The Anastasia Chronicles: Coffee Wasn't Free

Some stories are inspired by real experiences. Some are fictional. Some are a little bit of both. Names, circumstances, conversations, and details may be changed. What matters is the truth found somewhere inside the story.

Never, under any circumstance, underestimate the POWER of bartering, ESPECIALLY when you are low on funds.

Bartering and the exchange of goods and services have been around for centuries—long before modern money became the center of every transaction. You may not have enough bread (money), but you have something.

It could be a skill. A talent. A SERVICE.

And NO, I'm not talking about that type of service. 😂 Y'all, get your heads out of the gutter! I'm talking about using your gifts to get what you want and, more importantly, what you need.

Bartering can be a means to an end until God brings you into a place where you're able to become self-sufficient.

If you are unhoused or experiencing a season in your life where you need a service or resource, and you're seeking God's guidance and using discernment, IF I WERE YOU...

(I'm not telling y'all what to do, okay? Let's get that straight. 😂 But...if it were me...)

I would give the value I have to offer in exchange for what I needed.

And with that said, let me tell you a story...

---

There once was a woman who found herself living on the infamous coastal streets of Bellemar, Florida. Bellmar was an interesting place... it was one of those cities where they say if ya can make it here, ya can make it anywhere.

Did I mention she lived on the street?

Anastasia Blair was her name.

She was a woman of faith who genuinely loved God and tried her best to live her life according to His standards and principles. She wasn't perfect—not even close. Albeit struggling and falling from grace constantly, somehow every day she picked herself back up, asked Him for forgiveness, and got back on the proverbial horse.

Anastasia wasn't one of those people who had everything figured out. She had spent years ministering to people both online and in person, talking about God, encouraging others, sharing what she had learned, and trying to point people back to Christ.

But she never pretended to have it all together.

What she preached to others, she was also learning how to live herself.

She knew what it was like to have faith and still be afraid.

To trust God and still have questions.

To know what the Word said and still struggle to apply it to her own life.

She wasn't interested in presenting some polished, picture-perfect version of herself—online or offline. If anything, Anastasia had always been pretty real about the fact that she was a work in progress.

And God knew it.

She knew it, too.

Anastasia was a tall, beautiful, middle-aged, awkward woman who had a strong love for coffee and considered herself to be somewhat of a foodie...

Or was that her low-key way of saying she had a strong love for food and wanted to eat all the time? 😂

Anastasia was a beautiful and attractive woman of color, but one look into her eyes and you could see that they told a story. You could see and sense the glimpse of anguish in her face and words—the pain, the suffering—but regardless of what she had been through, her inner beauty still shined forth undeniably.

She did the best she could to strike a balance between not letting her circumstances get the best of her without losing her hope.

Anastasia was a woman who, despite all she had been through, knew how to keep her wits about her. More times than not, she was the one laughing in the midst of circumstances where she probably should have been crying tears of sorrow...she certainly had her fair share of tears.

She was the type of woman who would bust out laughing right in the middle of a funeral eulogy at the most inappropriate time.

Was it out of malice? Far from it but let others tell it...

She just found humor in the oddest places.

And this often included living her life on the streets as a woman—one of the most painful things she had ever experienced in her life...besides divorce.

In fact, living life on the street, compared to going through a breakup or divorce—crying herself into her pillow at night—seemed like a walk in the park.

Yes.

A walk in the park.

She's awkward.

She's beautiful.

She's hurting.

She's funny.

She's hungry.

She's spiritual.

She's sometimes messy.

She's observant.

She's been divorced.

She's...perimenopausal.

She's capable of finding humor in terrible situations.

She's trying to keep her dignity while life is stripping almost everything else away.

And somehow, through all of it, she's still trying to follow Christ? Most people thought she was foolish and laughed and mocked the situations Anastasia found herself in...in their eyes she was like a train wreck waiting to happen....in their hearts and minds they knew how her story would play out...they were torn tho....most looked on her life for entertainment...attempting to convince themselves that her story only had one outcome and would never...COULD NEVER happen to them...yet constantly asking themselves why they were so invested.

Would Anastasia find herself in over her head in some sticky...messy...and downright ridiculous situations?

---

This woman had no cash flow. No job. No house with a red door and a white picket fence.

But was it by choice?

Not quite...

She had been instructed to drop her net, leave her old way of life, and follow Him.

And so she did.

Well...

Sort of.

Anastasia had gone from looking like she had it all together—wearing the best outfits, carrying herself with confidence, and striving to be the best she could be in every industry she found herself working in.

She wanted to excel.

It didn't matter where you placed her.

She wanted to do it with excellence.

Even on the street.

And this was actually one of the most misunderstood things about her character.

