I think we all need to hear these things sometimes.

God's message to me this morning:

God promises every man futility and failure; he guarantees every woman relational heartache and loneliness. We spend most of our waking hours attempting to end-run the curse. We will fight this truth will all we've got. Sure, other people suffer defeat. Other people face loneliness. But not me. I can beat the odds. We see the neighbor's kids go off the deep end, and we make a mental note: They didn't pray for their kids every day. And we make praying for our kids every day part of our plan. It doesn't have to happen to us. We watch a colleague suffer a financial setback, and we make another note: He was always a little lax with his money. We set up a rigid budget and stick to it.
Isn't there something defensive that rises up in you at the idea that you cannot make life work out? Isn't there something just a litttle bit stubborn, an inner voice that says, I can do it? Thus Pascal writes,

All men seek happiness. This is without exception. Whatever different means they employ, they all tend to this end . . . This is the motive of every action of every man. But example teaches us little. No resemblance is ever so perfect that there is not some slight difference, and hence we expect that our hope will not be deceived on this occasion as before. And thus, while the present never satisfies us, experience dupes us and from misfortune to misfortune leads us to death. (Pensees)

It can't be done. No matter how hard we try, no matter how clever our plan, we cannot arrange for the life we desire. Set the book down for a moment and ask yourself this question: Will life ever be what I so deeply want it to be, in a way that cannot be lost? This is the second lesson we must learn, and in many ways the hardest to accept. We must have life; we cannot arrange for it.

-The Journey of Desire by John Eldredge

There seems to be a certain something in the air. It's communication. There seems to be so little in this world that is worth talking about. That's why people don't have meaningful conversations. Not cause we don't care. The people we care about usually drive us to talk about anything we can unleash our tongues on. As I sit at Panera watching these relationships go on, I can't help but wonder if it's just the season we are in. My coffee seems to be keeping me company, but it's much like the conversations I find. That first sip is sweet to the taste like I've been traveling through the kind of snowy trail Robert Frost might write about and finally I've arrived at the destination of a warm bed that has been calling my name. Some section of the middle is actually bittersweet. It changes how long or how potent the middle is on how much I need it or how much I truly enjoy it.

Sometimes this is the longest section of my cup of coffee-or my conversations for that matter-sadly, however, I believe this part is becoming exponentially smaller with every cup. Some time after finishing the mundane conversational topics that need to be addressed, right around when you tilt that cup up to your lips and realize that there is a white bottom to your cup that is a different tone than the sweet caramel color you've given your coffee with the sugar you've added for adventure and the 2% milk for substantiality, the shock hits you that you're no longer drinking your cup but finishing it. I never really knew how to finish a cup of coffee politely. It always looks like some athlete fueling his body with wate or Gatorade. Almost like the gong has been sounded that this leg of the race is over and there will be a short recess while the troops regather for battle, whenever the battle may come.

So I'll keep sipping my coffee, holding on to those first sweet tastes as long as I can and remembering their freshness long after my tongue has relaxed.