Luke Warm Coffee: the "Corintians conflict"

Stark Street espresso shop 2:03pm Monday,

Seth and Trina sit in a coffee shop only slightly in-love. Trina is frustrated at my seemingly lofty, yet stereotype dispensational biblical opinions. After a short but hot debate on 1 Cor 13, Trina had heard enough, she descended on a downward emotional spiral, deciding to become withdrawn. My voice is now just a little less than annoying echoes in a school hallway made by some wanna-be theologian after class lets out and he's free to "speak his mind." Trina proceeds to remove love from all facial expression and body language, but not before she verbally withdrew love and replaced it with a 16oz double non fat white mocha (powdered, not liquid). I tried to get some sort of response out of her, using my cheesy humor technique I learned from countless, "friends" and "Simpsons" episodes. No dice, it failed like the Iraqui republican guard. I knew it was already too late. The decision to permanently withdraw was made for Trina, and she would diligently stick it threw, she always finishes what she starts. I realized then that I probably lost my salvation, or maybe I never had it to begin with, I only understood the bible "theoretically." I had no effective ministry, or plan, and even worse: no vision (20/40 at best). All I had was a luke warm cup of coffee less than half-full, with extra cream, two bags of brown cane sugar, and a sprinkle of chocolate powder. I felt no comfort from the coffee, it would only serve to prompt a yet future irreversible bowl movement. I decided to throw in the towel, I reached for my keys in my back pocket. As I reached for my keys I thought about how I "talk around the bible all day" and Trina performs "practical bible" and "applies it to everyday life." As I stuck my hand into my pocket, I pricked my thumb on my mini leatherman. Blood protruded from my thumb, along with a bitter sweet sting. I took comfort from the wound, I realized I wasn't numb to everything, at least I can still feel pain (beyond the theoretical). Immediately I thought I could use my injury to re-start communication where my joke diversion failed earlier. We had been sitting in silence for minutes, when I suddenly raised my bloody thumb into plain view. I knew this could be a conversation re-starter. I made contact:

Seth: "Hey do you still have that first aid kit in the car, I'm gonna be schleppin' (moving around) boxes all day and I was hoping a band aid would ease the pressure on my thumb."

She gave me the blank stare seasoned with annoyance. To her I was a tall skinny annoying joke of a man, sipping on a luke warm coffee less than half-full, with extra cream, two bags of brown cane sugar, and a sprinkling of chocolate powder. She's too practical to even pity this pathetic excuse of a man, that is unfortunately me. And I'm sitting way too close to the Trinabelle anyway, and there's a hair she notices in my right eye-brow that's bucking the norm, some sort of non-conformist eye brow hair, that refuses to lay in place with the other eye-brow hairs. It needs to be plucked, and fast, before it starts a coo. Disgusting...
Trinabelle: (lacking any sympathy) Don't you have a first aid kit at the warehouse?


She was right, I did have a first aide kit at the warehouse. There was nothing left for me here: all avenues closed for now. 1 Cor 13, simply doesn't apply to todays super culture... or todays marriages. It's just not practical enough. My thumb would have to wait. After all, I wasn't worried about my sore thumb anyway, I was trying to address our wounded pride. War comes naturally for marriage relationships. I can injure a person with words that are as precise as a cruise missile, and as deadly as a GPS guided smart bomb. Trina and I were expert fighters, trained by lucifer himself, though not directly. I kept my weapons of mass destruction in my storehouse for this conflict, it was no use releasing them for this scuffle. I have used them too many times previous to this battle anyway, and the damage was still taking its toll. Christ could clean up the mess if we'd let him, but we had too much pride... maybe later... if we felt like it. All that could be done now is to part ways before things got worse. The spiritual war-fare was too thick, and neither of us brought "the Helper" to the battle, and we were both to tired to pray. Trinabelle got up and made her move to the door.

Trinabelle: "I gotta get back to work."

Seth: "No problem, I'll see ya later."

Trina left the coffee shop like a cool breeze in spring. It sent a shiver up my spine, and turned my luke warm coffee to just plain cold. I got up and headed for the uni-sex restroom to wash the blood off my thumb. I thought about all the battles fought in the past for the sake of pride. Not just with Trinabelle, but with everyone I ever knew. "How long oh Lord... how long will we turn a blind eye to your word, a deaf ear to your voice." Why couldn't I believe Christ was renewing me from the inside? Why couldn't I see the fruit? Where did my faith go? Where was the Trinabelle that I knew just one year ago, that I created in my mind, to serve my needs and make me happy? What happened to reality? What happened to my hope? Where is the Love? What meeting is Steve Keels leaving prematurely to do something that nobody knows about, yet seems so important? What CD is Trinabelle passionately singing along too in her car? What isn't Lenny Martin doing right now? Probably nothing.
I hoped Christ would return right at that moment, to give me my glorified body, minus the thumb pric. But that would only convict me more one I saw Christ's glorified nail pierced hands. I threw some hot water on my face, and left the privacy of the uni-sex rest room.

Seth: (to myself) "At least I have hope in Christ, and my health... and some moose tracks ice cream in the fridge."

Whoever reads this should note that Trina and I recovered from this conflict, and many more bible verse based conflicts, and are using "the sword" less and less (against each other). So that's something anyway... cheers