have a leaf swirled into it artfully, floating in a white sea of silky foam? would our lives be changed forever? these were all unspoken questions floating between mine and dirk’s brains…
you can imagine the expectant feeling as we approached the lone coffee house right next to the antique shop aptly named “FOUND”. it seemed more than serendipitous. that is until we looked and saw no people flocking around the adirondack chairs outside, windows dark, and no overall swirling of cars in and out with white cups in the cup holders in the consoles… we looked at eachother nervously and then at the building, hardly wanting to see the sign. retail hours: Fri, Sat, Sun, Closed Mon-Thurs. I yanked on the handle just in case it was some misprint. we sunk into the chairs outside and yearned for that cup more than ever now. we had to get back to Reed soon, so we made the trek back down the hill, now deflated that we would not taste the coffee from the beans of Sleepy Monk during this stay, as we were to leave on Wednesday…
the rest of our last days went by, we worshipped, ate wonderful food, and truly enjoyed God’s creation in Cannon Beach. we packed up on Wednesday, and decided to take one last drive down the 101 to a few hikes that we might have to do solo (each) as Reed was quickly asleep in the car before we pulled out of the conference center. before we left the town we tried one more coffee place- Portland Roasting Coffee… not bad- they use whole milk, and were very engaging and pleasant to be around. it wasn’t their fault, the café and eatery was great, but we had set in our hearts to find a pure, focused, coffee-driven house where we would take it all in. instead we enjoyed these almond lattes from Portland Roasting Co. and headed to some hikes and a last Haystack rock viewing. as we drove past Sleepy Monk, I saw a person sitting in the shop and I begged dirk to pull over. “no, they are closed”- he replied in a very compliant, polite manner that meant “we observe what the sign says and don’t go banging on someone’s door to make an exception for us”. I wish I wouldn’t have seen the activity inside, as my hope for Sleepy Monk was quickly rekindled. as we parked to walk to the beach, we walked by the store.
“smells like burnt toast” dirk said… mmmm, I knew that smell, it was not burnt toast, but roasting beans. I saw the window open at SM and ran to it… I could feel dirk’s hesitation, but I pleaded “I just want to look at the roasting beans”… so like seagulls flock to beachgoers food, I stooped outside the window and could see the brilliant copper
machine turning the beans with a wonderful whirring sound. we leaned in and looked and pointed- just then a smiley man came to the window and asked (with a slight Irish accent) if he could help us. I knew he wasn’t passive aggressively shooing us away, but truly wanted to know if he could help. I announced that we knew he was closed, but just had to look inside… before I knew it, all of our failed Sleepy Monk endeavors came flying out of my mouth, not for sympathy from him, but for joy of how much we had sought out this rare bean. after a few kind words, exchanged names, found out we had common friends, he said he would let us buy beans. I was thrilled. he had to tend to the beans, but we’d be back after a brisk walk to Haystack Rock. I was pre-coffee jittery thinking about what it would be like to open our own coffee shop serving SM coffee… the art, the ministry, the people, the coffee! the last few moments on the beach were perfect- mist blowing sideways, sometimes cutting at your face, sometimes breezing around you, blowing the dry sand across the length of the beach, waves crashing. intense, salty, misty, all that I know this place to be a majority of the time. I love the non-mediocrity of it all- if you want pleasant, then go to California or Hawaii. here you can feel the winds change, the sea blow, and the stars almost fall on you at night. it is participatory in being.
we marched back up to the coffee house, about to receive the best ending to our CB getaway. he came to the door, unlocked it, and welcomed us like it was his home. (which I am sure it is just as much home for him as his house is) we stood looking in awe at the humble, yet magnificent haven. the coffee, fair trade and organic was placed in jars with wonderful names like Bogsman Brew, Monastery Blend, Fiddlers Fusion and Gaelic Grounds. the exposed beams holding up the place was reminiscent of some beautiful chapels I have been in. he asked more about us and offered us a large cupful of Monastery Blend. we gripped our paper cups as if they held gold, and drank deeply, washing off the bit of salt water that the beach had left on our lips. it was all too much for us as we enjoyed Victor’s company (that is his name- read their story here) sank into the pew-like booths and became caught up in the smells of fresh brewed coffee, beans in the back roasting, and the rustic wood of the room. he entered into conversation easily as if he had no other business or preoccupation to tend to, as if he was waiting for us. selfish as we were, we wish that we could have had it all to ourselves, just like it was. t
his was better than coming during normal business hours! however, the floodgates had opened, and similar connoisseurs had driven by and seen people inside. hands cupped on the glass and hopeful looks that looked all too familiar grasped the door handle as Victor graciously opened the doors and register to person after person- knowing that the success and growth of an establishment lies not in policy and business hours, but the relationships and connections made over a single (and grateful for us patrons!) transaction. he would disappear to the back every so often to stir the beans, or whatever bean function was needed at that point in the process, and we “guests” would look at each other knowing we were blessed to slip in and be treated as guests and not intruders. before our purchase, Victor offered to make a pot of one of the blends we were considering. my answer hung and then both dirk and I realized we should not take advantage of this man’s good graces. “no, thank you.” I said through gritted, smiled teeth. I could have stayed there all day, drinking the best black coffee, sitting on the pews and taking it all in with a state of reverence and awe.as we drove away that day, I couldn’t help but make the (loose) connection between the function of church and the coffee shop. as a place to go and find what you are seeking, not as an afterthought in the day’s daily tasks, as many do, but to go and find pure, true and honest worship. to find a place where the efficiency and growth have not choked out the true reason for being. where a building, a pastor, a people, are there to welcome one another- not out of vain obligation to receive a paycheck, but to sit and be as if there was nothing else left for us to do in life but fellowship and worship. not a place where you feel as if you are a burden, but a place where you are “offered a second pot of coffee” just because. a place of earthy wood beams, creativity and no doubt in your mind of why this place exists. you get the feeling that if you took the coffee out of the coffee shops, some could still inch by. they would nickel and dime their way to stay open with tee shirts, pastries, paninis and mints. in the same way, I feel sadly that churches could “stay open” with programs, events and traditions without really ever noticing the main ingredient missing. like a coffee roaster without coffee, I don’t ever want to be a person or a church without Jesus.
