God is...good to the last drop

Alright, I admit it...I am a coffee snob.

I look down my nose at people who slurp down gallons of Folgers (or worse yet, gas station coffee -- GAG..RETCH..WEEZE..COUGH) as if it had even the tiniest amount of flavor other than what it is -- icky brown water.

I know it’s wrong, I know it’s prideful, and I know it’s a sin (although I’m starting to believe that maybe drinking bad coffee is more of a sin), but come on after spending 13 years in the Marine Corps, 12 years in corporate america and 9 years in a traditional church -- I know what BAD COFFEE TASTES LIKE! So knowing that this is my “thorn in the flesh,” makes what happened to me yesterday even more amazing.

As is our usual practice, we left the house to drive to our Sunday morning gathering, late. We pulled up with about five minutes to spare and walked inside. Because we were running late, it was 40 degrees outside and since I had not had a chance to consume my usual amount of morning caffeine , I made a beeline for the community coffeepot.

Denied. The pot was empty and as I rifled through the draws and cabinets my heart sank. Not even so much as a coffee bean. Dang it. There was only one thing to do, put my jacket back on and walk down to the convenience-store on the corner. As I walked through the cold, my lengua reviled at the thought of having to gulp down whatever caca-coffee they carried (I figured it would be Folgers, Maxwell House or God forbid some kind of instant brand).

I quickly walked into the store and looked around, scanning all the aisles. The store carried the typical convenience store fare, chips, soda, candy, and junk food (basically anything that could be made out of processed sugar and dyed any number of colors). A rainbow of artery clogging goodness that would give pause to even the toughest of gluttons. Ding dongs, twinkies, snowballs, but no coffee. I made another pass. Nothing. Right about now, even a jar of Sanka was looking pretty good.

I turned and asked the clerk, if they had any coffee. He pointed to the shelf directly at my eye level and said, “there.” I looked at the shelf and strained my brain to understand what in the world he saw that I couldn’t. No where on the shelf did I see the familiar red or blue cans of those, oh so american crappy-coffee schleppers. Just as I was about to ask the clerk to come from behind the counter, the box in front of me suddenly came into focus.

G---e--v-a-l-i-a. Could it be. No it can’t be. What would gourmet coffee of that caliber be doing in a store of such lowly stature. I picked up the box, just to confirm, with touch, that my eyes were not deceiving me. Sure enough it was a box of Gevalia Premium Dark Roast. I quickly snatched up two boxes and purchased them.

As I stepped back out onto the sidewalk, my thoughts hit me just as hard as the biting north wind. The thoughts that swirled through my head were about expectations, and stereotypes. I was convicted about how sad it was, that as I walked into that little rundown corner store, I was so sure they would not have the same taste for good coffee, much less the means to provide it. I was also encouraged, because I am beginning to realize that “God is good,” whether I expect it or not.

Padre in cielo, forgive me for allowing my prejudices and low expectations of you to color my life. Continue to teach me how good you are to all of your people. Make me your instrument to bless others every where you put me. Amen

Comments

[paul soupiset]

Mmmmmm coffeee

[lori]

Hypothetically, if a person were stuck with only Folgers instant coffee and that person found herself in possession of leftover candy canes, she might melt said candy canes into something that no longer tastes of coffee at all, but is just a caffeinated hot peppermint liquid. A hypothetical person's gotta do what a hypothetical person's gotta do.
But I really didn't miss your bigger point. God constantly surprises me with His bigness and goodness in similar ways that maybe other people wouldn't even find significant. Good story.