Elm Roastery

“Roast Coffee, not people,” reads the t-shirt of the barista who just made this excellent London Fog that I’m drinking in Elm Roastery. This place, more like The Meeting House in Segwick, Kansas, is definitely unique to Elmhurst. I walked past the Koreans dancing in Moore Park, saw the drunks side by side on a bench, passed the Muslim woman trailing properly behind her husband, and saw stores with name signs in strange languages. These are the ordinary sights of Elmhurst.

Telling a barista our story. Explaining that I didn’t want to come to NYC, but then God so clearly brought the verse: “I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance,” and seeing the barista’s eyes light with understanding while he adds milk to the tea is so far from ordinary in Elmhurst. (His parents were Christian missionaries in West Africa.)

We are mostly heathen in Elmhurst: Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu . . . Every morning a group doing Fulin Gong stands mediating at the entrance of Moore Park. A unique Buddhist Monastery rises a few blocks from us, and I’ve witnessed a group of orange-robed priests waiting for the elevator in our building. Few people in Elmhurst know or have even heard the name of Jesus.

I observe friends gathering in this coffee shop, speaking in languages I don’t understand. I am humbled. I am blessed with the opportunity to let the Light shine here. I wish you were here having coffee with me. (I wish Gospel Tract was here.)

Today you can say a prayer for the work of God’s people in Elmhurst, Queens. Berniece