I think about my brother-in-law every week when I grind coffee beans. My in-laws gave me Drew’s coffee grinder after his death six years ago. It took me many months after that to begin using it.
I had to think about it and wait for a long time. For some reason, I couldn’t quite give myself permission.
The grinder is a burr grinder which is not to be confused with a blade grinder. Burr grinders are much better and more expensive. We’re talking $100 versus $15. But I believe in the ontological superiority of the burr grinder and so did Drew.
I remember talking with Drew once, and we discussed his desire to buy a burr grinder. He had no means of income at the time, and I remember thinking, “Of all the things you need to spend money on, I’m not sure a burr grinder should be top of the list.”
But this was Drew. Once he made up his mind about something, there was no convincing him otherwise. You might as well save your breath.
But what gives me joy when I think about him is knowing Drew was this way about all the right things. Friends. Family. Jesus. And of course, coffee.
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I could never begin to describe how dark the days were after his passing. The pain was the most intense thing we have ever felt.
I’ll never forget the horrible scream and the look on Mandy’s face when we learned the news. Seeing her hurt that badly, in an instant, broke something inside of me.
I’ll never forget how our son Henry, who was 20 months old at the time, instinctively knew something was terribly wrong. I won’t forget the way he calmly climbed in his momma’s lap and put his head on her chest and hugged her tight.
I’ll never forget the feeling of utter vulnerability. I’ll never forget how embarrassed I felt knowing there was nothing I could do to help.
I’ll never forget the ways in which those days felt like we were watching, from a distance, a thing occurring in our own life.
I’ll never forget how unbelievably rainy and cold it was on the day of his memorial (a day in December), and how the weather itself felt like it was kicking us when we were down.
It hurt our hearts in the deepest way imaginable. It is an ache that, of course, will never go away until it does go away, at the end of all things (Revelation 21:4).
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We’ve learned many lessons in these six years. But, I think we are just beginning to learn what those lessons were. Six years later, we are just beginning. Six years later. These things take time.
Here are two lessons we have learned.
First, most of us attempt to engineer our lives in order to avoid The Worst Thing Ever™. In general, we are actually pretty afraid. Our hearts pound, our necks get splotchy from worry and fear.
(Looking at our iPhone a lot can help us forget that we are afraid. Among other reasons, that is why we do it a lot, I think.)
In Drew’s passing, we learned that you do not have to be afraid of The Worst Thing Ever™, not because you can avoid it, but because you can survive it. Trust me, the hope you have in Jesus will be there for you on that day and it will not disappoint you, which is not the same thing as saying it will make things easier. It will, however, make things bearable. You will be able to endure it, by God’s grace.
We learned, that because of Jesus, you do not have to be afraid.
Second, we learned the sacredness of ordinary things. Ordinary things are enchanted and alive.
The truth is that a lot of our life is determined by the way we handle, “the middle condition, the things-are-pretty-okay place in which many of us are fortunate enough to live our daily lives.”
Drew helped us learn that—in this “middle condition”—grace is everywhere. He taught us that it is a real gift to be goofy, passionate, and particular about things like a burr grinder. And if you are, that thing will come alive after you are gone.
Your goofy determination to buy a burr grinder with money you do not have will be a gift to those you love.
That is because someone you love will be sitting somewhere on a cold, rainy Friday morning (the conditions in Birmingham as I write this essay), in the middle condition. They will need to grind coffee beans. After doing so, this person will brew his coffee and he will smile because of your precious quirkiness.
The cup of coffee will warm him, but the memory of you will warm him more deeply still.
Through the very real ache, this person will giggle and have hope.
Meanwhile, Death will be somewhere, awaiting its death, frustrated, knowing that once again, it did everything but win.