My cup runneth over, and then some.

There are things that are hard to give up: high heels, shopping, the occasional swear word. And then there are things that are haaaaaaaaaaard to give up: wine, music, coffee, the occasional swear word. (Kidding on that one, I actually have an extremely clean mouth.)

Well, for the last 40 days and nights and what seemed like a million mornings, I went without. Without coffee, that is. I figured this Lenten season, I'd go big or go back to Christmas. Coffee it was. One coffee-doesn't-do-anything-for-me (clearly under-caffeinated) person actually had the nerve to respond, "But, it's just coffee." Wrong. It's never been "just coffee" to me. It's been about the ritual, the time, the constant, if you will. Oh, it's about the taste, and aroma, and the perk as well, but it's more about the comfort in the cup.

The great coffee fast of 2009 ended Sunday and did I run (in heels) to the nearest barista - my own French press? No. I'd found a new ritual of reflection and prayer. Is it a substitute for my beloved act of making/buying/drinking coffee and other various espresso drinks? No, but it is a necessary addition. Not as an insignificant "side;" my morning of meditation is more of the cream in the coffee I learned to like black, which filled the dark liquid with a warm, comforting light. Just like that morning, afternoon, evening prayer. So, in day three of welcoming coffee - with "cream" - back in my life, I can truly say, my cup runneth over . . .