People often mistook her drive for competition. Some thought she was too confident. Others assumed she thought too highly of herself.

But in her mind, she wasn't competing with anyone.

She didn't want to be like anyone else.

And even if she wanted to, she knew the purpose God had for her wouldn't allow her to get very far by being inauthentic. People often attempted to make every move and decision she made ABOUT THEM. Far be it.

Anastasia always wanted to be herself—fully, unapologetically, and to the best of her ability.

She delighted in herself in the most humble way...enjoying her own company...watching herself grow old...evolve...she found random things like her favorite color changing over time.

One moment, she found herself sitting on top of the world.

Living in a penthouse suite...living the life of luxury in a wealthy and affluent neighborhood.

A single mother raising three charismatic—but imperfect—teenagers...straight A students...sweet to the world but behind closed doors, indifferent with their mother....they looked at her as the fun yet irresponsible parent...Oh yeah, she was the cool mom...but was she a reliable mom? Would she be the cookie cutter surburban mom that has it all together? I'll let you the reader decide.

Looking the part.

Living the part.

Doing her best to continue building a life she could be proud of.

Anastasia thought to herself—and more than once said to God—that surely He had her story mixed up with someone else's.

Surely there had been some kind of clerical error in heaven.

Because this couldn't possibly be her story playing out in real time.

"Hello, God," she would say in her many prayers.

"I'm pretty sure You gave me the wrong script."

---

One day, Anastasia woke up from the pavement...hunger pangs in her belly...just imagine a hangover without the alcohol...this was the way she would begin her mornings most days, She went to the nearest café, called Our Daily Breadz, which was not far from where she slept behind a business, and poured herself half a “free” cup of coffee.

Looking around to see if anyone was watching, she grabbed a paper coffee cup and ran over to fill it up.

She thought to herself:

"Oh yeah...this the The Sip Club is all right."

Almost spilling creamer and sugar everywhere in front of other patrons due to being nervous about being caught, she attempted to make small talk to blend in with the other customers and possibly distract them with her beauty.

"Good Morning" she said to the older man beside her that often frequented the cafe....this cafe had its fair share of 'regulars' who had the money to spend up in Our Daily Bread every day like clockwork...mostly Boomers.

She knew in the back of her mind what she was doing was wrong, but there was a big part of her that felt either:

A. God didn't see.

B. God sees but doesn't mind.

After all...it's just coffee, right?

She felt convicted.

At the same time, she glanced at all the fresh pastries behind the glass and tried to figure out a way she could get her hands on one.

"Why me, Lord?" she thought.

Without missing a beat, she went up to the cashier at Our Daily Bread Café..."would you happen to have any expired bread you would like for me to take off your hands?"

Ana somehow got wind that the cafe donated all of their leftover pastries, bagels and cookies to the nearby catholic church.

Anastasia did this for a while and began to notice that what she was doing grieved Him. She could feel herself being separated from the One who was practically sustaining her life on the street.

So she said to Him:

“You are holy, and I want to be in Your presence. From experience I understand that in order to be Your presence, I have to live a holy lifestyle. But I have to be real with You...it's hard waking up on the pavement, hungry and tired, every morning with no provision to purchase the luxuries like coffee and food to jumpstart my day.” "You know...if i'm being honest...sometimes I feel like you're a little hard on me compared to others."

Anastasia made every attempt to live a life that was upright and pleasing in the eyes of God, struggling every step of the way. Some days seemed easier than others.

He answered back and said, “Go down to Our Daily Breadz, and rather than pouring yourself a ‘free’ cup of coffee or asking them for free food, ask them if there is a service you can perform for them in exchange for food.”

So she did just that.

The manager at Our Daily Breadz, Karina, said, “We're really not supposed to do this and I could get in trouble for this, but I'm willing to do it for you....let's just keep this on the low."

Karina added, “Have you waited tables before?”

The woman said, “No, but I have three kids, so I know what it's like to clean up after others”....

Karina was one of those cool white women you could tell was raised around black culture...you could practically hear it her voice...there was no code switching or slang...she just had a lil something extra.

In her former life, Ana was a stay at home mom for years while the kids were in school and yes she would use that as her job experience.

Karina shot back, “PERFECT! All I need you to do is wipe down the tables after guests leave and sweep the floors. In return, I'll give you meals. Please don't, under any circumstance, go in the back for anything or speak to guests. Just clean the tables, sweep, then tell me when you're done.”

Anastasia said, “Deal.”

Anastasia completed her tasks in less than an hour.

And what a humbling experience it was.

“So this is what it's like to be a waiter in a restaurant?” she thought.

Much like being a servant for The Man upstairs, she thought.

