Tuesday nights are precious to me. It is the night that I leave the cares of teaching 3 year olds behind. It is the night when my husband graciously feeds and puts the children to bed so that I may attend, with a couple thousand other women, Beth Moore’s Bible study on Revelation. Usually, as part of my evening out, I enjoy a special coffee as a treat, for the caffeine and because I have to spend time in Galleria traffic (My fellow Houstonians will understand). This past Tuesday I chose to pass Starbucks, as I was in a hurry, and gave into the notion that a fast food drive-thru would give me an Iced Mocha somewhat, well, faster. I was wrong. I believe I entered the drive-thru at 4:30. I received my Iced Mocha at approximately 4:47. Now I am a person who has been called patient, but I about lost my religion as the following thoughts rambled in my head: “This is ridiculous!”, “How hard is it to make a burger and throw it into a bag?”, “This whole take your order at the window thing is not a good idea.”, “I’m going to have to speak to the manager and whip this whole process into shape!”, “What did these people in front of me order?!!”, “Couldn’t they just make my iced mocha and bring it to my car ahead of the slowpokes?”, “I should have gone to Starbucks.”
With each minute I thought I would leave, just drive off, and make a statement of dissatisfaction with the screeching of my tires. And then, it happened. It was finally my turn. I expected my drink to be sitting there waiting for me and just when I was about to go into orbit I witnessed my Iced Mocha being freshly poured. The coffee and the chocolate syrup were blending melodiously. Then, this nice man got a spoon and gently stirred; paying careful attention to scrape the chocolate off the sides and dissolve what had collected on the bottom. He swirled the whip cream into a perfect mountain and took great care to drizzle the chocolate syrup in art-like fashion. As he handed it to me I sunk in my seat a little and managed a humble, “Thank You.” Then, it was just me and the Iced Mocha. If the thing had had eyes, it would have been glaring at me. If it had had a voice it would have said, “Uh-huh! You had no idea the perfection that was waiting for you.” I’ve thought since then that if I had only known the care that was being given to my order I would not have been so ugly in my thoughts. I would have had a little more patience in my waiting. Romans 8:23-25 says, “…We ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” Waiting is difficult. I’m anxious for home, for heaven, for my Savior to come and lift me up. On a much smaller scale, I was anxious while waiting for my Iced Mocha. I only continued to wait because I had had a taste of what an Iced Mocha is like. I praise my Father who has given us, even on this puny earth, a taste of His grace, His mercy, His love, His glory. So, I will wait... eagerly …patiently. And while I am waiting, I will worship. I will serve. I will love. I will endure. I will NOT threaten to go to the competition! For though I have a taste of what awaits, I truly cannot comprehend the perfection that is being prepared for me (I Cor 2:9). While I am waiting God is making perfect my inheritance. He has, since the beginning of time, paid attention to every minute detail. And while it is somewhat debatable whether or not a $3 Iced Mocha is worth a 17-minute wait, there’s no question, no doubt in my mind that heaven- Jesus- will be worth it all!
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