It comes to me mid-service in a paper cup with plastic lid. The flavor is urn-style bulk ground coffee mixed with powdered creamer and sugar. Sometimes my coffee friend hunts down and finds real cream, adding a splash. Those occasions are rare, though.
This holiday season there was flavored creamer on the table in the narthex. Usually church coffee isn’t fancy. I love it that way. Plain. Simple. Full of love by the one who prepares it for me.
Getting out of the house on Sunday mornings is a feat in itself. Every week. I used to think it was because of small children and all of the work that moving the troops took. That is partly true. The other part is that we take ourselves with us. It is not all them. It is all of us. Sunday coffee becomes a dangling carrot.
This morning found us seated together in the front row of the overflow section. We were early late-comers. All of the best people soon surrounded us. I love that. We sang out loudly in the sound-absorbing
vacuum multipurpose room and endured the half-hour following the service that our fearless leader requires to socialize.
In between singing and socializing, church coffee came to me in a piping hot cup, reminding me, once again, that my large bag carrying everything else did not carry my coffee cozy. I add it to the running list in my head titled things to pack for next time.