I’m known for being a little absentminded, and even more so when I’m tired. My cure for everything is to drink coffee, and I like it with a lot of cream—the powdered stuff, to be precise—to the point that my coffee has been mistaken for milk. Several years ago, when my youngest daughter was still a baby, I poured myself a cup of coffee after a sleepless night, confident it would start my day in the right direction. One sip and I knew something was terribly wrong. My coffee didn’t taste anything like coffee. I thought perhaps my creamer had gone bad, so I opened the cupboard again to check. Two cans stood side by side. One held my creamer, the other, baby formula.
I’m happy to say I haven’t had any formula since then, but all too often, I find myself stirring things into my life that don’t belong. Worry, gossip, an unforgiving attitude. Oh, the list is long. And all those things leave me with a bad taste afterward. It’s only when I reach for the can labeled “God’s strength” that my cup is filled with sweet peace.
What are you putting in your coffee?
photo courtesy of morguefile.com