When Your Cup Is Empty, or Just Cold, and Needs Nuked...
I love a big cup of coffee.
Or a big cup of hot tea, English Breakfast, please.
Like, I am not sure what life would look like without that first drink in the morning. I vaguely remember the days, when I would say, “I don’t want any coffee.”
And Justin would fall into a fetal position because this could only mean one thing.
I was pregnant.
Interestingly enough, he was the “good” Catholic. And he knew full well that my OBGYN warned us. Dr. Sinclair had a name for patients who practiced the rhythm method for birth control… “pregnant.”
A steamy cup of love is what motivates me to the bed at night, so I can wake in the morning and have some.
And, no matter my mood, health, wealth, or mindset, since my hysterectomy, I always wake to have a big cup of something steamy.
Rarely, if ever do I finish the entire cup.
Usually, I lose it. Most often I find it later in the evening when I open the microwave to heat up leftovers.
There it sits, a cup, that many hours earlier held the fuel by which I was convinced I was motivated.
Funny, you couldn’t pay me to drink the room temperature sludge at this point in the day. The cream is slightly coagulated. It dances in the cooled oils and spreads spider-like legs.
Worse, I don’t find the half-drunk cup of hope until the next day… or even the day after.
All this to say, I had another meltdown. I know, shocking. But I did. I sat and had a good, hopeless and discouraged cry. Things seem to be building up, crashing down, and staying the same as always.
She is a good friend. But like my coffee, she can’t be the thing that is my help.
With troubles of her own and a missing cup of coffee, she is just human.
Only moments after my meltdown, she had stuff to tend to. Kids needed dinner, bills needed to be paid, and most certainly, she would set the coffee pot to automatically turn on, first thing in the morning.
A driving force.
And I was almost certain there would be no Friday post. For how can one say something funny or wise when one is absolutely… spent?
But for the one thing, I can count on, without fail.
Sure, I am talking to me, and you.
Here is the thing, in my recent research for upcoming podcasts, posts, and books, I have been learning about some other spiritual practices. Ones that, by all accounts seem to work quite well in the ways of a peaceable existence.
Folks that meditate, chant, and practice clean diets, they seem just fine. Well, until I hear they don’t drink coffee with heavy cream and some wicked artificial sweetener, that is my love language. And that just seems sad and without hope.
But greater, those practices have this one thing, I guess I can’t give up on.
In all the messes, lost cups, and spilled milk, there is no practice I can turn to that doesn’t include Jesus.
I confess I question this. Some days, when it seems nothing is going right, when it would make sense to try anything else, I cannot deny Him. Darn it if I don’t really like Him.
And at this point, there isn’t much point in saying that and not meaning it. If things are hard and sad and I still believe… that means more than anything else I could put my hope in.And at this point, there isn’t much point in saying that and not meaning it. If things are hard and sad and I still believe… that means more than anything else I could put my hope in. #coffeeandjesus Click To Tweet
With all the pangs of disappointment and a long journey home ahead of me, Rebecca grabbed her gratitude journal, a practice I shared with her a while ago and said, “I haven’t filled in my gratitude pages in days!”
I hadn’t filled in mine either.
And with the click of a pen and a little deep searching, we listed things, some trivial at best to be thankful for.
And a big ol’ cup of coffee.
In an instant, there was a Friday post and a full cup of something. It doesn’t get lost. It never grows cold or moldy. You don’t have to zap fry it thrice in one morning, because someone can’t find their socks. It is fully satisfying. Complete. And thoroughly works, simply because I believe.
I really do believe.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick. Longing fulfilled is the tree of life. That tree is where my hope hung, a sacrifice that perfected this walk… back and forth to the coffee pot.
When I am weary, I need only give thanks.
It is then my cup overflows.
Happiest of days to you. May your coffee be warm and Jesus be all over you. Love, Jami
With praise and thanks, they sang this song to the LORD: “He is so good! His faithful love for Israel endures forever!” Ezra 3:11
P.S. About two and a half years ago I was encouraged to start a thanksgiving journal. It was in a season of my life of great sadness and loss. I confess I had not filled in my journal for over a month. A habit I won’t soon forget again. I try and write 10 things I am thankful for every night. Some nights I have hit 20 or 30 things… other nights, I have honestly just listed the names of my children and Justin… and then coffee, roasted Brussel sprouts, and lavender essential oil. But there is a mental shift that happens to me when I give thanks. I fully believe it is the Holy Spirit. I have a five-year gratitude journal. This is most fun because I can look back at where I have been… and where I am headed. I am putting a few links below for Gratitude Journals I have myself or gifted to others. However, any spiral notebook or pad and pen will do. I encourage you, especially if you are in a hard season, to start a Gratitude Journal. You can write, “thankful for this advice on the very first line.” (wink)
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