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By Barry Buzza
A COUPLE, whom I married about ten years ago, came into my office, looking very glum. I wasn't sure why they'd called to make an appointment, but I could tell by their obvious body language that things were not going well between them.
Since the wedding, which I remember officiating, they've had a couple of children. The wife, who used to work in a fairly upscale job, is now the primary care giver of the two preschoolers. Her husband is doing well in his career, but like many adults trying to meet the demands of life, works long hours and comes home exhausted. To look at them and then listening to their stories, they both seem to be running on empty. They're talking divorce.
What happened to this very promising couple? I can remember the sparkle in their eyes as they joked back and forth during premarital counseling. They were well suited for each other mentally, emotionally and enjoyed a healthy engagement. I can still see them standing on the grass gawking at each other on a gorgeous summer day, at his parent's back yard. They'd vowed before their family, friends and God that they would love each other for as long as they both shall live. And they had meant it. What had happened?
After chatting for a few minutes with them (she, accusing him of cutting her out of his life, being mean and unloving; he accusing her of caring more about the kids than him, and not understanding the pressures he was under), I drew a simple picture to show them.
It was a drawing of a thirty-two cup coffee percolator, like we use when a lot of company comes over to our home for Christmas. The pot has a spout at the base from which guests can help themselves to a hot cup of coffee. I explained to them that I'd put thirty-two imaginary cups of water in the pot, and so with each one that was drained from the spout, there was one cup less inside. They listened to my story, but weren't catching the connection to their dilemma.
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"This coffee percolator is a picture of each of our lives. The coffee inside represents the strength, courage and grace we have to live each day. Throughout the twenty-four hours, we pour cup after cup of our personal reserve into our circle of influence."
"Whether it's a sick or unhappy baby, complaining customer, bottled up traffic jam, aging parent, increasing debt, complaining spouse or too much rain, the coffee keeps pouring out the bottom of the pot. We don't even realize how much strength, courage and grace we've given away, but before we know it, we're on empty."
"That's when the two of you meet up at 8:00 p.m. and each of you are hoping, maybe even desperate, for a cup of coffee from the pot of the one you love--but there's nothing left!"
The couple nodded their heads in agreement. "That's exactly right. So what should we do?" he asked me.
I'll return to the story next week, but of course you already know what I said next. "Really, there are only two solutions to the problem of the empty coffee pot. . ."
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Barry Buzza, a veteran pastor, is the president elect of the The Foursquare Gospel Church of Canada. www.foursquare.ca
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May 31/2007
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