All I wanted was a Keurig in my early twenties with my coffee in a to-go mug. Travel mugs symbolized I was grown up, a professional, with important things to do and places to be. Time to brew a regular cup of coffee? Maybe someday when I was a grandparent.
Over the years the Keurig splashed out hundreds of cups of coffee as I frantically ran out the door, late to one more meeting or with a to do list long enough to strangle my soul. Coffee became more about sustaining a hectic life style, and less about enjoying waking up or appreciating a pause to recharge.
There is a certain barrenness to busyness, and it had crept into my life undetected much like a few loose coffee grounds can in the bottom of a cup. The gritty flavor jolted through my soul as a friend remarked they had never seen my crazy side. More startling came the gradual and heart breaking realization that I couldn’t even remember the last time I had met that side of my personality. The layers of busyness and good things had buried the best things leaving a vast barrenness I didn’t know how to handle or even name. The aftertaste of barrenness haunted me long after my to go mug was drained every day, its flavor piercing through the haze of busyness. Desperation fueled prayers for healing and freedom.
The Lord sent an older couple I barely knew, and they very simply invited me in. The first few times I visited them and was served a cup of French pressed coffee, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Why did I like it so much? This couple wasn’t even using a brand known for its taste. We sat around the table with no agenda. Sometimes we talked; sometimes we sat and woke up slowly in silence, as we sipped the coffee. They gave me a gift neither of us realized. The experience seemed to connect with my soul, much more than my taste buds.
I was tasting space. A concept foreign to me, but one my soul was famished for. My soul had been slowly starving even as my life produced a great amount of accomplishments, and attended many important meetings.
Dreams of a time when I could drink my coffee out of a regular mug began invading my thoughts. What would it be like to ditch the travel mug?
What if “to be still and know He is God” was also a physical practice and not just a strictly spiritual one? What if being still meant simply that: to be still?
If you were to peek into my kitchen today, you would see a French Press residing next to the Keurig. There are mornings when I still run off, but they are becoming less and less the norm. Laughter is being born more out of merriment and less out of sarcasm.
Space is where my soul is being renewed. The emptier my regular coffee mug becomes in the morning, the fuller my soul gets. It is there in the space that I can just simply be. Space was the gift my friends led me to. This space is a place to dream and appreciate beautiful things. I relish the ten minutes it takes me to brew a cup of French pressed coffee. It’s a space to experience Immanuel, God with us. The ever-present God, the One with whom I must be fully present to experience.
The taste of space, is a rich full one.