A dreary January day turns into an extraordinary moment for a woman struggling to begin again after the past year leaves her discouraged.

The Journal

Charlotte sat by the window at the front of the diner. She’d planned to be on the road by now and heading back to the pieces of her fragmented life after spending Christmas at her sister’s, but her flat tire had other plans. Thankfully, the guy at the garage said he’d have it fixed before lunch, which meant she’d probably collapse in bed around midnight.

“Just coffee for now. Cream and sugar, please,” she told the young waiter who reminded her of an actor from a black and white movie, perhaps a film she’d seen as a child.

After he left, she took in the sights of a dull January morning with gray tree limbs holding up a matching gray sky and sighed as a few snowflakes fell. With plenty of time to kill and a half-dead cell phone battery, she dug into her purse for the Christmas novel she’d started to read the first night she tried to sleep on her sister’s couch. But instead, she pulled out the journal her sister had given her with “Begin Again” printed on the cover.

The idea was exhausting. Begin another year? She’d just dusted off the dirt from last year: her divorce, being downsized out of her job of eleven years, and moving into a tiny apartment. The thought of beginning anything made her want to hibernate under a pile of blankets until spring, and not having any real goals for the new year except “survive” didn’t help either. She often wondered if God gave everyone else great plans for their lives, speaking to them through His still, small voice, a burning bush, or vivid dreams while she remained wide awake, staring at a gray life she could only dream had color and a purpose; a life she’d have to navigate on her own since God remained silent.

She opened the journal and whispered, “A little help would be nice, Lord,” as a tear dropped on the blank page. 

Suddenly, an elderly woman wearing enormous sunglasses and blue jeans threw open the door sending snowflakes twirling across the cracked linoleum. Lifting the glasses to her white hair, she asked Charlotte, “Did you order this cold weather?”

“No,” Charlotte said.

“Good thing or you and I were going to have words,” she said with a smile, sending her crow’s feet into her hairline.

The older woman pulled off her gloves while inspecting the diner, her head craning as if looking for someone. Instinctively, Charlotte turned too. The place was packed with burly men wearing stocking caps and heavy coats, cradling tiny white cups of steaming coffee in their beefy, dry hands.

“Do you mind?” she asked, eyeing the chair at Charlotte’s table.

Thankfully, the woman couldn’t read Charlotte’s thoughts or she’d know she did mind. She was in no mood to carry on a conversation with anyone after spending a week with her sister who drank a gallon of espresso every morning and talked about her happy life until the caffeine wore off around dusk. Charlotte just wanted some peace to collect her thoughts, maybe even a little quiet time to journal. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have the strength or a pen.

Charlotte smiled weakly. “I don’t mind.”

As the strange woman draped her coat over the back of the chair, the waiter returned with Charlotte’s coffee. He seemed strangely familiar, but she still couldn’t place him.

“I’ll take a hot chocolate to start,” the woman told him.

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

As he left, the woman whispered, “Don’t you love manners? I wish they were back in style.”

“I agree,” Charlotte said as she recalled Christmas shopping last month.

Rubbing her frail hands together, the elderly woman eyed the journal in front of Charlotte. “Did I interrupt?”

Embarrassed by the tear stain, Charlotte quickly closed the journal as the waiter returned carrying the whipped cream-laden hot chocolate. He placed the mug in front of the woman and a few napkins in the middle of the table before asking, “Can I get you ladies anything else right now?”

The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Not just yet.”

The young man knowingly smiled, and Charlotte wondered if the two knew each other.

After he left, the woman pushed her mug aside. “So, tell me, young lady, why do you look so sad?” She paused. “Oh, my. Did someone pass?”

Charlotte shook her head. But as her eyes filled, she considered the woman’s question. She didn’t lose a loved one, but a life she’d loved. She was mourning. She grieved the loss of her marriage, the stability of a job she enjoyed, and the house she and Thomas decided to sell to make things easier in the divorce. But nothing about the previous year had been easy.

The woman reached across the table and touched Charlotte’s hand. “I don’t believe in coincidences, my dear, nor do I have the luxury to waste time with idle chit-chat, so I’ll get to the point. Discouragement is a powerful force, and you don’t want to take it lightly. Talk to God about whatever it is that’s got you down. It’s been my experience that Satan hides in the shadows of discouragement, but God will bring His light right into those dark places, sending that old cockroach of a devil scurrying across the floor. When you spot him, step on him with the authority Jesus gave you and give him a good squish.”

Charlotte wiped her eyes with a tissue from her purse. “I’ve talked to God, but He doesn’t really talk to me. I mean, I can’t hear Him. Or maybe I don’t remember what He’s said.”

The woman chuckled. “I can certainly understand being forgetful. Maybe that’s what this is for,” she said, tapping the journal. “Try talking to God here.” The woman’s brows creased as she pointed at Charlotte. “Remember, the devil will try to trick you into believing you’re on your own to figure everything out, but he’s a big fat liar.” Her expression softened. “Not only will God send people to encourage you, my dear, but He will send His angels to help you too.”

“Are you an angel?” Charlotte blurted out.

“Oh no. Not me, dear,” she said, raising a brow while lifting her hot chocolate.      

Suddenly, a frazzled waitress wearing a messy bun with ketchup stains on her shirt rushed to their table. “Sorry. It’s been a madhouse in here since I’m the only one taking orders. Can I…oh, you’ve already got your drinks? Well…okay then. Do you need anything else right now?”

The elderly woman grinned at a dumbfounded Charlotte before telling the waitress, “We’re all set for now. Thanks.”

Charlotte scanned the diner for their waiter, the young man she recognized but couldn’t place. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes angels are working on our behalf right in front of our very eyes, quietly bringing what we need to draw closer to God.” The elderly woman lifted the pile of napkins the familiar waiter had left in the middle of the table to reveal a pen. “Seems to me you need to start talking to God. And you’ll want to remember the good He brings out of this new year, starting with that angel of yours who’s trying to tell you how to begin again.”

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