Almighty Coffee
I met God for coffee the other day and we chatted about the days I still believed in him. Sipped my latte and chuckled when he said he still believed in me. We made small talk on the worsening weather and the sorry state of politics. Hung our heads about how little we could do to change their course. Reminisced about old friends we don’t keep in touch with. He mentioned Adam, Eve, all the old prophets. People change after they die, he says, after they get a better glimpse of all the mysteries of the universe. Why hang around an old know-it-all, when they nearly know it all? Looking at the table, tracing a single line of grain back to the seed it came from, he mentioned his son wasn’t speaking with him. Something about feeling used. I ordered him another espresso and we shared an apple muffin. Sometimes, he whispers, he wishes he could just start over. But, promises are promises. I hold his right hand and smile, saying time heals all wounds, but the scars we leave on our children lay in their hearts forever. Mean, perhaps. But what’s a harsh platitude to God? He wrote them all. And I don’t want to dwell on the scars I’ve left behind.
