Holiness That Smells Like Coffee
- Beata
- Apr 22
- 4 min read
Updated: Jun 14
Holiness That Smells Like Coffee
If holiness had a scent, I think it would be the smell of coffee in the morning — warm, comforting, real. Not incense from a distant temple. Not rose petals from a saint's grave. Just coffee, in the quiet corners of our everyday lives.
Between laundry and conversations, between tiredness and trust that it all matters.
From Silence to Speaking
I used to think that if I wasn’t perfect, I couldn’t speak. I hid my words like fragile things in a drawer. I convinced myself that silence was humility, when really — it was fear.
I’ve always loved words. I used to write poetry and radio scripts, and people around me knew that writing was “my thing.” But what I write now is different. It’s deeper, braver — and it carries a weight of responsibility.
Not to impress, but to bless.
There’s something vulnerable about opening your heart in a world that’s quick to scroll and slow to stay. But the longer I stayed quiet, the louder the ache became.
And then I remembered Photini — the Samaritan woman. The woman with a complicated past and a scandalous thirst. She didn’t wait until she was perfect.
She ran. She ran back to her town without water, breathless from encounter, unpolished, but full of truth. And people listened. Not because she was holy — but because she was real.
The Permission to Be Real
Holiness, I’ve come to believe, isn’t about perfection.
It’s about permission
Permission to be who you are, with God.
Not the polished version. Not the filtered photo.
Just you.
That means bringing Him the mess and the masterpiece, the laundry and the longing, the skipped prayers and the quiet hopes. Holiness begins when we stop hiding and start handing over.
It’s not about earning God’s love — it’s about letting it meet you exactly where you are.
For women who’ve grown up thinking holiness is unattainable — something reserved for cloisters or canonizations — this is good news: You can be holy in the kitchen. In traffic. In grief. In motherhood. In healing.
You don’t need to be brilliant to be a light.
You just need to burn.
Spiritual Connection:
“The Lord has given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.”
(Isaiah 50:4)
This verse has followed me for years. It’s not about speaking eloquently. It’s about speaking faithfully. If God gives me a word, even if it’s wrapped in trembling, I want to give it away like warm bread — simple, nourishing, real.
Where This Meets You
Maybe today you feel small.
Maybe you think holiness is something other people achieve — the saints in stained glass, the ones who never mess up.
But maybe… maybe you are already walking in it.
In the way you listen.
In the way you forgive.
In the way you keep going, quietly, faithfully, holding on.
So here’s a gentle invitation:
Let yourself be touched by God today.
Let Him stroke your heart like a child strokes a cat — not to fix you, but to comfort you.
And then, gently, do the same for someone else.
A smile. A message. A meal. A prayer.
That’s holiness too.
Reflection: My Own “Holiness That Smells Like Coffee”
☕ Reflection: My Own “Holiness That Smells Like Coffee”
1. What does holiness mean to me today?
“You don’t need to do great things — only small things with great love.” – St. Teresa of Calcutta
2. What lies about holiness have I believed?
“True humility is living in the truth.” – St. Teresa of Ávila
3. Where can I let God work in me today?
“God wants a soul that surrenders without conditions, not one that tries to fix everything by itself.” – St. Faustina
Closing Quote:
“Holiness is letting God act in you — and not getting in His way with your ego.” - Alicja Lenczewska
This line convicts me in the gentlest way. I used to think holiness was about doing more to please God and people, too — but it’s really about getting out of the way.
My ego wants control, clarity, and applause.
God wants surrender. Trust. Hiddenness.
When the ego dies, the soul can finally speak.
When I stop performing for approval, a different voice emerges — quieter, truer.
It’s the voice of the soul that longs for God, that dares to believe that even I can become holy… if I let Him.
The holiest moments, I’ve found, are often the ones where I am least in control — the unscripted, unfiltered, unedited spaces where His grace fills the silence I would normally fill with effort.
I don’t need to be brilliant to be a light. I just need to burn.
You find more about Photini — the Samaritan woman - reading John 4 from the Scriptures.
And about humility you can read in this post:
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