Coffee

 February 3, 2021

I’m listening to my friend Willie as he talks about coffee. He’s explaining how they process it

In Cuba, using ancient hand operated machines and time-honored methods. Cuba’s governmental restrictions coupled with the already tenuous Cuban economy has made life even more difficult for average Cubans, who are no strangers to hard times. Pray for Cuba. We are inconvenienced; they are desperate.

It’s the coffee itself that interests me tonight. Folklore tells us that coffee originated in Ethiopia, supposedly by accident, by a shepherd. I have often wondered what prompted someone to dry the beans, roast and crush them, dump them in boiling water and then throw away the grounds. Whatever the motive, I’m glad someone thought to do this. I love my coffee, the stronger, the better. 

It occurs to me that coffee is a lot like life. We have dry times, times when we go through the fire. We get crushed and ground almost to dust before being dumped into hot water. If it takes all that to bring out the flavor of the bean, it takes no less to bring out the best in us. Without all that, there’s no coffee. Without all that, we cannot give off the aroma and flavor of the life God has placed within us. It’s the difficulties, the trials that reveal the quality of the bean. I can’t say that I like the process, but I do like the end result, and am grateful that God never stops grinding, putting me through the fire, and tossing me into hot water. It’s the only way I can be the aroma that wakes someone up from the sleep of sin to the morning light of Christ.