It’s official: I am addicted to caffeine. To be more specific, I can’t get going without that first morning mug of warm, waking, pulse pumping, real coffee. Well, if I’m being totally honest, those first mugs plural.
And it has to be real coffee, not instant. Just as a wine lover relishes the specific flavours of different grape varieties, so I love picking out the uniqueness of coffee beans from different parts of the world. My favourites tend to be African coffees with their fruity citrussy hints, especially the rarer Rwandan beans that bring back great memories of living there.
I also have preferences about which mug I like to drink out of. Somehow it tastes better out of a high quality receptacle with a beautiful design. Sadly one of these, Royal Worcester china with bold poppies against purple, has developed a crack inside and now leaks so I can’t use it anymore.
Sometimes, oftentimes, I think I’m like that mug.
I leak energy.
I leak resilience.
I leak hope.
I leak faith.
And it can feel like constant effort to keep asking God to top me up. Like the family laundry basket that never stays empty for long, it can feel like a constant battle to keep on top of. Sometimes it can feel like a losing battle.
But as I poured my coffee this morning, I realised I might have this metaphor wrong.
I’m not the leaking cup. I’m the coffee pot.
I’m the coffee pot that pours out energy, hope, encouragement, faith into tasks and people, my own levels depleting as I do so. I’m the coffee pot that, even though it’s a thermos, gradually loses heat over time by a natural process of conduction.
So if I’m the coffee pot, God is the mains water supply, the beans that provide the flavour, as well as the filter machine and the electricity that combine these into something steaming and delicious to give both the coffee pot its purpose and a boost to all that need it.
My husband I never get by on just one pot of coffee each day. We need a fresh refill – or more on a hard to keep going day.
And I need refilling, maybe not so much because I am leaky and broken and somehow insufficient, but because fulfilling my purpose, pouring myself out, naturally depletes me. It’s a cycle: filling, pouring, cleaning, refilling.
Being full and ready to go is ok. So is running low. We can’t be full all the time. Needing to be refilled is how it’s meant to be.