looking through me

Tag: faith

January 14, 2016

coffee memories

Six mornings a week I pour coffee and cream into my commuter mug. I don’t depress the button and drink the coffee until I arrive and settle in at work or church. Coffee is to be savored, not consumed mindlessly on the drive.

But today the commute was a catastrophe. Twenty minutes and two miles into a nineteen-mile drive any semblance of a routine day was shot. Waiting to get to work before enjoying my coffee became a punishment—not a reward—so as I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic I took my first sip.

And I remembered again that coffee is more than a part of my daily ritual. It hit my taste buds and triggered a flood of associations:

Coffee tastes like stepping into childhood and the aromatic embrace of Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Coffee tastes like watching the sunrise in the stillness of the desert.

Coffee tastes like quiet moments before the office fills with people.

Coffee tastes like curling up with a book on Saturday morning.

Coffee tastes like long, soul-satisfying conversations with those who know me best.

Coffee tastes like the band warming up before the service on Sunday morning.

Coffee tastes like lingering around the table on holidays.

Coffee tastes like the sweet communion of unhurried time with Jesus.

By the time I pulled into a parking space at work my mug was empty, but my well of remembrance was overflowing.

 

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January 9, 2016

daily bread

I don’t pray for daily bread. It’s awkward asking God to provide for me when I have a well-stocked pantry, refrigerator and freezer and when I drive by more stores and restaurants than I can count, let alone eat at in a month. Why would I ask God to supply bread?

The request is about more than food—I know—but dependence of any kind is hard in a country that worships self-sufficiency.

Praying for daily bread is more confession than request. I look at my history of having more than enough every single day and somehow that translates into “but tomorrow might be different,” so I stockpile. I store up money and food and stuff. I fear what’s never been instead of trusting what’s been proven time and again.

I bear an uncomfortable resemblance to the Israelites as they wandered in the desert. Even though the manna shows up without fail each morning, I’m not convinced it will be there tomorrow. Even though I can trace the thread of God’s faithfulness back through my life, I’m not confident He will be faithful next week or next year.

I squirm in my seat and realize the arrogance of my non-prayer, the lie of independence.

Today I pray for bread: I confess my meager faith. I thank Him for His unwavering grace, and I acknowledge my need that is only able to be met by His provision.

 

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