Coffee

I gave up caffeine three weeks ago.

This was a big deal for me, because I’ve been a serious coffee drinker for at least 15 years. So, as a bloke who loves coffee and who currently works in an office where caffeine-tainted drinks are the commas and full stops to the day, I’ve been struggling a bit. At one point, walking through a shopping precinct seemed to take endless will-power because my sense of smell seemed to have sharpened to a crazy extent – but only for the smell of coffee.

Today I took coffee up again. It was bliss! Even the usually less than lovely coffee that I drink all day in the office was an intense, wonderful experience. I felt a sort of giddy rush that was probably more to do with the fact that I was blissed-out on caffeine than my reunion with the taste itself.

Earlier today, I described the feeling that my first cup gave me as ‘overwhelming joy’. And it was joyful, but I don’t think the joy outweighed the deprivation, headaches and anger that preceded it.  But without giving up coffee and feeling uncomfortable for a bit, I would never have experienced the rush afterwards.  In retrospect, I guess the rush and the joy was a sort of light at the end of the tunnel.

The theme of pain followed by joy got me thinking about this beautiful, moving, insightful article from the Guardian that I read this week.  It’s about a prison for young offenders and details daily life inside, as well as some views from prisoners and staff.

As you might expect, plenty of the young men displayed their tough exteriors, speaking about prison in an almost fond way.  One young man speaks about the things he has learned inside:

How to weigh up drugs and sell them, how to make a profit on them, car theft. I’ve learned how to fight in jail.

Others were clearly experiencing the place as a nightmare:

I felt very scared when I came in. I couldn’t cope with prison. I was in healthcare for trying to harm myself, banging my head against the walls, trying to hurt myself with the curtains. I was just feeling it really hard. I thought, you might as well die.

I was thinking about this idea of seasons of difficulty – in this case, seasons of intense emotional, social and mental pain - followed by joy. But it’s no secret that many young offenders don’t have a sense of joy on their release.  Many are released from prison (a home they know and understand) into an environment where there is doubt and unfamiliar stress. Hence the re-offending rates are stupidly high in the UK.

I believe in a God who offers hope. But I’ve always had this difficulty balancing the fact that I’m offered hope (in this life, not just after it) with the fact that nobody is guaranteed a pain-free life. There is not always a light at the end of the tunnel. There is not always pleasure after pain. As with these young men, sometimes the pain just keeps going.

I’m reading Rob Bell’s Love Wins with friends at the moment and Bell points out that hell can often be a good description of our situation in this life.

My struggle is actually a lot bigger than whether to drink caffeine at the moment.  My work situation, as for many people in the UK, is rubbish. My incredibly complicated employment can be summed up in that I’m in a job that does not fit my family, my wallet or my CV. And also, this is happening to me. I obviously pray about this but, like those guys in the article, I seem to see the end of my sentence approaching before hope fades remarkably quickly.  It is hard to keep hope; to keep believing.

Meanwhile, I’ve been reading Psalm 118.  This is a victory Psalm where the writer has seen God respond to him and given him hope. It says:

 God’s my strength, he’s also my song, and now he’s my salvation.

This is light at the end of the tunnel stuff. I’ve come to thinking that maybe I need to just believe that there is a light at the end of this tunnel and that He will ‘be my salvation’.

Having said that, recent experience reminds me of a bigger picture. I don’t think the hope and joy that we’re promised is solely dependent on a mystical god floating around like some kind of sacred Santa-ghost, bestowing good people with good things.

My family and I recently found ourselves in real difficulty. We were in serious trouble with no apparent way out. We prayed a lot and so did our friends.  Rather than sudden salvation from our difficult situation through some last minute ‘everything will be okay after all!’ revelation, our friends just helped us out.

Some incredibly kind friends just helped us.

So I guess that what I’m saying is that the Jesus I believe in gave us the clear indication that hope does exist and it usually comes in the form of people. People visit prisons. People house people who don’t have homes. People heal other people.

I’m quite excited to be the light at the end of somebody’s tunnel.

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