Coffee Date

I love coffee dates with you. We go to that place with the couches. The coffee's strong and the light filters in through those green narrow-striped curtains like you're sitting in a forest.

We talk about the book you're reading right now by that obscure Scottish author. You tell me his brogue slips through when his passion rises. Your eyebrows hike when I tell you I'm reading The Communist Manifesto but they relax when I tell you it's so I'll know why Communism is not an economic model that works and always has a death toll of millions.

You ask how Australia is. And I tell you. I'd say we have full schedules and full hearts. Ours is a multigenerational work. There are many grandmas and grandpas on Sunday morning. A handful of families in the first service give us hope that the church will survive. We work with 0-5 year olds and their parents three days a week, mostly playing and talking to moms about what we're doing here. We wonder if they'll ever understand that Jesus is someone everyone needs.

At the high school, we have our girls' Bible study. There are newcomers all the time, but no one comes very faithfully. It's a new experience, inviting Jesus into the public schools. One afternoon a week, we teach Bible to first and second graders. They are all ears, but aren't afraid to ask tough questions about the reliability of what we're saying about God and the Bible.

I counter by asking you about that small group you're leading. You say it's going well, but sometimes it's hard to get anything meaningful out of high school kids. You're working on creating an environment where they feel safe to share what's really on their minds. You're reading Radical and it seems like some of them are getting it.

You get that curious look on your face and ask if there were any men in my life. I return with a haughty, coy look and tell you I've got heaps of men in my life, giving away the fact that I've been living in Australia for a while because I wouldn't have said "heaps" before. Again, the eyebrows arch. Really? Yeah. They're all wonderful. Some of them are dating my best friends, some are married to them. Some have given me a further passion for travel, others make me want to climb mountains and surf the seven seas, while others remind me that following Jesus is the only thing to live for. You roll your eyes. Oh, you meant, is there anyone made delirious by my wit and beauty? No. I keep yelling "I'm IMPATIENT" at the skies and God keeps whispering in my heart "do you trust Me?".

You nod knowingly and change the subject to future plans. Do I have any? Ha. Always. Move to Spain and teach English. Move to Kenya to teach 3rd graders. Look for jobs that involve baking bread, growing basil and country western two step. But really, I've interviewed with a few schools. I'll probably live at home for a bit until I figure out what's next. Yep. I'm going to be one of the rebound kids, move out, travel the world and come back home to eat my mom's cooking. I've reconciled myself to the idea by asserting that I could live on my own if I had to.

I ask how the dog is. You assure me she's mischievous as ever, stealing food from the kitchen counter and barking at possums in the wee hours of the morning. I chuckle and offer my condolences. I'm considering wanting a puppy. I haven't committed to wanting one yet. I know they take a lot of babysitting, and you aren't free from your contract for about 15 years, and that's more than 75% of my life so far, which sounds like a long time.

You drain the last puff of foam from the bottom of your mug. I check my watch and realize I should get home. You give me one of those hugs that says "I'm really glad we're friends". I give you a sunny afternoon smile and tell you we ought to do this more often. You nod. As we walk out of the coffee shop, the bell announces our departure. We go our separate ways, both glad our separate lives could intersect for an afternoon.