This week while in Phoenix for a couple of stirring days thinking about equipping the church and living into our missional calling together I experienced artisan disruption. The lads and I were heading to the second day of the gathering and decided to find some local coffee spot to fuel our morning. When the first stop was closed we rounded the corner into another shop that pushed against our attempts at constant efficiency. Inside a small art gallery (which also had a hair salon) there was a coffee bar, with one barista doing more than just making drinks, he was making art. The guy had form, precision, and and exacting hand as he made each drink. The line was out the door yet he carried on, unhurried, unhindered by demand. He was the artisan. At first I felt out of place. After all I am the guy who drinks from carafes at Panera because I have a sip membership. So to be in a bespoke establishment pulled me out of my element to begin with. This is a discomfort I enjoy
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