Funny though, how the last anyone on this side of the pacific had heard about the bakery was that it was in need of prayers because only friends were buying things. A reminder that "doing" is not always enough. How it's the telling that really shapes reality.
At church on Sunday they're talking about "story" and so is NPR this morning. Humans, turns out, like to tell stories. The show promised that good story-tellers have an edge in evolution, too.
Here's one: I come back to Harrisonburg to find that most of the little coffeeshops scattered along it's streets a year ago (The Daily Grind wasn't a spectacular coffee shop, but at least it was locally owned, and trying) have disappeared. I drove all over the south side of town searching (so far I've managed to avoid Eastern Harrisonburg Hell) for wi-fi, until I finally remembered Greenberry's, a great little place that originates in Charlottesville, and has giant, oat-y cookies. It's freezing inside, but they don't give me dirty looks when I buy a coffee and stay all day.
So here I am. Admiring toned female legs and eavesdropping on conversations. A few tables away the two middle-aged yuppie women owners are sitting with the SYSCO guy, ordering next week's pesto. It reminds me of the sign Justin saw when we visited Mondragon (vegan-anarchist cafe-bookstore) in Winnipeg. In the window by the sidewalk, it said something like, 'It has come to our attention that a SYSCO van occasionally parks in front of Mondragon when delivering to [nearby business]. We would like to assure our customers that we DO NOT buy from SYSCO.'
See, that's principle, and not easy. The tiny bit of information that makes all the difference in the world. That makes me prefer that place to this place (though I'll come here when I don't have a choice). And somebody's gotta tell the story, or it won't make a damn bit of difference where they're not buying from. Don't forget.
