My sister and cousin and I were super excited about going to this little bakery after church for a bite. We sat in our high-cielinged church, worshiping at our last Sunday service while here at Bible college. (Only four days left!) Afterwards, the congregation emptied out of the wooden paneled building, souls leaving pews, stepping into the white-hot light of the summer sun.
We drove to that little bakery with eyes bright and hopes high, only to find that a note had been posted on its door:
Summer Schedule: Closed on Sundays.
To say the least, we were disheartened. What were we supposed to do now? We had hyped these plans up like whoa, son. But after a little discussion, we decided to just drive around the quaint little neighborhood our church is nestled in and hopefully stumble upon a local cafe to replace the bakery.
Well, stumble we did.
It's crazy how God knows everything, has everything predestined and woven into a plan that we can't see coming. This place that we "chanced" upon was divine. It was an even grander cafe with big porch windows and lights strung up inside and full of musical references. I mean, it even had a piano, folks. There were guitars and banjos and a mandolin hung up on the wall, along with blue monochrome paintings of musicians that the owner had made herself. It was wonderful; just what we needed: the perfect unexpected Sunday adventure.
Also, we ate the best sandwich known to man.
With pesto.
PESTO
File this one under #FreakinAwesomeDay.
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Go with grace.