Yesterday, something kind of amazing happened.
The universe brought me a Keurig — almost out of thin air.
I’ve been wanting one for awhile, actually — one of those sleek and glorious machines that spits out just the right amount of coffee for a perfect-sized cup. My old Keurig, a shiny red model that belonged to me in what I now refer to as “my past life,” got lost at some point in the shuffle of traveling and moving.
Since then — for four long years, no less — I’ve been coffee maker-less.
Given that I’m not a daily java drinker, I’ve been mostly ok with having such a naked kitchen — until lately, that is. Until I decided that I wanted to try this weirdo thing called “Bulletproof coffee” that consists of a buttery mix of coffee, supercharged coconut oil, and cow collagen. (Yes, I said cow collagen. Yes, you put actual butter in the coffee. And yes, it’s supposedly good for you. Here’s why.)
Creating this concoction, of course, would require owning an actual coffee maker.
And yesterday? Yesterday felt like the day. I was ready.
I drove to Fred Meyer. Stepped out of my car. Grabbed a grocery cart. Rolled up to the appliances aisle…
And I just. Couldn’t. Do it.
Call me cheap (or more reasonably, call me practical), but I just couldn’t justify forking over $150 for an overpriced coffee machine. I opted instead for a $20 old school coffee maker. “It’s no Keurig, but it’ll do the job,” I thought to myself as I drove home with a heavy heart. (First-world problems, I know.)
Little did I know that something absolutely spectacular was about to occur.
. . .
Later that evening, as I was about to snuggle with my dogs in front of an episode of The Bachelorette, something tugged at me.
I couldn’t explain why I felt the sudden need to jolt up off my bed or to quickly slip my shoes on and leash my dogs for a walk around the neighborhood — but for some reason, I did.
I’d walked less than a block when I spotted a box of items sitting on the corner of a quiet intersection. “FREE,” someone had scribbled across the box in thick red marker.
And what should I find inside this box of free stuff, nestled among a nest of t-shirts like a hidden jewel, but — I kid you not —
Yes, a Keurig!
I could. Not. Even.
I could not even believe my eyes.
Needless to say, the cheap coffee maker will be going back to its home on the Fred Meyer shelves shortly ;-).
. . .
This morning I woke up and brewed a delicious cup of Bulletproof coffee in my new Keurig, savoring the smell of the beans as their aroma danced and drifted through the morning air. I sipped the creamy coffee from my mug slowly, thoughtfully, deliberately, as sunlight began to filter in through the window.
Leading up to this incident, I was just coming out of a rough patch. For awhile, I’d been stressing and striving and questioning: Why has life felt so hard lately? Why does it seem like no matter how much effort I expend, so many things still seem so far out of my reach? Why is is that nothing I want seems to come easily?
As I sat silently in the still of the morning, coffee in hand, gratitude in my heart, things began to shift.
In that moment, it felt almost as if the universe was whispering to me, “Don’t you worry, girl. I’ve got your back. I know you inside and out — so much so that I left you the exact model of coffee maker that you wanted almost right outside your door, on exactly the day you were ready to buy a coffee maker, at exactly the time you felt compelled to take a walk around the neighborhood. I know you. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
It was just enough of a sign to remind me that one way or another, my needs are always met. Big or small, everything I need comes to me in the right way and at the right time.
Not everything I want, but everything I need — everything that I’m meant to have.
At the heart of it all is trust: Trusting that the universe knows what I need (and conversely, what I don’t need).
Trusting that if I’m meant to have something, the universe can and will deliver — in the right time and in the right way.
And knowing that it’s not my place to pretend to know what my soul needs or what the right time or the right way is; it is simply my place to open. To deepen. To trust. To listen.
And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing to remember.
I trust you.
I love you.
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[Photo by Hokan Dahlström]