A Coffee Meeting

It was one of the worst days to be late to my meeting. But in all fairness, they were all legitimate reasons: my alarm never went off, no one let the dog out so of course I had to, some stupid jerk decided it would be the best idea to go five under the speed limit, and to top it off I could not find a parking space so I had to park five blocks away and walk. It was ‘one of those days’. As I entered the coffee shop there were a few people chatting away, lost in their own conversations about the latest ‘did you hear?’ while others were taking a nice nosedive into their laptops, most likely on face book or youtube, or something pointless like that. I looked around for my friend and I spotted him at the two-seat table by the window. He seemed to be intrigued by all the busy people walking by that hardly had time for a chat over coffee. It was hard not to find him; after all he was the woodsiest yet homely looking man there. He sat sipping his black coffee, his deep brown eyes gazing out the window as if it were a theater stage. He had semi worn jeans (most likely Levi’s) and a warm looking button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I never did understand his very unfashionable liking for his worn sandals. He never seemed to be bothered by the fact that everyone knows you don’t wear sandals all day every day. His beard, bushy yet neatly trimmed, gave him that father figure look. Even after all these years he had not changed, not one bit. He never looked over at me, though I thought for sure that he saw me walk in. I ordered my very much-needed caffeinated tea, dumped some sugar in it (again, it was one of those days), grabbed a stirrer and sat down across from my friend. Without even glancing at me he solemnly said, “It’s incredible how busy people are these days.”

“Yeah” was all I could think of as a response for I knew he was including me in that category. You see, my friend has been asking me to meet with him for years. Yes. I did just say years. I am almost surprised the poor man agreed when I asked if he wanted to grab a coffee, to which he responded, “ I hope you can give more time than to just grab your coffee”. He had an insightful sense of humor. Now that I think of it though, I never actually laughed too often at his jokes because they were more of a wake up call with a dose of truth mixed in. As we sat there sipping our hot beverages I casually asked him, “So what’s new with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, yeah…I just thought I’d start a conversation somehow after all these years.”

He looked at me with eyes that danced with joy yet lingered in a calm sadness. I decided to just go ahead and jump to the point. “Look, I asked to meet with you because, well, I’m not doing so great.” He was silent so I took the liberty to continue. “You see, I’m okay with where I am in life, don’t get me wrong. Ya know, I got everything going good and smooth but....” I got lost and tangled in my memories. Memories of close friends leaving me, my father being diagnosed with cancer, my uncertainty of the future. Then my thoughts were interrupted by a gentle voice, “But your heart is what’s not so good”.

“Well. Yes. I mean it’s not like I’m depressed. No that’s not it at all. I just. I’m feeling a bit lost. I’m feeling a bit left behind, a bit broken. I’m feeling…” I searched for the word that really described my state but could not for the life of me think of it. After a few seconds of random hand gestures and odd faces my friend decided to help me out, “Empty” he said almost sounding delighted. This tone baffled me so I asked, “Why did you say it like that? You almost sound relieved. Aren’t you supposed to be sad or hurt that I feel this way?” I was unnoticeably getting annoyed and frustration seeped into my tone. I felt I was on a roll so I continued my necessary case against my friend. “You know how much I’ve gone through; my financial difficulties, my friendship issues, my own hurts. I know you know what I am talking about so don’t act like you’re sad for me now!” I began to feel my heart race. It felt so good to know I was justified in what I was saying. As some would say I was really ‘giving it to him’. “You’ve told me time and time again to listen to your advice, to follow it and everything would work out for good. Well mister I-know-all-about-your-life I hate to say that you don’t know a thing about my life. I have not seen you in years and you’ve told me that you’re advice is the best way to life? Oh, no my friend. That is where you are wrong. I think I would know me the best since I’m me. You’re not me!” At that point I realized I was now standing and the cashier was staring me down. I waved the ‘my apologizes’ hand, took my seat, and then looked straight at my friend, “You. Are. Not. Me.” He had not flinched during my soapbox sermon; the speech did not even seem to faze him. Then looking into his cup of coffee that had maybe one or two sips left he calmly broke my serge of frustration with this question, “Then why are you here?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Then why are you here?”

