Now, I don’t usually sit on the witness stand to testify about cigars, but when the subject is My Father The Judge, I’ll raise my right hand and swear to tell the whole smoky truth, so help me Nicaragua.

This cigar, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, walks into the room like a seasoned trial lawyer—dressed in an Ecuadorian Sumatra robe, confident, rich, and ready to argue its case. The box-pressed format feels like holding a leather-bound volume of justice, and when you light the foot, it doesn’t whisper—it testifies.

Opening statements? A bold combination of cocoa and black pepper, strong enough to raise an eyebrow but smooth enough to keep you listening. The Nicaraguan binder and fillers start to lay out the evidence—flavors of espresso, oak, a little molasses—layered with complexity like a well-argued brief. By the second third, this thing’s making closing arguments in your soul.

And here’s the kicker—burns straight as the moral compass of Della Street, with smoke as thick as courtroom suspense and a finish longer than a cross-examination from Perry Mason.

Some might call it a holy moment—where the Spirit meets the smoke and you learn something deeper than just tobacco. It’s not just a cigar; it’s a convincing argument in slow motion. Grace, grit, and a little fire.

My Father The Judge is guilty… of being one of the finest smokes to ever take the stand.

Verdict: in the mid to high 90’s on most scales. Sentence: One hour of pure, flavorful justice.

-MJHarvell

Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”

Now, I don’t know what season you find yourself in today. Maybe it’s a time to plant, or maybe it’s a time to pull up what’s been planted. Maybe it’s spring, where new things are blooming and hope’s waking up. Maybe it’s summer—hot, heavy, and you’re just trying to make it through without burning out. Or maybe you’re in the fall of life—things are changing, leaves are turning, and you’re having to let go of stuff you never thought you would. Then again, maybe it’s winter—quiet, cold, and it feels like everything’s come to a standstill.

Life does ‘t always ask your permission before it changes the channel. One minute you’re grilling burgers barefoot in the yard, and the next, you’re raking up what you planted while trying not to trip over what you’ve lost. But every season—yes, every single one—has purpose, and it has power when placed in God’s hands.

So don’t rush the season. Don’t curse it either. Embrace it. Trust the One who set the sun and moon in place to walk you through it. Because the same God who gave you spring will carry you through winter. And in His perfect time, He’ll make everything beautiful.