Anastasia didn't just rush to wipe down the tables to impress the manager.

She worked intentionally.

She felt Him watching closely—but not in a creepy way.

Was she rushing?

Would she do the job properly?

Would she humble herself?

She looked around to see who was watching her, but no one was. Most people, if not everyone, were on their phones.

While she cleaned tables and swept floors for food, they had money, she thought.

She realized she didn't.

That was the only difference.

Anastasia took her time, did what she had to do and kept her mind on the outcome....fresh hot food, and hoped that He was pleased.

In her mind, she knew this was a moment she would never, ever forget.

One day, she would sit around her own home in the future with her kids, telling them about the many experiences along her journey of being homeless...or so she hoped...pipe dreams she thought.

The next time she went back, the manager kept offering her more options, even going as far as to say, “Give her whatever she requests.”

Anastasia was constantly in awe giving Him all honor and praise as she went about cleaning tables.

Then Anastasia noticed something.

Being homeless had made her very astute to her immediate environment. She just couldn't help it.

She saw a white man dressed in the same all-black leather getup he had been wearing for days kind of like her.

She remembered seeing him a few days earlier on a nearby street and had assumed he wasn't homeless.

But then she kept seeing him over and over again, always in the same outfit.

This man was very friendly with the manager who had given her the opportunity to clean tables in exchange for food.

Anastasia stood off to the side, watching Mr. Leatherpants and another unhoused person—his homie lover friend—sat in a booth laughing and chuckling...not pastry, bagel or coffee in sight. Just a couple of backpacks and grocery bags full of random things she couldn't make out.

Anastasia had a gift of knowing, and right then and there, she knew this man and his homie lover friend were unhoused too.

Yet somehow, he was cool with the café manager, Karina.

Anastasia's first thought was to be upset.

Fuming mad—but in the most put-together, sweet way.

You would never be able to tell as she kept wiping down tables, with a million thoughts running through her head.

"Why are they allowed to sit in here relaxed without making a purchase?" she thought to herself.

Why was she in there cleaning tables just to get a free meal, while here you had Mr. Leather Pants and his homie, two Caucasian people, sitting comfortably in a booth, having a good time—and she knew they hadn't purchased a meal? she thought.

Ana wanted to confront the situation ONSITE...she thought.

She wanted to demand answers from Karina.

Ana caught herself for a minute..."Could it be possible I'm making assumptions?" she thought.

She listened keenly to her inner prompting:

Leave it alone. Don't get involved. Do not intervene.

You don't know their situation.

You don't know how close the manager is with this fellow.

"There are just too many questions," Anastasia thought.

So she said, Okay. I'll leave it alone...for now.

But she would pay attention.

Apparently, Mr. Leather Pants had given the women's restroom code to his homie.

The Our Daily Breadz cashier, Felisha, noticed and immediately became upset and basically blew up is spot. You would have thought it was her home.

"Hey now...you can't do that. Our restrooms are for paying customers only!"

Anastasia noticed right away that Ms. Felisha was a no-nonsense type of worker and wasn't playing any games.

Middle age black woman like herself...she was like the gatekeeper at Our Daily Breadz—constantly scanning the café for homeless people to let them know they had to get up and purchase something from the café or leave.

And she had no problem doing it.

Ana could clearly see why Karina hired her...the woman had an overflow of audacity.

Anastasia looked on from the sidelines.

She felt hidden—like no one could see her.

Almost as if she were in a movie.

It was almost as if He was highlighting these specific people in the cafe.

The Our Daily Breadz cashier, Felisha, continued talking to Mr. Leather Pants.

"Our agreement is with you. We gave you the bathroom code—not to give it out or share it with others. The next thing you know, our bathrooms will be filthy. Nah, bro...you can't do that!"

Caught red-handed, Mr. Leather Pants simply said, “Okay,” and went back to his booth with his tail tucked between his legs. White privilige card declined he thought.

Anastasia thought to herself:

"I wonder what kind of 'agreement' he has with the manager to be sitting up in this cafe all day that doesn't involve cleaning tables."

Was she being nosy or concerned? she wondered.. of course not.

"I may come off as a sweet endearing christian woman but I'm no one's pushover" she said to herself as she wiped down her last table.

Was she going to leave it alone?

Yes...for now.

She would simply pay attention and see how it all played out.

After cleaning the tables and floors, Anastasia left the café with her huge bag of food in tow, her backpack swung over her right hand side, with a little extra bounce in her homeless step.

The sun beaming down on her face.

"Life is good," she thought to herself.

In her mind for a moment in time....she wasn't homeless.

"Thank you, Lord," she said out loud, over and over again, as she went on to the local bookstore....Books-A-Billion.

Written by

Tashia L. McLayea