Caden

Almost every Friday I start the day by driving to New Prague. I say almost every because 5:30 am seems too early sometimes.  I leave the house about 6:00 to make sure I can get to Patty’s Place by 6:30. Patty’s Place is one of those old-fashioned coffee shops where the goods displayed behind the glass are freshly baked on site, and the name of the person waiting on you is the same as the name on the door.

I’ve been meeting a group of guys there for a few years. The five of us have been getting together for fifteen or so years. Over time we’ve met at church, restaurants and other coffee shops, but I think we’re done moving around because Patty’s fits us.

Patty calls almost everyone by name and most of the patrons know each other.  The chairs, an eclectic mix, aren’t assigned, but people are generally drawn to the same table. In the middle, near an outlet, is a woman working on her third or fourth book. Sitting on a stool is a guy looking at the newspaper, hugging the wall is a small woman, not quite old enough to be my mother, but perhaps a favorite aunt. She admits to eavesdropping on our conversation because she finds them interesting.

Sometimes we sit in the front and sometimes in the back. Three of the guys live around New Prague, one comes from Prior Lake, and I live north of Jordan. We bring our Bibles, and sometimes even open them. Sometimes we pray, often we laugh and occasionally we argue about something or other. During the hour we are there people drift in and out picking up their medium half-this steamed-that, or flavor-of-the-day decaffeinated to go.

The principal from one of the elementary schools stops in and will often swing by our table to say “Good morning,” before leaving to guide teachers and children. Through the doors walk teachers, students, city workers, office girls (as my mother-in-law used to call them), and grandmothers with heavy hearts.

Last Friday three of us were there (two were out of town) when a woman approached our table. None of us seemed to know her, but apparently she had noticed us a time or two.

“I’ve seen you guys here before with your prayer group, and I have a prayer request for you,” she said with eyes full of tears not yet dropped.

We asked her if she wanted to sit down.

“No, I’ve got to get to work,” she said as she fiddled with her phone. “This is my grandson, Caden.” The picture on her phone was of a brand-new baby with some medical hardware accessorizing his sleeper. “He has undergone some surgery and now we are waiting for a heart-transplant. So, if you could pray for him and contact anyone else you know who could pray, I would appreciate it.

Her name was Paula.  We asked her if we could pray with her right now, right there at our table at Patty’s Place; late for work or not she stayed and prayed with us.

After she left the three of us talked about how brave she was to come up to a table of strange men and ask for help on a very personal matter. The other thing that struck us was that although we had never seen her before she had seen us and had taken note of our behavior.

I left Patty’s with mixed emotions. I felt sad for Paula and her family, but glad that our guy’s group was available for her, to pray with her, and to let others know of her need.

From now on I will start every Friday by driving to New Prague, because 5:30 am is never too early for some people.