I need to tell you something about my coffee, and I need you not to judge me.

My sisters call me a coffee snob. They're not wrong.

Here's my order — not from a coffee shop, because I no longer buy it from coffee shops. Whether that's because God is teaching me to live on lower means or because nowhere makes it the way I want it, I'll let you decide.

Starbucks French Roast. Dark. Strong. I have a reusable K-cup that I fill twice for one mug because I like my mugs large and my coffee serious. While the first cup is brewing, I'm heating my milk frother with heavy cream and Torani syrup — caramel or salted caramel, depending on the day, with vanilla as the backup. The frother heats it up because good coffee is hot. Very hot.

Both finish at about the same time. I pour the hot frothy cream into the mug, start the second K-cup, and the fresh brew mixes everything together, leaving just enough froth on top.

It's a process. It's specific. It's delicious.

And last week, I almost gave it up.

I was fixing my coffee, pouring the syrup into the frother, when I noticed the bottle was almost empty. Time to buy more.

But then my brain started doing that thing it does when money is tight.

Should I still be this bougie? Maybe it's time to switch to just heavy cream. Maybe I should quit coffee altogether. Save some money. Be more responsible.

You know that spiral. The one where you start calculating the cost of small joys and wondering if you still deserve them.

I didn't have room in my budget to restock for another two days anyway, so I set it aside. Life went on.

The next day, I walked into my kitchen and there were four bottles of Torani syrup sitting on my counter.

Four. Bottles.

Two caramel. Two vanilla.

I stared at them like they'd materialized from heaven — which, honestly, I'm still half-convinced they did.

I asked my sister. She had no idea where they came from. Wasn't hers.

Turns out my brother had dropped them off. He and his wife and their three kids recently moved into an RV to travel more, and he's switched to buying his coffee from shops. He didn't need them anymore.

He didn't know I was almost out. He didn't know I'd been second-guessing my syrup budget. He just... left them on the counter.

Here's the verse that keeps hitting me differently in this season:

"Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things." — Matthew 6:31-32 (KJV)

Your heavenly Father knoweth.

He knows.

I used to read that verse and think about big things — rent, medical bills, job provision. And it does mean those things.

But apparently it also means Torani syrup.

He knows I'm a coffee snob. He knows the frother and the French Roast and the very specific way I like my cream heated. He knows I was standing in my kitchen doing math in my head, wondering if I should give up this small thing that makes my mornings softer.

And He provided. Not through a paycheck or a miracle check in the mail — through my brother cleaning out his RV pantry.

That's how God works sometimes. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just four bottles of syrup on a counter, right when you needed them.

I don't know what small thing you've been second-guessing. The subscription you feel guilty about. The little luxury you're wondering if you deserve. The thing that feels too silly to pray for.

He knows you have need of it.

And He's not too big to care about the small stuff. Sometimes the small stuff is exactly where He shows up — reminding you that you're seen, you're known, and yes, even your bougie coffee order matters to Him.

— Irene D.

Thanks for reading. If this encouraged you, I'd love for you to share it with a friend who needs it too.

— Irene D.