My big, fat, white coffee mug that had it’s origin in the Brown Derby, a place my parents took me when I was a little girl in Hollywood, California. Funny, every time we visited Los Angeles mother and I wanted daddy to drive us around to all the land mark places, in which he had no interest, after all he grew up there, it wasn’t anything special or spectacular to him.
Steaming hot, strong, black coffee to fill my big, fat, white mug within five minutes of waking in the morning.
The lightweight fork, not the gold-plated one but the plain, cheap stainless that came with a set of silverware that no longer exists, bought when we moved into this house over thirty-seven years ago. It seems to fit just right in my hand and the tines are sharp and pierce that straggling piece of lettuce with a bit of dressing on it at first stab.
My leopard print nightgown, lying down on tightly stretched white sheets with seven pillows, three under my head and two on either side.
Un-fastening my bra and kicking off my shoes the moment I walk in my house from where ever it is I have been and getting into my comfy clothes.
Standing in front of over a hundred people, mostly ladies, this past Saturday and feeling the anointing of the Holy Spirit envelop me like I had been shrink-wrapped in Saran Wrap and feeling like I was having an out-of-the-body experience, watching myself as I spoke and sang, priceless.
The moon in any stage but especially when it is full and faithfully glowing night after night knowing that everyone that has ever been born on the face of the earth has gazed upon this same beautiful orb.
The sun shining on sugar white sand on a hot summer day and not worrying that I will have sun spots or wrinkles, just enjoying the moment with my portable radio listening to the local DJ count down the top 10.
My son or daughter sitting at the table eating and trying to out-do each other with funny stories and imitations of each other.Taking my grandson to school and saying our morning prayer as we ride down Nickajack Road and then as he gets out of the car leaning back in to say, “I love you Mammy.”
My granddaughter giggling over all the Valentine gifts she received from her new boyfriend after fearing she was going to be single for the rest of her life.
The expression on the faces of this same granddaughter and her friends as I told them the “facts of life” from my point of view, and then hearing them re-tell it year after year and knowing it is getting more and more blown out of proportion for the laughs the story gets.
Having the dream where I am visiting with my parents and marveling at how young and strong they are.
Listening to my music.
Listening for the Voice of the Lord to speak to me.
Having an AHA moment when a scripture comes alive in a different way after having read it many times before.
Decorating for Christmas…
These are a few of my favorite things, but my most favorite thing of all is when one of you tells me in person, sends a message to me via text, messenger or Facebook, that when you heard me teach or read my devotion you felt as if it were just the two of us sitting over a cup of coffee… in my big, fat, white, Brown Derby mug filled with steaming hot, strong, black coffee.