It had been a so-so day. I hadn’t really accomplished too much; I’d been moving like molasses all day, the result of too many early mornings and late nights earlier in the week. I sealed up the last of the Oreo popcorn snack bags for the concession stand at my son’s theater show at school that night. Then I decided to make a cup of coffee as a pick me up before driving him to school for the show’s call time.
I brewed a single cup, Italian dark roast. It was strong and full-bodied and was just what I needed. Smiley face. I kept it on the down low. I didn’t want my mother to have a cup before we got in the car for a 2 hour round trip drive. That would require a bathroom stop, and time was already short that day. My cell phone rang. I headed outside to check the mailbox and bring in the trash cans from the street while touching base with my husband on the phone. Back inside, I went for another sip of that wonderful Java. But my cup was nowhere to be found. I searched the kitchen, the dining room table, the recycling bin outside. Where did I put it?!?
I circled back into the family room and there it was – in my mother’s hands. She was settling back into her chair with MY coffee! “You have my coffee!” I yelled.
“Your coffee? I didn’t know it was your coffee. I thought you poured it for me.”
“Well. It’s yours now,” grumble, grumble, grumble.
I rehashed the last few minutes in my mind. It wasn’t her fault. I’d given her two Oreo cookies as a snack and she’d left them on the kitchen counter while she went into the adjacent powder room. I’d set down my cup on the other end of the counter. She returned to the kitchen. Oh look, cookies and coffee! Two of her favorite things! Happy retreat to her chair in the family room.
I calmed down and decided to make another cup to take along on the drive to school. Ushering everyone into the car, I set down my purse and placed my freshly brewed elixir into the cup holder. “Is that mine?” she said.
Internal flare-up! “No it’s mine, you drank my other one!” I vented.
And then it happened. I heard that small voice, that gentle nudge that we followers of Jesus become aware of from time to time if we’re paying attention. The thought came to me – “I gave my life for you, can’t you give her a cup of coffee?”
The frustration drained away. My mother, who is struggling with dementia, cannot remember that she just drank a cup of coffee. She can’t remember that the slender, white mug is the one that I always use – every day. She just knew in that moment that there sat a cup of hot coffee with two cookies and she would enjoy the treat.
I enjoy so many good things every day and yet I was so possessive of that one cup of caffeine. As a young child hadn’t I had my very first sips of coffee from her cup, dipping my cookie in the creamy, warm liquid and wondering why I wasn’t allowed more? Now, I’d planned things for my convenience and not to give a moment of simple pleasure to someone who had already lost so much. I’m glad I was reminded that loving someone often means graciously sharing with them the things that are precious to us… acts of love done with hearts of gratitude.