A Year of Morning Thanks

Just a little sin

Yesterday, I talked to two good friends who I've not seen for a month, and I came away angry--well, not angry but sinfully covetous. Both of them, I swear, shed some considerable weight from the heft they'd normally carry out front, as I do. Sometimes I feel like one of those men wearing an empty barrel, except I don't have the barrel. I've got to watch what I eat, I told myself for the umpteenth time this summer.

But then at a Farmers' Market, I spotted a bushel full of homemade cinnamon rolls. I'm not kidding--what seemed an entire bushel. At my age, I'm not sure anything could be more seductive as a hundred cinnamon roles; but, girding my loins with as much moral courage as I could muster, and with the aid of what must have been a batallion of guardian angels, I said no to sin and walked away undefiled, but deeply shaken.

Without my knowing it, however, my wife--playing the Eve--picked one up for me. She must have noted the jittering sweatiness, the abject wan-ness all over my face. Bless her.

So this morning, after I work out, I'm having one of those grand cinnamon rolls for breakfast.

Somewhere, the Bible says "everything in moderation," right? Even a little sin.

This morning I'm thankful for just a little sin.