Coffee Cups and Heaven

I like coffee. Most people who know me know that. I was often found grading papers in coffee shops, I was on a first-name basis with Colin who makes mochas at Film Festival, and many of my dearest friendships have been formed while holding a hot drink. I inherited this love from my father, who, back when I was less than a continent away, often invited me over for coffee on Saturday mornings. My enjoyment is not about the caffeine (though my friend Robin who makes the best lattes in the world seems to believe it to be his moral obligation to only ever give me decaf... hm). Rather, I enjoy the peace and comfort of holding a hot drink, and my palate appreciates the terrific flavor imparted by the bean. So while I enjoy coffee with friends, my favorite cup is the one I drink by myself in the morning as I quietly start my day in prayer.

So of course I need a good mug. One that holds enough to satisfy yet not so much that I get made fun of, insulates the beverage so that it stays drinkable for 45 minutes yet releases enough heat to feel warm as I hold it, rests perfectly in one or in two hands, and can fit all 4 fingers in the handle. But those are not the only requirements. Oh no- it needs to be heavy enough that I can't knock it over easily (some of you are smiling knowingly), it should represent something I like in my life, it mustn't drip, it has to be unique/unusual, I'd prefer it be handmade, and I want one that is of course purple. If you think I'm being too picky, consider the depth of relationship I have with my coffee cup- it is my companion each morning as I interact with God. It is privy to tears, to joy, to secret crushes, to wakeup hair. It never complains about morning breath. It moves gracefully from kitchen to end table to carefully-balanced-on-a-cushion without incident. It must match equally well with yogurt, toast, or a green chile omelet. Really, the demands on this coffee cup are intense.

Which explains why there was no telling how long it would take to find it. At each market or mall, I'd stop at the pottery stalls and hold the mugs that seemed promising. And yet never did I find The One. I knew it would call out to me- "I will be your companion! I will never spill on you more than twice a week! I am a worthy receptacle for Kenyan AA! Choose me!" Yet for a long month, the coffee cups were silent. But that all changed in a Kazuri Beads store last Sunday. Kazuri is a pottery business that employs disenfranchised members of Kenyan society- single mothers, disabled men, etc. They make beautiful beads, jewelry, and dishes. I had already held and rejected every purple piece of pottery in the place when my eye was drawn to a brown mug with some sort of African creature painted on it. On further inspection, it turned out to be an impala. A Gregarious Impala! The cup met all the other requirements besides color, and so I decided that perhaps it was time for me to expand my very purple horizons. Nine dollars later (hey, Kazuri's a business worth supporting), I had my coffee mug.

While in many ways this is an inspiring tale of triumph, I can't help but feel that I'm being a bit materialistic. Are possessions my source of joy? Does the comfort I take in things overwhelm the comfort I know from God? Or is God working through the things? I'm a big fan of symbols, of tangible objects that remind us of deeper reality- communion that reminds us of Christ's sacrifice and of our unity as believers, colored bracelets from friends in Thailand that remind me that we are knotted together in Christ, an amethyst ring from my mother that reminds me of her love and constancy, a prayer chapel that reminds me that an hour with God is often worth more than an hour of sleep. Physical objects give handles to my heart's knowledge. And I daresay it's heresy to believe that all things physical are bad. We will have new bodies in heaven, no? We will live on a new earth, right? I believe there is God-given value in physical things themselves: freshly baked bread, giant orange flowers growing on the flame tree outside my home, the sound of my brother's belly laugh, and even the feel of just the right coffee cup in my hand. But how important should things be?

In a transition guide for missionaries, we were encouraged to bring "sacred objects"- things that provide a link between where we've been and where we are. I brought some and maybe wish I had brought more. But no matter how much I enjoy the things or depend on them for consistency, it's the relationships I miss. And I can't help but feel that they are forever changed. Many of the people who were my primary friends, well, I haven't heard from since I left. Several folks I didn't expect to continue a connection with have instead strengthened it. I find it all very confusing. But one thing I will say: my longing for heaven is pretty close to the surface during this season of my life. I'm very aware that neither New Mexico nor Kenya is completely my home. I want all my relationships united in one place. I want the wholeness of knowing and being known. I want proper perspective on the physical world. And above all, I look forward to experiencing life distilled from sin and its consequences.

Finally being completely who we were made to be sounds perfect to me- I'm pretty sure I'll fit into God's hands even better than my impala coffee cup rests in mine.