A Cup of Coffee

I left the house with a slice of apple pie on a paper plate and took the twenty steps or so to my neighbor's garage door. An August day, my armpits prickled from the heat, and the grass underfoot crackled and scratched my bare feet.

The garage was empty. He had sold his Pontiac after losing his license and shared that it was the worst thing that had happened to him after his wife died. Unable to get groceries on his own, unable to get to doctor's appointments independently, he often felt isolated and alone. I noted the few belongings left on dusty, warped shelves: partially filled paint cans, an oilcan, a clutter of tools, and a few rags. A 1975 faded calendar hung crookedly from a nail, stuck on March, the month and year his wife passed.

I knocked on the screen door. The "Price is Right" blared from the living room. I yelled out his name, "Lloyd, it's Kathy; I have apple pie for you."

The television chatter stopped; I heard a groan as he pulled himself out of his recliner. With a cane at his side, he hobbled up to me to take a closer look--his eyes clouded by cataracts.

"It's me, Kathy," I stated loudly, pushed my face towards his, and wondered when he had last taken a shower.

"Oh, yeah, please sit down." He motioned to a kitchen chair. "Have coffee with me."

I looked around. The kitchen counter was greasy, the floor needed sweeping. A cold tin pot stood on the stove top.

"Hmm, I really should get back home," I murmured.

"Have a chair," he insisted. "Won't take long." I placed the pie on the counter top and pulled out a vinyl-covered chair with wheels attached as he poured two cups of coffee. Seeing he needed help, I carried the cups back to the sticky table.

"The weather. What's it doin' outside?" he asked.

"Hot," I replied. "It's August you know, gotta expect it."

"Suppose so," he answered and took a sip.

"Need milk or sugar?" he asked.

"No. No thank you," I answered and thought about what I needed to fix for lunch at home. Starting to take a drink, I noticed white flakes floating in my cup. Realizing it was only lime chips, it still churned my stomach. I wasn't a coffee snob, but I couldn't drink this.

I pretended to sip as he rambled about missing his wife, the lack of visitors, and having no transportation.

Morning devotions had reminded me that, "We're at our best when we encourage others with our words, with our actions, with our presence." My intentions had been good. I thought the pie would do it. Lloyd had barely noted the pie; he wanted my attention.

I considered the people Jesus hung out with as I sat with my elderly neighbor. They were not the cleanest, most healthy, most with-it individuals. They were human beings, created in His image; however, each (as we are) with imperfections.

I relaxed, sat back on the squeaky vinyl chair, and looked out his kitchen window to the place his own eyes seem to take him. The leaves moved lazily on the trees--tired of summer--just like me.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"Change," he murmured . "Everything changes. Nothing stays the same...."

We sat for a while, sipping our coffee. Some times, words aren't needed.

Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up.
          Romans 15:2