Coffee With God?

Wouldn't you love to sit down and have coffee with God? Some might think of it as blasphemy, but I've been wondering what I'd ask God if I could have an open discussion with Him and receive some clear and immediate answers. It's not like I don't talk to Him, and it's not as if He doesn't respond - and "NO" I'm not talking about still voices in the night or writings on the wall. He answers through His Spirit who helps us understand His Word. He sends others to teach and share things with me (even if they thought it was their idea), and He gives wisdom and understand as we pray for it (remember James 1). I do know a little something about what the Bible teaches. Not enough, but enough to know He's given me enough. Still, if I could just sit and interact with Him, and ask those questions that, well, even if I know the answers, I'd love to hear Him say "You're right." It'll happen - if it's up to me, about three seconds after my travel angel drops me off in heaven. And there has to be good coffee in heaven. None of that fancy, foamy, frew-frew stuff. A mild "heavenly blend" of coffee that won't give bad breath or brown teeth. But I digress. What WOULD I ask if I could, right now, sit and have coffee with God? I'm actually thinking that I'd like to write a ficticious (dah!) telling of the event. Would it be presumptuous to say what I think He would say? Can I talk for God? I hope so. Several hundred brethren are paying me a salary to do that every week - several times throughout the week! But I mean, really making it the "voice of God," the final word, the ultimate answer! Would it be disrepectful to think of God in a three-button Henley, and maybe a "SAINTS" baseball cap, sitting at a cafe table, with me, talking about what He really wants, what we've really missed, and what He really has in store for us? What would He say? What would you ask? What are the real meaty things that it would be wonderful to hear God clarify, simplify, and explain? Every time I have an open forum Q & A the same three questions are always asked. It's always something about divorce, instrumental music, and the role of women in the church. When I think of addressing those to God over coffee I feel - shame. Shame, because I can see His sad eyes saying, "Do you really think these are the biggest problems you have?" I feel like it would sound like that "resounding gong or a clanging cymbal" He talked about in 1 Corinthians 13. These things are not unimportant, they're just not the stuff I need on the table with our coffee mugs. Why do I sense that all the questions would well up in my throat and get stuck? Maybe it's because the only question that counts is the one He will ask. He smiles, looks into my watery eyes and asks, "Do you love Me?" And my heart leaps with joy - not fear. Joy that he didn't ask me that thirty years ago - twenty, well, ten, and that He didn't ask me that back in my "I'm right, let's debate" days, and joy that He gave me so many opportunities to trust Him and draw close to Him, be healed by Him and, most of all, be His child and be His Son to others who needed to see Him. My heart leaps with joy because the answer is "YES" - I know it's "yes" and He knows it's "yes"and that's all He ever wanted from me. And the voice of God said, "Well then, pass the sugar."