By Brenda Cannon Henley
If you have known me very long, you know my drink of choice is an ice cold Pepsi. I prefer them in the smaller plastic bottles so that I can take a sip here and there and then put the top back on tightly to keep the fizz in for a long time. I can drink one Pepsi the better part of morning, afternoon, or evening. I developed a deep aversion to drinking after other people many years ago, and if you really want to aggravate me, pick up my Pepsi without permission, drink a big gulp, put the top back on it, and sit it down again. I don’t like that smug look that says, “You’ll never know I did that!” Oh, but I do know. And, I will remember it. Believe me on this.

My step-dad and I had a running discussion in my teen years concerning whether or not Coca-Cola and Pepsi tasted differently. He declared long and loud that there was no difference in the taste and that I was simply being silly to always order or ask to buy Pepsi. He said, “Coke is coke!” For my dear northern friends, he would add, “All pop is pop.”

Being born and reared in the Atlanta, GA. area, I am fully aware of Coke’s rich history, the museum near Underground Atlanta, and people’s loyalty to the products. And, I am truly grateful for the many jobs the massive company has provided over the years.

One summer afternoon, I thought it a bit strange that my step-dad brought me an icy cold Pepsi in an old glass bottle when I came in from the lake. It was kind, but not really normal. Man, it looked so good to the eyes. I could just barely see little glimmers of ever so thin ice that had formed when he popped the top and handed the treat to me.

My family members were sitting around talking as I took the first refreshing swallow on that hot afternoon. Upon first taste, I hastened to the sink and spat the brown liquid out quickly. “Oh, that is awful. There’s something wrong with that Pepsi. It is way too sweet and syrupy. I cannot drink that.” I was genuinely concerned that the bottling company had undergone some sort of malfunction and that the batch of products was simply bad.

My brothers began to laugh and I soon realized I had been the subject of a family prank or joke. My step-dad had carefully removed the old metal top, emptied the good Pepsi from the bottle, and refilled it with a fresh Coke, and resealed the drink. He then placed it in the freezer to be just right when I came home from my life-guarding job at the lake.

It didn’t work. I knew something wasn’t right with the first taste. He had been determined to prove I couldn’t tell the difference between the two products, but I could then and I can now. Just for the record, I do drink Coca-Cola products in restaurants, and if they are fountain drinks in ice, I can tolerate them.

Fast forward with me over six decades of my life (and many cartons of Pepsi later). Some funny stories have gone into the pages of my memory book over the simple subject of my choice of soft drinks. My pastor, friend, and employer for nearly 30 years, Dr. Curtis Hutson, was a Pepsi man and we had them at the church, school, and college.

I had a busy week at work here in Florida, a fast weekend at church and home, and decided to take a short nap on Sunday afternoon. I must have been more tired than I knew and simply did not wake up as I usually would. I missed the evening service, which I enjoy, but did wake up to catch most of it online. Got up extra early on Monday morning to write checks and pay bills before going to work. I had two phone calls, each bearing a bit of bad news concerning folks I love, and then remembered that the following day, in dreaded August, my beloved Ted would be dead eight long years. That took the wind out of my sails and I began to pray and thank God for each blessing I could remember at the moment.

I knew I needed to get my mind and heart under control quickly or this Monday was going to whip my posterior. I headed to the kitchen and opened one of three plastic bottles resting on the shelf. First sip was awful. It tasted like the bottle my step-dad had given me so long ago. I wasn’t happy and poured it in the sink. There were two more cold Pepsis. I chose another and opened that top. Carefully putting the bottle to my mouth, I could not believe it. This one was bad, too. How could this be? I had bought the carton at the grocery store.

Not to be beat, I poured that one out, too, and bravely grabbed the third. Opening it, at the sink, I was completely surprised to see tiny crystals of ice, just exactly like I like it to be, form ever so slowly. I could hardly believe my eyes as I lifted the small bottle and tasted the first sip.

Perfection! Great! Exactly what I wanted to taste. But, wait, how could that be? All three bottles were sitting side by side on the shelf in the same refrigerator? How could one have my perfect ice and taste and two not? You come up with what you will. I know what I believe.

I had been praying most of the morning for God to help my sorry attitude and lonely heart. I was asking Him to give me strength, steadiness, and a sweet spirit. I was praying for others who are hurting and struggling with life’s heavy matters. Amanda, Perry, Steven, Laura, Tim, Ginger, Stephanie, Millie, Terry, and so many more, were in those prayers.

I believe with all my heart, God decided I needed a perfectly iced Pepsi to start this damp, wimpy Monday to let me know that when everything else in this old world is going absolutely crazy, He is still the same and that He loves His children very much, and cares about every little need and sometimes, even our wants. The Book of James tells us that every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father above.

You believe what you want – I will believe what I want.

Brenda Cannon Henley can be reached at 409 781 8788, or
[email protected]

[Aug-16-2022]