Coffee With Jesus
When I travel home, the first thing I see in my mother's home is a folk painting of an old black woman with the words "If I Could Only Hear My Mother Pray Again." There are pictures all over the house of kids and grandkids and old photos of my grandparents on either side. This painting is her favorite thing hanging on the walls. Mine too. I remember what it was like to hear my grandmother say a Hail Mary. The New Orleans accent in our family has softened across generations, so no one says "the Lawd is with thee' the way my grandmother did.
Her kitchen was a sacred place. I'd come over and find her having coffee with Jesus. Not "hay-zeus.' Jesus. As in Jesus. He'd tell me I could call him Christ if I'd like. He offered God at one point, but he knew better now. There were limits to what he could say in her kitchen. I knew who he was, but I played along. Anyway, it wasn't unrealistic that if Jesus came back, this would be one of his first stops.
My grandmother made awesome coffee.