Stay Salty: What I Did with a Pot of Coffee

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?”—Matthew 5:13 (NIV)

#StaySalty

I was back at work just twelve weeks after losing my daughter, Machaela.

Twelve weeks after holding her tiny body.

Twelve weeks after planning for a baby that turned into a funeral.

Twelve weeks after my world cracked open and the colors faded.

And there I was—standing in an apron again, pretending everything was fine.

I was waitressing at Sizzler, and on my very first night back, the regulars came in. An older couple. They showed up every night—always ten minutes before closing. They ordered the same thing without fail and demanded a freshly brewed pot of decaf coffee, even if it meant I stayed an hour late.

I didn’t have much patience for them before my daughter died. They weren’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. Suspicious of the busboys. Rude to the staff. Always clinging to their purses like we were criminals. I was tired. I was grieving. And the last thing I needed was to wait on people who had never once shown a drop of kindness.

That night, the woman looked up at me with a casual flick of her wrist and asked, “How’s your baby?”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to burst.I quietly answered, “She didn’t make it.”

And without missing a beat, this woman, who always demanded her decaf hot and fresh, responded with:

“Well, that’s good. The last thing America needed was another welfare case.”

The room spun. My knees went weak.

I could feel the blood rising to my face and my hands shaking as heat surged through my body. My grief turned to fury so fast it startled even me. I looked down at the scalding coffee pot in my hand and, for a split second, I was tempted.

Really tempted.

But I didn’t pour it.

Instead, without saying a word, I slammed onto her dinner plate and walked away.

What Kind of Salt Are You?

That woman didn’t know my story.

She didn’t know my baby had been prayed for, longed for, or how many tears I’d cried.

All she saw was my uniform.

Just a waitress.

Someone to boss around.

Someone beneath her.

But here’s the truth:

People’s words don’t define you.

They might sting, but they don’t stick—not unless you let them.

Weak people call names.

Broken people label others to feel better about themselves.

And hurting people? They often aim to hurt.

But you are not who they say you are.

You are who God says you are.

And He says you are valuable.

Chosen.

Set apart.

Salt of the earth.

I could’ve dished out the full bitter brew of worldly salt that night—and honestly, part of me still wants to. Even now, years later, there's a small part of me that wonders what it would’ve felt like to say exactly what was on my mind. But what would that have changed? It wouldn’t have healed anything, it would’ve just added to the wreckage. I didn’t realize it then, but now I know Jesus didn’t stop me because He wanted me to stay silent or be weak. He stopped me because He was calling me to rise higher—to be stronger, wiser, and more like Him.

Salt in Jesus’ time wasn’t just flavor—it was a healer. It preserved what mattered. It brought out the best in everything it touched. That’s the kind of salt God calls us to be. Not the kind that burns—but the kind that brings beauty and restoration.

So when the world dishes out cruelty, don’t match their bitterness. Season it with grace.

Mama, You Are the Salt.

You have every right to be hurt.

You have every reason to feel the fire.

But don’t lose your salt.

Don’t let this world dilute the flavor God placed in you.

Be bold, be gracious, be kind.

Stay salty—the right kind of salty.

Let’s Reflect:- Has someone’s cruelty ever stirred up worldly saltiness in you?

- What labels have people tried to put on you that God never intended?

- How can you bring God's healing and flavor into a hard or unfair situation today?

A Simple Prayer:

Jesus, when life feels unfair and people say things that cut deep, help me to pause and remember who I am in You. Let me be salt that heals, preserves, and brings out beauty in the bitterness. Teach me to carry Your grace when I want to carry offense. Thank You for being close when the hurt runs deep. I want to reflect You, not the world. Help me stay salty in the best way. In Your Precious name, Amen.