The sun seeped through my jeans, warming my legs, as I lounged on the sofa and waited for my espresso to brew. One of Mom’s holiday shortbread cookies–edible gold and made from a recipe passed down by my Scottish ancestors (or so I like to think)–waited patiently on a napkin.

Yesterday was a good day for relaxing, and for indulging the senses. Hearing espresso bubble its way up through the Moka Express. Pinching up remnant crumbs from the napkin and breathing the rich steam of roasted beans. Savoring the espresso’s complexity and the shortbread’s sweetness. Watching sunbeams fall into my apartment (and remembering me how badly I need to dust).

Photo courtesy of Kelly Sikkima via creationswap.com

Life bursts with sensory experiences–gratuitous, copious, and lavish moments that speckle each day.

We expect the coffee steam to tantalize us each morning, or–for the deviants of society–to repulse, but we might have lived in a world without senses. A world where espresso bubbles in silence and emits no aroma. A world where sunlight gives no warmth, where “sweet” is a gibberish word, and where liquid feels the same as crumbs.

But we don’t, because the Creator is also a giver.