He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down in the store-bought chair to read for a few minutes. His morning habit was to read the Bible first, pray, and then read a shorter dime novel.”
–L. C. Matthews (The Promise)
Fear, terror, war and rumors of war, pestilence, the virus, heat, drought, anger and hate, evil spirits and false teachers–my Pard, ain’t it delightful? I mean, the comin’ of the Lord has to happen soon. Common sense has left us and the voice has become the postmodern “whatever” now abounds. But let me get to some downright simple and hopeful–here’s a cup of hot, black, strong coffee. Ahhhh, it’ll tickle the tonsils as it slides down the gullet. What? Yuh don’t have any tonsils? Well, sorry, Pard, yuh just have for wait for it to it yur stomach fer it to energize yur gizzard.
Pard, I found out why yuh lost yur step. That tired feelin’ that comes over yuh, I have the answer. It’s not old age, no siree. It’s not even what ails yuh physically. We’ve been misclued all along. Some high falutin’ smart pyschologist says that “‘whiteness’ drains people’s ‘psychic energy.'” I never realized before that because I was born “white” that my psychic energy was at stake. No wonder I could only work all day, then go out and play a nightime double-header. Anything more would have been too much.
This ol’ world must be the proverbial nutcake. But yuh would think with all the “woke”, more enlightened people out there common sense might be seen. Shore does make me wonder about them, and the scariest part is that the schools are producin’ more and more of them. I reckon they’re blind, because there’s a pit and they’re headin’ right toward it. Ol’ Paul done told us that, “professin’ to be wise, they became fools.” But I don’t relish the thought that we have fools in the place of leadership. No wonder the snowflakes melt in the times of crisis.
Yep, those youngsters cayn’t even handle real coffee. Set a mug of that coffee yur drinkin’ this mornin’ in from of them and right off they’d frown at the type of cup. They’d want somethin’ more dainty or what they’re used to, plastic or paper. Then it’d be too hot, too strong, and on they would go. Life is sorta the same way for them: too hot, too strong, not pleasant enough.
Pard, yuh just ride tall in the saddle. Be watchful of the obstacles along the side of the trail, and the varmints that may be hidin’ in them. Watch the skies for the Lord’s return, and don’t forget when yuh have to mount up and get somewhere not to forget to check yur cinch.
Vaya con Dios.