She forgot to buy the coffee.
Margaret stood in her church’s kitchen, her eyes fixed on the empty counter where the coffee pot should have been bubbling with hot, fragrant brew for the Lutheran Women’s Missionary League meeting. Her heart sank like a stone as she realized her grave mistake. The women of the LWML relied on her to provide their caffeine fix during meetings, and she had failed them. Instead of the coffee, she could almost taste the bitterness of disappointment as she frantically searched through cupboards and drawers for any sign of coffee. But it was no use; they were fresh out and she hadn’t remembered to buy more.
Her mind had been consumed by grief over her husband’s recent passing—a never-ending spiral that left little room for mundane tasks like grocery shopping. With a sense of urgency, she grabbed her coat and purse, determined to make a last-minute dash to the store. But deep down, she knew it was already too late.
As she made her way to the usual meeting room, her steps felt heavy and slow. The familiar chatter and laughter from inside only served to intensify her guilt and disappointment. When she finally reached the door, she hesitated before entering, knowing all eyes would be on her and her failure.
Helen, Margaret’s closest friend in the group, noticed her distress immediately and rushed over to comfort her. As much as Margaret appreciated the gesture, she couldn’t help but feel like a burden on everyone around her.
“Margaret, is everything all right?” Helen asked, noticing the empty hands and the sorrow etched on Margaret’s face, her eyes red rimmed and puffy from a week of tears.
A slight sniffle escaped Margaret’s nose as she tried to hold back her tears, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I forgot the coffee, Helen. I’m so sorry. I… I’ve just been so distracted lately.”
Helen wrapped her arms around Margaret in a comforting embrace like a warm, soft blanket. “Oh, Margaret, it’s okay. We all understand. You’ve been through so much. Come, sit with us. Let us be here for you.”
Margaret gratefully allowed herself to be led to a plush seat, the soft cushions providing a small measure of solace for her aching heart. The comforting touch and understanding words of her friends brought more tears to her eyes as they gathered around her.
Without the usual accompaniment of coffee, the meeting went on as planned, with stories shared, upcoming events discussed, and unwavering support given in abundance.
That night, Margaret crawled into bed with a heavy heart, but found some comfort in the warmth and laughter of her friends that evening. As she lay in the darkness, she offered up a prayer for strength and for God’s presence during this difficult time.
As she drifted into sleep, Margaret was transported into a vivid and extraordinary dream.
She stood in a magnificent hall with no end in sight on either end—grand and magnificent with towering marble pillars supporting a high ceiling stretching far into the heavens, the walls adorned with intricate frescoes of cherubim and seraphim. In the center of the hall, a grand oak table stood, never-ending in both directions, surrounded by an incalculable amount of chairs with plush velvet cushions.
The air filled with the sound of many waters and the powerful roar of thunder. The waters were a choir of crashing cymbals, while the thunder was a mighty bass drum, creating an orchestral masterpiece that seemed to shake the very walls of the magnificent wall. It was a breathtaking symphony of voices, crying out,
Hallelujah!
For the Lord our God
the Almighty reigns.
Let us rejoice and exult
and give Him the glory,
for the marriage of the Lamb has come,
and His Bride has made herself ready.
Margaret continued to look around, awestruck by the splendor. The light caressed the walls like molten honey, pouring from every corner and crevice, illuminating the intricate designs and symbols etched into the marble floor. As Margaret looked down, she saw that the floor was made of shimmering glass, reflecting the light that poured into the hall. It seemed to go on for thousands of miles, sparkling like a million stars in the night sky. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of holy joy and reverence—a sacred euphoria, a tangible aura of adoration and reverence, as if every molecule were infused with the very essence of sanctity.
Before her, a regal procession appeared. The Bride, adorned in the finest linen that glimmered with an ethereal light, made her way toward the majestic man awaiting her arrival. It was then that Margaret realized the radiant glow bathing the grand hall did not come from earthly sources but from the Groom Himself. The Lamb, standing with outstretched arms, exuded a love and splendor beyond human comprehension. With each step the Bride took, her movements were deliberate and graceful, her veil fluttering to reveal a countenance of pure serenity and divine radiance.
As Margaret stood witness to this sacred union, she felt a profound sense of tranquility and belonging, as if she were beholding the fulfillment of all creation’s hopes and joys. And as she gazed upon the fine linen adorning the Bride, illuminated by the righteous deeds of saints past and present, she felt herself swept up into this heavenly celebration.
As the Bride reached the Groom, Margaret’s heart swelled with a marvelous joviality, as if her heart were a garden suddenly blooming with an endless array of joyous flowers, each one more vibrant and luminous than the last.
The Bride turned slightly, and Margaret gasped. The face beneath the veil was her own.
She awoke with a start, tears streaming down her face. The remnants of the dream still clung to her mind, its vividness and intensity startling even in the darkness of her bedroom. She sat up, feeling completely immersed in an indescribable peace that seemed to envelop her like hot cocoa on a cold winter morning. It was a profound sense of God’s presence and love, radiating through every fiber of her being.
In that moment, Margaret knew that her grief, though deep and painful, was not the defining aspect of her existence. She was part of something much greater—a divine love story that spanned eternity. The Bride—the Church—was ready and waiting, and she, Margaret, was loved beyond measure by her heavenly Groom.
As she lay back down, a sense of comfort and renewal washed over her. The dream had shown her a mere glimpse of the glory that awaited her and her husband in the kingdom of heaven. With this assurance of Christ’s everlasting love, she could face her grief with newfound strength and resolve.
The Lutheran Column 