I dreamed about shopping for Community Coffee last night. Community Coffee is Louisiana’s official coffee. For a season, we had it shipped to us. When I first tasted it, I felt strangely completed. Then Walmart started carrying it. I regret our local Walmart no longer does. Carole asked me one day if Community Coffee was like my love for grits—“do you like the taste or what it represents?” The answer is yes.

We have a drawer full of coffee. Ground coffee from Ethiopia and flavors from the land of Folgers. Lately I’ve just been dissatisfied. I even tried Starbucks yesterday. Didn’t do it. Few disappointments equal coming to the bottom of the cup and feeling, “That ain’t it.”

I thought it odd that I dreamed of standing at a table piled high with packaged Community Coffee. I remember holding a package and examining it. That’s all I remember from the dream.

One of my Facebook friends posted this morning that he was out of coffee. It was then that I remembered my dream. I don’t know about him, but I instantly knew what motivated the dream. I’ve got a drawer full of coffee, but I’m missing community.

I listened to a podcast this morning with Chip Heitzig who pastors a 15,000 attendee church. He was asked how that growth happened. He said “community—feeling of family.”

Thirsting for Community and community. Front porch, back deck, coffee bar. Perhaps the best invitation of all is “Come Put Your Feet Under our Table.”