Funny anything-but-Coffee Girl

By Chraris Brumbaugh

Note to readers: My daughter recently asked if she could write one of my articles  for me. I told her sure! She could have a go at it. I thought  she was kidding. Less than an hour  later, she handed me the following article.  I’m sure after readingit, you’ll understand why I loved it  so much. ~ Renae I hate coffee.  No, I despise it. I have no idea how anyone could  possibly find pleasure in putting something so disgustingly bitter  into their mouths. Give me a nice, soothing cup of tea, or a steam - ing mug of hot cocoa any day. But  please, don’t make me touch a cup of coffee.  Despite my abhorrence of coffee, I had the grave misfortune of being born to a woman who practically  worships the stuff. She goes through a pot a day, sometimes  two. She can barely survive an hour without some of the nasty drink. We  have an entire shelf in our house dedicated  to nothing but her numerous types of coffee. She can  pontificate for hours about the virtues of the vile liquid. I mean, for goodness’ sake, her newspaper column is titled Coffee Talk, and she’s   known online and in books as the Funny Coffee Girl.  Growing up, I’d watch her drink her  coffee and think how cool and sophisticated she looked. Every day she’d pour in her cream and mix in her sugar, and when I begged to try a sip, she’d tell me to wait until  I was older. It was such a grown up beverage; I practically counted the days until I was grown-up enough  to drink it. When I was 15, she finally let me have a cup of coffee. This made  it official. I had reached womanhood. I embarked on this new journey  with buckets of enthusiasm! I poured my coffee, added a touch  of cream and a quick teaspoon of sugar. Slowly, in the most mature  fashion I could muster, I lifted the mug to my mouth, anxious for my  first taste of adulthood. Bleck!  It was the foulest thing I’d ever put in my mouth. How could anyone  drink this stuff? Was it some sort of punishment for all the sins  of my past? It made me miss childhood.  But after all these years oflonging for a cup of morning coffee, just like my mom, I couldn’t let go of my dreams simply because I didn’t like the taste. So the next day, I pulled a mug from the cabinet,  poured the tiniest sip of coffee into it, then filled it nearly to the brim with pumpkin flavored creamer.  Then I added eight heaping spoonfuls of sugar.  Gingerly, I took a sip. Still not  the Java Fan Club President, but that was slightly better.  Instead of drinking coffee with cream and sugar, I spent most of my  high school years drinking cream and sugar with a dash coffee. It made  me feel like an adult. But I eventually realized that no matter what, Ieven with 75% cream and  sugar. My morning drink switched to tea or juice . .  . though I still asked for a coffee pot last Christmas,  because I like having the option to drink coffee anytime  I want, just like a real grownup.  Although I didn’t inherit my mother’s taste  for coffee, I’m glad she’s passed on other things to me. I’m glad I have her  eyes. Her sense of humor. Her passion for teaching. Her weakness for all things chocolate. Her love for Jesus.  Her faith in God. I’m grateful to have such an amazing, strong,  compassionate woman in my life, and I hope to  someday be more like her. So, even if we don’t bond  over coffee, I’m glad I can have long talks with my  best friend while I hold my hot chocolate.  “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but  a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give  her the reward she has earned, and let her works  bring her praise at the city gate,” Proverbs 31:30-31 NIV.