At 4:30 in the morning, the world feels different.
The sky is still ink-dark, the air has that sharp little bite that sneaks under your jacket, and the thermometer has slipped a few extra degrees just to keep things interesting. A light breeze drifts across the Kingdom Hall remodel site, rattling tarps and whispering through scaffolding. Four of us are on security duty—just a handful of sleepy volunteers wrapped in hoodies, reflective vests, and good intentions.
I’m already wearing my “Kingdom smile”—that quiet, contented warmth that comes from knowing why you’re here and who you’re serving. But I keep thinking: What else can I do for my three fellow volunteers out here in the cold?
Foot washing crosses my mind for half a second🤔. Then I feel the wind, glance at the dusty ground, and laugh to myself. Yeah… no. That’s not happening at 4:30 AM.
Then it hits me.
Coffee.
Not just coffee—coffee.
Somewhere inside the hall, there’s a Keurig machine waiting for after-hours use. It’s convenient, it’s fast… and it’s absolutely not what I’m going to use. Not tonight. Not for my brothers and sisters standing guard in the cold with me.
I’m a pour-over person. Ritual, patience, and care in every cup. So if I’m going to show love, I’m going to show it with a kettle, a dripper, and beans that still remember the roaster’s hands.
The Quiet Joy of Preparation
My routine starts long before I get to the site.
I buy fresh-roasted beans from roasters all over the US. Not supermarket tired, not “roasted sometime last month,” but beans that are never more than five days off the roast. Just enough time to degas and mellow, but still brimming with aromatics waiting to be released.
Before each shift—three or four nights a week—I pull out my burr grinder and set it to that perfect grind, somewhere between sand and sea salt. I grind only what I need, just before heading out the door, so every cup will bloom with fresh oils and fragrant steam.
I have eight different ways to brew coffee at home, but for the project, I keep it simple and reliable: my Kalita 102 dripper. Kalita makes decent paper filters, sure—but I’m picky. I bring Cafec filters instead. They’re my favorite: beautifully made, consistent, and forgiving enough at 5:00 in the morning.
“Pour-Over Bar Opens at 5:30!”
By the time the others are shuffling their feet and blowing into their hands for warmth, I’ve already set up my little makeshift coffee station—kettle, scale, dripper, cups lined up like eager students.
“Hey crew,” I call out, smiling, “pour-over station opens at 5:30 AM!”
Suddenly, the cold doesn’t seem quite as brutal.
My recipe is simple but precise:
15 grams of coffee
250 ml of purified water
Water at about 190°F, just right for a dark roast
First, I pour 50 grams of water and let the grounds bloom—forty-five slow seconds while the coffee swells and releases trapped gases, the aroma rolling up in warm waves. Then a second 50-gram pour at thirty seconds, and another at the next thirty. Finally, a last gentle pour to reach 250 grams total, and we wait for the drawdown—watching that steady, reassuring drip.
In the dim pre-dawn light, steam curls out of the cups like little signatures of comfort.
A Different Origin in Every Cup
Last week, the star of the show was a Costa Rican, Black Honey processed, medium roast—sweet, layered, and luminous in the cup.
This week, I’ve brought something bolder: a blend of Ethiopia, Sumatra, and Vietnam—medium-dark roast, with tasting notes like a breakfast menu: bananas foster, French toast, wild bergamot, cacao nib. Someone takes a sip and closes their eyes for a moment, and I know the late-night drive and careful packing were worth it.
Next week, if the mail cooperates, it’ll be Organic Sumatra, deep and dark, ready to stand up to any cold morning on-site. That one’s already on its way, quietly traveling across states to end up in our hands, in these cups, on these nights.
And of course, I don’t forget those who prefer to skip the caffeine. For them, I’ve got a decaf blend: Ethiopia and Papua New Guinea, dark roast, with tasting notes of chocolate ganache, New Orleans–style beignet, and orange zest. Just because it’s decaf doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be an experience.
More Than Just Staying Awake
Out here, in the chilly stillness before sunrise, the coffee is doing more than keeping us awake.
It’s warming hands wrapped around cups.
It’s softening tired faces into smiles.
It’s turning a simple security shift into a small act of hospitality and love.
When the word gets out that there’s real coffee—thoughtful coffee, carefully made coffee—suddenly 4:30 AM doesn’t feel quite so harsh. There’s laughter, there’s teasing about flavor notes (“Did you say French toast? In a cup?”), and there’s that easy, quiet joy that comes from serving one another in small, practical ways.
Life can be tough, no doubt about it.
But with good friends, a shared purpose, and a pour-over in your hand while the first hint of dawn lightens the sky?
Well… life can be pretty wonderful, too. ☕
Cheers....🤣