Friendship Stew at The Shepherds Cafe
Elijah set his phone down and said it plain: “Friendship has ingredients. And most people want the meal without paying for the groceries.”
Elijah set his phone down and said it plain: “Friendship has ingredients. And most people want the meal without paying for the groceries.”
Elijah added, “The author even says it plainly: all the things in our lives are ‘small’ in comparison to the universe and certainly to God—yet He records small things to show He cares.”
Elijah said it without sugarcoating: forgiveness is wonderful—but it’s better not to sin in the first place.
The phrase sounded harmless—almost noble: “But it’s a good work.” Yet Elijah knew that one sentence can quietly replace God’s authority with human enthusiasm.
The rain on the window sounded like a quiet warning: a community can stay under the same roof and still live miles apart if trust dies.
Elijah said what many think but won’t admit: “Some people mistake intensity for guidance. A strong feeling isn’t the same thing as a sure word.”
“The world sells romance,” Jeremiah said, “but Scripture trains us in agápē—love that chooses the good of another, even when it costs.”
“That word,” she said, tapping once. “That’s the hinge. We’ve been using the language like it’s all the same—tithes, offerings, giving—when the Spirit chose different words for a reason.”
“The back corner of The Shepherds Cafe had a small half-wall and a couple of worn booths that felt tucked away on purpose.”
On the muted TV behind the counter, the father was the punchline again. Jeremiah looked away and whispered, “Lord, help me not get numb to what’s being done to the idea of fatherhood.”