I'll Take My Coffee Black

     This morning--I drank my coffee black.  I used to hate coffee--too bitter!  Until college... when I had my first sip of a delicious caramel frappuccino... Step one.  Pretty soon, the slight bitter zing of coffee (disguised by the dessert in a cup) lost its oomph.  A little less sugar, a little less milk.  Frappucinos became lattes became coffee with milk (soy), became just a bit of creamer... and now this.  A morning where I drank (and wanted) my coffee black.
     This morning--I have been sad.  I used to hate being sad--too bitter!  But being naive to the brokenness of this world can't last forever.  I have long sugared-up the pain presented to me by stuffing hard news with invented excuses "oh, I'm sure that person didn't really mean X, Y, Z", by straining out hurt and confused feelings while sprinkling on lots of distractions, and even by adding the whipped cream topper: "look at the bright side."  But little by little, I'm using less and less sweetener.  Less ignoring, less walls, less distractions, less optimistic write-offs... and now this.  A morning where I have been (and wanted to be) sad.
     Because there are some kinds of sadness that are right.  It's the kind of sadness that comes when I watch a boy we have poured into for the past two years make the decision to leave Micah and return to the streets.  The sadness that comes when I think of him shivering and cold, decidedly dismissing our roof of protection and circle of love.  It's a sadness that comes when a friend I once shared all my thoughts, dreams, hurts, and hopes with is no longer with me and can no longer hear me... nor I her.  It's a sadness that comes when I read one of my boys' writing: "I am choosing to reject Jesus, because I am living my own life." What life?  It's a sadness that comes when I see everyone, all of us, making the same decision to live for ourselves and because of that not really living at all.  It's a sadness that comes when I read about the crowd that waved palm trees before that Jesus, ready to make him king, and the very next week shouting "Crucify him!"  It's a sadness when I wonder "Am I a part of that crowd?"  It's a sadness, a deep sadness, that comes when I see us wanting to kill God.
     There is a bitterness that isn't meant to be sugared down.  There is pain.  There is injustice.  There is sin, and there are consequences.  And it is sad.
     And that's okay.
     I don't know if okay is even the right word, but I accept the sadness.  I think that's part of all this--being here, living.  There is a lot of sadness...

     You know, coffee is an intricate experience--when you've been at it long enough.  Strip away all the additives and there are so many flavours to be explored!  It's crazy to me that there are people who can drink a cup of coffee and know what country the beans came from!  But that's not how the coffee journey starts (at least from my experience).  All coffee (at first) tastes like, well, coffee.  Bitter and gross.  But with time and refined taste, what once was bitter becomes beautiful.
     Sadness is like that.  At least, the sadness I am talking about.  Because though I'm still sad, I'm also joyful.  I can't explain it.  The deeper the sadness, the fuller the joy.  Not mixed, but separate... and yet together.  Each flavour highlighting the other.
     Because... the saddest thing I can think of is the cross.  Jesus, our Lord and God who only ever loved us and lived life right, suffered for you and for me.  He suffered.  The pain of this world?  He faced--sugarless.  Bitter.  Death.
    Because.... the most beautiful, joyful thing I can think of is the cross.  Jesus, our Lord and God loved us and lived life right, he suffered for you and me.  The pain of this world? He faced--sugarless.  Bitter.  Death.  To bring LIFE.  True life.  Life that no longer separates us from the Father. Life that brings us into his presence and enables us to know him--beautiful wonderful him.  Life that lasts forever.
     There are so many flavours to be experienced.  And I am not afraid of any of them.  With hope there is hurt.  With beauty there is pain.  But I can taste them all knowing that my Saviour lives.  He himself was a man of many sorrows... And yet he promised us his joy.  A joy that he endured the cross for, scorning its shame, that we may be with him forever.
    And so, give me my coffee black.  I want to see this world for what it is, but even moreso, I want to see Jesus for who he is.  Yes, through all the bitterness, I taste and see that God is good.