I awoke this morning to the sounds of someone banging around in the kitchen.
It wasn’t the invasion of zombies, as some “out-there” folks had predicted for today. It was something on the opposite end of the spectrum, my wonderful son Eli, on a mission to make his mother breakfast in bed.
“How many scoops of coffee do you put in the pot?” he asked breathlessly, popping his head into my doorway.
“Four.”
“Do you like Community Coffee?
“Sure!”
More clattering ensued and I glimpsed down at Jonah, mouth agape and drooling, dead to the world there beside me.
Soon the aroma of coffee and eggs cooking wafted down the hallway. I closed my eyes and thanked God for the gifts of my children, for the gift of their love. When I opened them, I saw this handsome chef:
He was really proud of himself, and rightly so! With no assistance from anyone, he cooked me quite the spread:
Scrambled eggs, frosted flakes, a peanut butter and honey sandwich, and a surprisingly good cup of coffee!
Apocalypse-schmapocalypse — I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start my day!
Thank you, Eli, for blessing me so sweetly. I love you!