Oh For Someone To Bring Me a Cup of Coffee

To me, one of the loudest shouts of “I love you,” comes from someone making or bringing me a cup of coffee. However, here I find myself married, now for the third time, to yet another husband who does not drink coffee. Not only that, but this one is blind, so he isn’t able to do much for me at all in the way of acts of service.

I must say, this concern actually crossed my mind before we made the decision to tie the knot.

I know, it’s kind of a silly thing to put on “the list” of what is desired in a mate, but acts of service is actually my strongest love language. I definitely thought long and hard about what it would be like to be married to someone who could not serve me in any physical capacity.

This morning as I made my pot of coffee (that only I will drink), I loved on myself for a bit, and was comforted. Grateful that I had a new coffee pot, and that I had some gourmet coffee on hand, I turned on my filtered water, and ground the beans, allowing the amazing aroma to bless my senses. I stopped for a moment to give thanks for all of the many things I have that I all too often take for granted.

I can’t remember that last time someone actually brought me a cup of coffee. It has been many years. I could feel sorry for myself that I am destined for a life of never receiving this small blessing again, but then, I just as quickly remember how God continually pours His favor on me and my family.

We have so much, and I know there are those who may never know what it is to turn on a faucet and have clean water. Or those who would never be able to buy gourmet coffee beans. Or even afford a coffee maker.

I do not ever want to take for granted the small blessings, and I will continually decide that making my own coffee is a daily reminder of the greatest act of service ever given. To think that Jesus would allow Himself to be beaten beyond recognition so that I could have a genuine relationship with Papa is truly beyond my scope of reasoning. He allowed the soldiers to drive nails into his hands and feet, and hung in agony until he could no longer breathe, just so the chasm could be crossed once again.

Indeed, a lifetime of making my own coffee each morning is a minuscule blip in the cosmic plan.

I am glad that whenever I am feeling sad about the lack of acts of service to speak my love language, I can have this reminder each morning to look to the King of Service, and be grateful.