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A cup of hot coffee

Kathleen Klassen

It started out as a vision of sorts, more of a thought than a dream, but nonetheless vivid. I was transported to an African village. We had told the villagers the Good News of Jesus, and they had accepted the message with open hearts, ecstatic at what “good news” it really was.

With the radiant glow of a new believer, an African man spoke to me. “This certainly is Good News! And your whole village believes as we do? They know this news too? That’s wonderful!”

I had to hang my head and reply, “No, my village doesn’t know.”

With a pained expression and confusion in his eyes, he said, “If your village doesn’t believe, then why are you here?”

I was struck by the profound message of this dream and I began to have a renewed vision for my neighbourhood. I wouldn’t have to go through language training. I already knew the language, the culture and the people. Why was it so difficult to be a missionary in my own village? I began to pray for my neighbours, and this is what God began to do. . . .

It was May 16, and a provincial election was being held that day, but I awoke in the morning and had completely forgotten about it. I called my sister early, and chatted with my brother-in-law for a bit. He asked about the election, and I calmly said, “Oh, that’s not for a while, not until the 16th.” My brother-in-law politely reminded me that today was the 16th.

After I got off the phone, I began to make some coffee. I had just enough beans to make a full pot. I heard a voice in my head, “Make a full pot.”

I usually make only one cup. “Odd,” I thought, and then asked God, “Why? Is someone coming over?” I made a full pot of coffee, then again asked God why.

He said, “Take it with you when you go to vote.”

OK, I could do that. Being somewhat cheeky, I asked, “Black, or cream and sugar?”

Again, much to my surprise, He answered. “Black.”

Now, you would think that if I truly believed God had told me to make a full pot of coffee, and God had specifically told me to bring it to the polling station, I would also trust Him when He said “Black”, but no. – In my unbelief, I put some hazelnut creamer and cream into a thermal coffee mug “just in case”. All the while I was thinking, “I sure hope whoever this coffee is for wants cream and sugar, because this stuff is expensive!”

I picked up the carafe of coffee and the thermal mug with creamer, and went off to vote. The polling station was very quiet; only one other person was there voting. As I found my station and walked towards it, there, behind the table, was one of my neighbours from across the road, volunteering as a scrutineer for one of the political parties. “So that’s who the coffee is for, Lord.”

I voted, and then asked if I was allowed to speak with the scrutineers. I was, as long as it wasn’t a political conversation. I sat down and asked my neighbour how she was. She said she was fine, but it was boring sitting there all morning. I asked her if she would like a cup of coffee.

“I’d love one!” she replied.

I said, “I just happen to have some in the van. I’ll go get it.”

Looks of incredulity abounded, as those around us said, “You just bring coffee with you when you go out? Do you do this often?”

I responded, “No, this is my first time.” As I got up to leave, I added, “By the way, do you take it black or with cream and sugar?”

“Black” she replied emphatically.

As I walked away, I mumbled under my breath, “I knew that.” I went out to my van and retrieved the coffee pot and mug. I had to make a detour to the washroom to pour the expensive hazelnut creamer and real cream down the sink, thinking to myself, “I should have listened!”

I brought my neighbour the mug of hot coffee and sat down. The people around were still in a state of shock. “You do this often?” they queried. “You always keep coffee in your van in case someone wants a cup?”

I smiled and replied, “Well, no, I’ve never actually done this before – It’s kind of a ‘God’ thing.”

It was as if I had sucked the oxygen out of the room. The smiles faded from their faces, replaced by looks of steely fear. It was as if they were terrified of that name, and were hoping that I wasn’t about to launch into a sermon.

To lighten the tension, I turned to my neighbour and said, “So, how have you been? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” We joked about how far it is from my place to hers, across our large lawn, and everyone went back to their duties. As I left, I said, “There’s no rush for you to bring back the coffee mug. Whenever you have time.”

Later that morning, my neighbour was at my door, returning the coffee mug. I invited her in, and she said, “That coffee certainly was a Godsend!” I chuckled inwardly at her choice of words. She had no idea that she was speaking the truth quite literally!

We chatted, and she told me about some of her struggles, about her husband’s sore back and her own painful back problems.

I felt an overwhelming urge to ask her if she wanted prayer. I told her, “I believe in the power of prayer, I believe in miracles, and I believe in healing. Would you like me to pray for you and your husband?”

She said, “Well, it can’t hurt!” and proceeded to tell me more about the medications she was taking and how none of them were working.

I ventured farther. “Would you like me to pray for you right now? I can do that if you’d like.”

Again, her response was “Well, it can’t hurt!”

So, in the middle of my kitchen, in the midst of my busy day, I had the awesome privilege of laying hands on and praying for my neighbour, a dearly loved potential child of our King and a resident of my “village”.

As I finished praying, she gave me a hug and said, “Thank you.” As she was leaving, she said again “That coffee certainly was a Godsend!”

I quietly said to myself, “If she says that again, I’m going to have to tell her.”

Not surprisingly, she said it again.

I said, “I know this sounds strange, but that coffee really was a Godsend. You see, God told me to make a full pot of coffee this morning and to take it with me to the polling station.”

So, I had a chance to be a witness that day, and all it cost me was a cup of coffee – and, because of my lack of faith, some creamer down the drain.

Kathleen Klassen is a member of Black Creek (B.C.) MB Church.

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Last modified August 22, 2001.

© 2001 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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