Jesus. Coffee. Bacon. Naps.

You may have noticed my giant coffee mug—the one that boldly declares ' Jesus. Coffee. Bacon. Naps. It’s not just a statement piece. It’s also the subtitle of this blog. And maybe, just maybe, you’ve been curious about why.

Truthfully, it started as a joke. A kind of holy ode to the small delights that hold me together on any given Tuesday. But like most good jokes, there’s truth hidden in it—truth that’s been slowly steeping in my spirit like a strong cup of morning brew.

As a mother to a 19-year-old who lives for the next thing on the calendar—concerts, dinners, events, anything that offers movement and meaning—I find myself curious. Curious might not be quite the right word. Envious? No, not really. Confused? Occasionally. But mostly I’m intrigued by the way some people are hardwired for forward motion, for the next flash of excitement. For my kid, an empty calendar can feel like a fog settling in. For me? Sometimes it feels like a sigh of relief.

I’m not a raging extrovert, but I’m not a hermit either. I’ll gladly say yes to dinner with friends, but I’ll also happily curl up with a book and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a few hours. I love wandering the mall just to people-watch, but I’ll always say yes to a quiet walk through the trees where my only companions are the birds and my thoughts. I crave silence—but I’m not afraid of noise. I’m a little bit of both, stitched together in a patchwork rhythm that works for me.

So I get it—and I don’t. I understand the need to look forward to something, but I also think there’s beauty in the days that ask nothing of us except to show up and be. No plans. No pressure. Just presence.

And that brings me back to my mug. Jesus. Coffee. Bacon. Naps. It’s not a life manifesto. It’s not even a well-balanced breakfast. But it is a reminder that life is often shaped not by the monumental moments,
but by the ordinary ones. The cup of coffee that feels like a hug. The crisp piece of bacon that makes you say mmm out loud. The nap that restores my soul after Sunday morning worship. The quiet connection with Jesus that sneaks up on you during dishes, dog walks, or traffic lights.

It’s the little things.

We live in a world that screams at us to hustle harder, dream bigger, and do more. But sometimes the most spiritual, most revolutionary thing we can do is stop and savour something small. Maybe it’s a bite of breakfast. Maybe it’s the way the sun hits the kitchen floor. Maybe it’s the sound of your child laughing through the wall. Perhaps it’s the ache in your heart that reminds you—you’re still feeling, still loving, still alive.

I don’t need a packed calendar to know I’m living a full life. I just need these anchors. Jesus. Coffee. Bacon. Naps. And maybe a good book and a walk in the woods for good measure.

Because at the end of the day, joy isn’t always about what’s next. Sometimes, it’s about what’s now.

Amen to that.
And pass the bacon.

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