Faced a crisis this morning: Crawled out of my bed after the third round of snooze-slapping, wandered to the kitchen and hit power on the Keurig. Pod in, mug positioned…go. It dripped about a quarter of a cup…and then broke my heart. I slunked back to my room, my day now ruined forever, curled up on my bed and covered my head with a pillow. Hubby comes out of our bathroom wondering why I’m going to die. “I just need a cup of coffee…”
Yes. This is tragic.
So I’m sitting here with my McCafe in hand (sorry Joltin’ Jo’s. I couldn’t muster the strength to brave B street. The not plowed roads around the schools were enough stress for this uncoffeed woman this morning. I shall return when the streets are clear.) and I’m finally getting to the reading of God’s Word.
“Lord, you are my portion and my cup of blessing; you hold my future.” Psalm 16:5, HCSB
Huh. What would it be like if I woke up every morning as desperate for Jesus as I am for my cup ‘o caffeine?
I’ll ponder that as I finish my coffee…