"No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time." -James BaldwinI often spill coffee on myself. Often. Like, almost daily. The most embarrassing of coffee spills are the ones going straight down my shirt (due to my faulty drinking skills, a hole in the lip, or a loose lid on my coffee shop paper cup). Being a <ahem> woman of a curvy persuasion and a Seminary student in the same breath, drawing undue attention to that region has always been a source of anxiety.
Which is exacerbated in times when I am meeting people for the first time. Impressions are lasting, especially the first ones. And I, sometimes, flub these up completely. I once had a good friend from college relay to me our first conversation. I was absolutely mortified by the words that escaped my mouth. How she ever decided to be my friend after that, I will never know. She is a more gracious woman than I.
In any case, this particular morning I was walking to school to greet new, wide-eyed, incoming students. Ceremonially, I dribbled down my shirt, which was white, of course. I imagined (and my imagination OFTEN gets me in trouble) scarring the impression of these vulnerable students for the rest of their time at Seminary. I will never know why I view my opinion of myself to be so important. When I remember coming to Seminary for the first time, the whole first day was an absolute blur. The woman greeting me could have been made of coffee and I still wouldn't have noticed.
My first day of classes I spilled again down my shirt, and then hours later on my jeans. First classes, initial peeks at syllabuses, both warm and cautious greetings to my classmates, all wore on me. Least of all my own anxieties about beginning another year of study. I found my study carrel, in the stacks of the library for an hour of quiet. I cracked the window to let in the late summer breeze. And in blessing, I spilled three drops on its sunny sill with hope and anticipation for the firsts September brings.
