My son made coffee this morning. He makes coffee every morning now. He gets up with his alarm, gets ready for the day, and makes the coffee. No matter what kind of a night I have had, I know there will be coffee in the pot when I get into the kitchen. It is how he loves me.
When he was little, he saw that I did not always handle life well. My coffee cup made everything better. He quietly looked for it, found it on a table where I had left it, and brought it to me. I stopped what I was doing, accepted this mug as his offering of love, and my day got a little better.
Today, my coffee tasted a little off. It wasn't the coffee, it was me. I was a little off. Today, I need to be or do or fix something in my life. When that happens, my coffee will be amazing again. Almost as amazing as the love of my son.
Behold, children are a gift from the Lord, a reward of the fruit of the womb. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one's youth. Blessed is the man who has filled his quiver with them. He will never be forced to retreat when he is confronted by his enemies at the city gate. Psalm 127: 3-5