I have a confession to make. I have a mild addiction (okay major). It is coffee. Now, it is not like I will die if I do not have my coffee but every morning I drink some thinking why take the chance. I can trace by my love of coffee to an innocent start almost 30 years ago.

First Baptist Quinton was my first full-time pastorate. It was a small town (a little bigger than Gore) and I wanted to meet some of the locals and try to acclimate to the surrounding and learn about the community. I found out that there was a group of guys that met every morning during the week for coffee, so I started going.

I sat on the perimeter of the main table just listening and observing. Once in a while I would be asked my thought on a particular subject and give my thoughts. Then after about 4 or 5 months…I was invited to sit at the table… “Hey Preacher, why don’t you come and sit with us?” I was elated. I felt like I had arrived, a rite of passage so to speak.

Then, every morning I would take the kids to school and mosey on down to Eppler’s Café to have coffee with the Spit and Whittle Club. I even had my own designated chair. I did not really say much but sat back and listened.

Now it is not like the topics were earth shattering or going to change the course of history. But for a 35 year old man I considered the conversations priceless. Those fellows in there had lived life. They had stories, jokes and experiences about life you could never find anywhere else.

Old Leon was a native of the area and the oldest. He was quite vocal and opinionated. He voiced his views on politics, ranching, marriage, child rearing and just about everything else. And, most of the time he was right.

Jerry was a local cattle rancher. He and Leon had a constant battle of wits and practical jokes. Jerry was a little younger than Leon, and still working, as Leon was retired. The banter between the two was quite comical. Jerry was moving from cattle herding on a horse to a 4-wheeler. When the bull ran faster than the 4-wheeler and rammed Jerry from behind causing lots of damage to the 4-wheeler and a couple of fractured ribs on Jerry it made for some quite lively conversation for several weeks.

Manuel was the one at the table who really never said anything. He was also a hometown boy. He would sit, drink his coffee, smile and laugh at the stories and once in a while even tell a story himself. Manuel may have been quiet but when he spoke it was always worth listening.

There were a couple of others that would come in, usually with no regularity and be allowed to sit at the table. They would tell their tales of life or offer their views on the current evens of the time. Sometimes they would pay for the tables coffee and slip out quietly or someone at the table would say (as they got up to leave) “Go ahead, I got your coffee.”

What could you possibly learn from this bunch of rowdy, retired and less than rambunctious group? Well I learned respect. Those men at the table had lived life, some hard life. Growing up in a time that I will never understand. My invitation to the table was earned not expected. These men allowed me to come and be a part them.

I learned how to have an opinion, maybe right or maybe wrong, but I could have an opinion. Along with that I learned that others had the same right to have an opinion as well. I could agree or disagree but everyone could have an opinion.

I learned how to joke, be the “butt” of a joke or be a part of a joke. I learned how to joke with others and be the joke of others.

I learned how to treat others, be hospitable and buy the coffee and not just let others buy my coffee. I learned about local politics, town gossip, on-going feuds, town tragedies and who you could trust/talk to and who you could/should not.

I learned so much that I still have my coffee shop ministry today. In all my areas of ministries I have continued this tradition. I’m not sure that my contributions add up or make much difference but I enjoy the fellowship and love hearing the words, “Hey Preacher, come on in and sit down.”

Even though I go in a non-religious capacity, I let my vocation and belief known even to the point of having the opportunity to lead a few to Christ over a cup of java!

But now I am finding myself one of the seniors at the table with stories to tell of life and impart that bit of wisdom every now and then. Maybe that coffee addiction isn’t so bad after all!

Bro. Tim