The following article by Blair Waltman, a sophomore at East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma, really got me thinking this morning...
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Java God
by Blair Waltman
I am a coffee kind of girl. Everyone has their little morning things, their routines. Little fingers play with Cheerios. A mother’s creased and floured hands make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - with the crust removed, of course. A bachelor defrosts a breakfast burrito and watches ESPN highlight reels. Someone opens up shop for the day. And I have coffee.
I’m ritualistic about it; any dedicated drinker is. It’s taken a certain way - sugar and no cream, and dark. Flowing, steaming, ebony streams. I’ll curl up on the couch, wrap myself around a mug, and while away the morning hours. Time becomes unimportant.
So, as tradition dictates, every morning I wander into my tiny kitchen, dig blindly in the cabinet for the medium roast grounds. I measure off the teaspoons and heat a old chrome percolator, a castoff I inherited from my brother that, in my opinion, really tastes better than those plastic machines.
Like any creature of habit, I’m not a fan of my ritual being disturbed. Unless there is some demanding circumstance, say, for example, a fire in the apartment, I tend to get grouchy if I cannot get my morning coffee.
It’s not the caffeine charge that compels me - at this point I think I’m nearly immune. But I enjoy the flavor, the smell, the withdrawal from the rush of life in slow sips. If I miss it in the morning, the day feels a little off. Skewed. It bothers me for my first few hours of the day.
Earlier this week, as I began the 7:15 am tradition, my mind wandered. Most people, at this point in their day, are thinking about sleep. If they’re thinking yet at all. But my mind curled and swept through random venues, a leaf in a river. All the time my hands moved independent of me, not requiring the mind to directly dictate movement. They know what to do.
I thought, as my mindless hands opened up the coffee grounds, that I hadn’t read my Bible the night before. I’d been so tired. And as I poured heaped spoonfuls of medium blend into the percolator, I realized I hadn’t spent much real time with God that week at all. The week had been hectic, and I’d pressed Him somewhere in the dusty back corners, along with phone calls long needing a return and laundry. I realized, as I put the coffee pot on the lukewarm burner, that it was easy for me to do this - to put Him in the back of my mind. There was initial guilt, of course, but it didn’t effect my day. I could go on completely oblivious to it. I wouldn’t even notice.
As I poured out the kohl-colored liquid into a green mug, I had one more thought:
I would notice more if I didn’t get my coffee than if I didn’t spend time with God.
This isn’t limited to beans and drinks. I think maybe we all have our coffees - something that, if we went a day without, we wouldn’t function. We’d be upset. The day would not be a complete one. We’d be aggravated and moody without it. It could be a boyfriend or girlfriend; television; Internet; sports, whatever. Usually it isn’t God. Maybe we’ve got God in our heads as something we can pick up and put on the shelf when not in use, and we can use it when we will. But its absence isn’t a disaster.
None of these things, not coffee or boyfriends or video games are inherently bad. But does it seem a little off that we would be more upset about missing them for a day than God?
I poured my coffee down the sink. All of it. I had none that morning. And you know what?
I didn’t miss it.
