I’m sat consuming another of my favourite tipples, Americano coffee with semi skimmed milk. . .frothed.
I’m on my first cup of the day and its aroma is evocative.
Todays coffee time is a welcome break from the rigmarole of life, from the hard graft that I undertake each day to make a living, its a welcome break from those who constantly drain the liquid from my flesh’s mental reservoir.
There is a lady collecting the cups strewn nonchalantly around this large seated dome.
It looks as if the task she strives to complete is going to destroy her confidence.
I’m observing the hight of the crockery stacked precariously on her stretcher with wheels, a trolley that is desperate to lose its cargo of cups positioned slothfully on its broad back.
Yet, she seems oblivious to the unfair position her employers have placed her in.
You see, it appears that the more she gathers, the more the melee of people demand a refill or additional foods, adding to her cargos silhouette mountain of discarded plates and garbage.
I’m not sure how I became acquainted with the viscous liquid we call coffee, or how I determined that this would be the tipple of the day!
All I know is that it now demands a position of authority in my day, quietly massaging my thinking and coordinating the movement of my limbs.
I feel that I should offer to help her, to take some of the burden from her trolley, to lighten her work load.
Yet, I dare-not!
You see, it is now customary for us to become accustomed to our individual trolleys, wether they be empty and in good working order, useful for the task they were designed for, or wether they are overladen trolleys that scream for rest, for a time to be repaired, to cast off all that hinders their progress.
So I sit and watch as the trolley passes me with the lady in-tow.
I really should make a move. There are papers that need my attention, paperwork that I have procrastinated over for some time.
There are chores that have escalated due to their position on my trolley of life, obscured by paraphernalia gathered indiscreetly on the journey of existence.
But, I am becoming fascinated by this ladies trolly, as its continues to gather more and more items, enthralled that it can still move, though its cargo is exceeding that which it was designed to carry.
I wonder what a frappuccino tastes like, if its chilled coffee I don’t think that I would like it! I have often, by mistake, drank the dregs in my coffee cup, and balked as the cold fragments of coffee clammer for affection on my traumatised taste buds. Very disturbing.
Life really can become like a trolly, a vessel for unnecessary cargo, a cart to collect garbage and items who’s purpose quickly becomes defunct.
I am now classed as ‘old’ which is really a pleasant concept, but I must admit it has taken me a while to understand that the trolley of life can be emptied as often as we desire.
Then, rather than gather more of the same garbage, obscuring those items on life’s carriage that are really important, we can simply turn to the Lord and say. . .
. . .more and more and more of you Jesus . . .
I really must go now.