The Tale of a Coffee Cup
Sometimes a coffee cup perks me up, reminding me that all is the same—friendships and warm drinks—and other times I find that in the blink of an eye, all has changed. Sometimes, smiles, laughs and excited chatter accompany coffee in this place I find myself. Sometimes, the birth of a child, an engagement, mysteries—both good and bad—sickness, and even death now accompany coffee in this place I find myself.
Maybe most of this is the same as before, but no, I believe something has changed. My mind sorts this puzzle out, repeatedly taking memories in and out of a greater understanding of customs that I need to have, that I want to have. Sometimes I think I can understand the key to unlocking mysteries here, and sometimes I honestly realize I am on a journey of discovery that perhaps will never end.
Each day I start my morning routine with the Bible and a treasured mug, a memory of where and whom the mug is from and the subsequent warmth resulting from holding this American delicacy, both common but also special, otherwise known as coffee.
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There is the social nature of the time-honored tradition of coffee also, though. I make a modern invitation through Facebook, asking friends to come for coffee or a drink of choice. It was so even in America, but now that I find myself in the Muslim country of Albania and had wondered what changes would happen.
At first, I found instant coffee and then was given a coffee maker, and life became more normal to me being able to drink my daily drink. The greatest happiness for me, though, was not in these rare finds and presents. It was the day the first spoken invitation came and then each invitation after that.
Wanting so much to know the people I worked so hard to meet, my heart leapt when a woman's voice called to me. "Pershendetje (Greetings!)," she called out, trying to start a friendship with me, a stranger, it seemed.
Then the question loomed which I would here again and again in this country known for hospitality, "Will you come for coffee?" Drink coffee with a stranger in her home or place of business, was this a good idea? And somehow, I knew from the welcoming look on her face, this was what I should and would do.
So, coffee took on a new meaning. Large mugs morphed into small tiny cups, decorated lavishly with floral patterns but different all the same. And what was inside the cups, was still black, but thicker with frothiness atop. If I was honest, I still enjoyed this momentary interruption to my day just as much as before, but it was not due to the delicious Turkish delight I was given to drink.
To my American palate, Turkish coffee would always be ranked second to pretty much any form of American coffee. However, the hospitality and warm reception in the homes of the Albanians I longed to know and share hope with would rank first place in my heart in the coffee world.
I was not disappointed either, at least not at first, as coffee after coffee rendezvous became commonplace and a perfect opportunity for in-depth conversation about what matters most in life, the faith in Christ I had so wanted to share with people in this post-communist country. But I then I met Gerta and subsequently others like her and found out the darker side to the Turkish brand of coffee.
In my attempts to share my faith with Gerta, I had agreed to help her learn English. From her carefully groomed chestnut hair and her earnest chocolate brown eyes to her stylish clothes with English wording, her appearance told me she valued success. Often our conversation, though, was about her life and mine and not just about learning a language. Time spent with her was rewarding to me.
She learned English by leaps and bounds, but she also wanted to study the Bible. However, the day came when her sadness became mine. She revealed that she dreaded the day she would turn 14.
The reason why surprised me even more than her dread. One day, a woman that "read coffee cups" had foretold that the day when Gerta entered her 14th year of life, she would encounter many misfortunes.
Gerta was one of many I would meet whose belief in their future was in the hands of another who had held their coffee cup. A commonplace coffee cup quite often is lifted by a woman and twisted and turned, examined, with truth then foretold about what the future of another holds. The truth that I know seems so elusive to them. But, unfortunately there are those like this Gerta that still believe their fate was sealed on a day of Turkish coffee.
Like Gerta, my friend Diana wanted to me to help her improve her English, but unlike Gerta, Diana is full of confidence about her life. When I first really got to know Diana, she eloquently spoke English and was nearing the end of finishing a law degree with excellent grades.
These facts alone did not give Diana knowledge of what she needed to take her next steps in life. After months of not only helping Diana with her English, but sharing coffees and studying the Bible with her, she one day decided to follow with all her heart the Savior about whom she had heard so much. While she still struggles with her desire to wait on God's plan to marry a Christian man, she, like me, now knows who holds her future and trusts Him to guide her.
Life continues to evolve, and each day emerges different than the one before, with even grander coffee shops in our city. I still tend to drink mostly Turkish coffee in homes, though. My day starts not just with coffee, but with prayers for those who do not know the One who truly holds their future and has a better destiny for them.
Caryl Aukerman, along with her husband and three children, has lived and worked with Global Partners in Albania for over 11 years. While she spends much of her time sharing God's love and truth with people in Albania, she also homeschools and writes in her free time. She is a contributing writer to the Annesley Writers forum and has had articles published in several publications in recent years.