I was now that kid who just got hit too hard in the stomach with the ball during dodge ball. I searched for an answer to that very simple question. For some reason I found myself staring into my cup of tea as if by magic an answer would appear spelled out in alphabet soup letters. Needless to say that never happened. So after some consideration I gave the very deep and philosophical answer of “I have no idea”. There was silence for what seemed like hours. He kept gazing at me, as if I would suddenly have an answer if he looked intently enough at me. Then in a voice so pure and light that even the breeze could not carry he said, “Be honest with me, admit why you’re really here”. I began to think back to the day I had called him up and then I began to speak not knowing what I was really saying or even if I made complete sentences.

“You’ve told me over and over how to live the best life but in all honestly, I can’t do that. It is way too hard. I am just so busy. I have life to live and life to figure out. You’re advice and standards for living is so inconvenient. It’s ridiculous. I wonder if you even know what comes out of your mouth sometimes. It’s so illogical. So I’m failing. Miserably. Just keep me out of your big plans or your life changing advice because I can’t take it and apply it. I just keep messing it all up. I am miserable living this way because I feel like such a screw up. I am not good enough to live the way you’re telling me to. I’ll continue to mess it up, I promise you that.”

Silence. A sip. A smile.

“What? What in the world are you smiling at? You asked me to be honest and I blatantly was and now you’re just going to sit there and smile at me? Are you serious?”

“Because of all you admitted to me now, I can help you even more. But you have to be willing to have my standards and advice to be inconvenient and hard to apply. That’s all part of the challenge. I know how much life has gotten to you and I’ve seen your troubles.”

This was one of my favorite topics to get fired up about. “Then why haven’t you helped me out? You know I need a job and some financial security.”

“Yes. But if you had all you needed where would that put me? Aside until the next valley comes? No. I need to see who you are when the job is gone, when the money is not always there. Are you still willing to live inconveniently even when your life is already inconvenient?”

“What so this is all a stupid test of yours? How does this help me?”

“Call it what you will, but you’ll see how your self-discipline and diligence in the little things lead to bigger blessings.”

That made sense to me and doused my fired up spirit. Be diligent in the small things and you’ll be trusted with the bigger jobs. It made sense from a logical standpoint at least. He had finished his last sip. I knew our talk was going to be over soon, he never likes to sit down and answer all my questions. Then he began, “I just need to ask one thing”. I had never heard him ask something of me before. “Go ahead” I responded half with hesitation and half with fear. “What will you give to me?”

“What kind of question is that?” He did not respond but left me to answer the question. I looked around, “Uhm, I don’t know, you can have my watch or something, I really don’t get it”. He decided to translate his foreign question into another foreign language, “What will you trust me with?” My first response was to just get up and walk away because he sounded like a crazed homeless man begging for valuables in a weird way. But then I thought. It clicked. “I have nothing to offer.”

“Why not?” he asked, rather intrigued.

“Because all I have is my messed up past life, my messed up present life, and most likely a messed up future life. Like I said, I mess up everything. I have nothing to give you because I don’t even have my life figured out. I don’t have anything figured out. I have completely empty hands.” He then grabbed his coffee cup in his large hand, leaned forward and whispered, “There are two things you should know about me, one I am an expert at creating beauty from ashes and failures and two the only thing I ever wanted was willing yet empty hands. After all, I did not come merely to discuss your life with you; I came to give life to you”. With that he swiftly stood up, dropped some money in the tip jar, and walked out the door. Though I had not talked to him for years, I knew he was looking out for me. I realized it was time to have a friendship with him again. He never answered all my questions, but he always gave me the comfort I was looking for. Let me tell you, I never forgot that day. The day that I had coffee with God.