Macs Coffee Shop

We were driving north to Camp Barakel, where my dad was going to speak for a week of camp.

“Guys,” my dad said, “when we get up north, I’m going to take you to a cool spot I found. It’s a coffee place called Mac’s Coffee Shop.”

It was about two and a half hours to Mac’s, and we were perfectly content with the drive because of the anticipation he kept building.

We drove across the Zilwaukee Bridge north out of Saginaw. The city gave way to farms, and the farms gave way to woods. Eventually we got off the interstate and followed two-lane highways through dense evergreen forests toward Mio.

As we pulled into town, my dad turned into a McDonald's parking lot and said, “Here it is. Mac’s Coffee Shop.”

If I remember correctly, we got dinner and coffee. I remember pie, too.

Last weekend I officiated a wedding just outside Grayling, on the banks of the Au Sable River, about twenty minutes from Mio.

After the wedding, instead of driving straight home, I added about an hour to the trip. I took my family to Mac’s.

I watched my children laughing and having a good time around the same tables where, many years ago, my brothers and I had done the same.

I had a double cheeseburger, a coffee, and a pie.

And I remembered my dad.

With a little creativity — and the right attitude — he had turned something completely ordinary into a memory that lasted a lifetime.

Last weekend, I realized he had done it again.

Bless you,
Pastor.