I never cared much for coffee–until I was 38 years old. I don’t know why it took me so long to like it. I guess maturity finally struck. It still hasn’t struck my wife who says she doesn’t like the taste. I tell her, “You don’t drink coffee because it tastes good. You drink coffee because it IS good.”
Many tout the health benefits of coffee. According to Wikipedia: “The consensus in the medical community is that moderate regular coffee drinking in healthy individuals is either essentially benign or mildly beneficial.”
Famous Coffee Drinker–Garfield
Famous coffee drinkers like Garfield the cat laud its benefits. In one Garfield cartoon the fat cat begins to slurp his morning coffee. His master John asks him, “How’s the coffee?” And we see Garfield, eyes wide, wide open, a crazy smile on his face, his whiskers sticking out as he answers, “It gets the job done.”
My excuse for drinking coffee (among others) is that it helps my spiritual life. I used to find myself dozing off as I read my Bible in the morning. Now, I’m “boing, boing, boing.” (That’s the sound of someone jumping on springs, in case you wondered, not “boring, boring, boring” which is a word sometimes associated with preachers).
Is the Church Short On Coffee? Continue reading
Wind rushed high over the earth.
Below he spied a dry, brown forest. He swooped down, passing through and caressing the sad leaves. Life-giving rain trailed in His wake and green surged from the deadness. Wind rose and looked.
The forest had come alive.
Wind sped on, descending to puff death away from a desert as the rains that trailed Him coaxed blooms from the sand in a riot of red, green and blue flowers. Fruit trees soon bent under the weight of their harvest.
Wind smiled and turned toward a solitary rock formation poking it’s head from a flat plain. Nothing grew on its flinty face.
The life-giver rose slightly and dived back to earth passing gently over the promontory, splashing rain over its unmoving face. And nothing happened. Wind turned and came back, harder this time. And the rock resisted him.
The breath of life yearned desperately to bring life to the hulking rock but no amount of caressing, cajoling, or blustering touched the huge mass. Continue reading
Single-minded pursuit works …
Many sights I have seen in my long years of walking the earth. Many sights.
But, few have impressed me more than the sight of someone going after what he wants.
Once I was in a Coffee House outreach in Luxembourg City. One of the regulars was a young man in a wheel chair. He drove to the meeting place and we helped him out of his car and back into his car after the evening had finished.
The young man never said much or showed too much enthusiasm. I suppose degenerative arthritis will do that to you, especially if you’re young. (I think that was what it was).
One night he was ready to go home, so I was pushing his chair out of the coffee house when an attractive young lady came in.
Suddenly, the wheelchair took on a life of its own! It moved without me pushing it and came to a halt, right in front of the young lady. I was reminded of a guided missile zoning-in on an airplane.
Sufficient motivation can infuse muscles with unseen power, it seems.
Many other sights have impressed me. A hunting dog pursuing his prey, for instance. Or little boys running to the kitchen when mama yells, “Cookies are ready!”
Yes, yes, verily, these things have sprung to my attention in my wanderings. And I have concluded that the man or woman, boy or girl—or even a hound dog– who really wants something, goes after it.
Hard! He goes after it hard.
Life isn’t always fair. It looks like the hungry ones, the ones who love to eat, would get rewarded by eating first. Alas, it is not always thus.
When I was a kid, we weren’t the stars of the show like youngsters today are. If company came for dinner the children would often have to wait until the adults finished eating before they ate. Can you imagine that?
I don’t imagine it. I lived through it. It was painful to see the pastor devouring all those goodies while I drooled hungrily waiting my turn. Mamaw Deloney would peel and slice a potato and tell us to munch on that until it was our turn. A raw potato!
Lest you think it was only me, this kind of torture was widespread in its time. A “famous” country music singer, Little Jimmy Dickens, even sang a song about it—“Take An Old, Cold Tater and Wait.” Columbia Records produced the song but I’m not sure they are proud of that fact. If you haven’t gotten in your quota of suffering yet you can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBi_CyJe604 If you can remember this song, I’ll pray for you. Continue reading
Check out the podcast at the end of this article. It was recorded before this Christmas. We hope to resurrect the podcast regularly very soon.
Mangea, mangea! (Eat! Eat!)
Lots of people know how to make visitors to their home feel welcome. But, Italian ladies do it as well as anyone in the world.
We travel a good bit in our ministry here and there’s one word I hear a lot when our host’s family originally came from Italy. “Mangez, mangez! Oh, you don’t like it! Mangez!” (Eat, eat!).
So there you are at the table and you’ve eaten delicious pasta, pizza, Italian sausage and whatever for an hour or so. Your belly is a full as a tick which has been latched onto a dog for three weeks. The only empty space you have left is your left-front shirt pocket and it’s tight. Continue reading