There's Hope For Todayਨਮੂਨਾ

It’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m enjoying my daily indulgence at the coffee café (sip, ahhhhh). The cost of my triple-venti, one Sweet and Low, no foam latte is indefensible. I know, I know – I should quit! I’ve read the articles, heard the stories, and been condemned for a lack of self-control (sip, ahhhhhh).

I’ve found an ally in the annals of church history – and with this I comfort myself. In 1746 he made a brave attempt to give up his tea, but writes, “... my flesh protested against it. I was but half awake and half alive all day, and my headache so increased toward noon that I could neither speak nor think. This so weakened me that I could hardly sit my horse.” – Charles Wesley (sip, ahhhhhh).

I’m reluctant to give it up. Just about the time I quit, some new study will surface lauding the healing qualities of black expresso beans. I don’t know what consumer reports to believe anymore (sip, ahhhhhh). I think I’ll take my cue from ole’ Charlie and practice java moderation – don’t want to get a headache and fall off my horse.

Extremists sacrifice joy for legalism. Carnivore and vegetarian, caffeinated and decaf will, one day, stand side by side in the new Jerusalem. I’ll meet you at the corner café – the coffee’s on me (sip, ahhhhhh).