This whisky has been an incredible distraction for well over a year. Don’t get me wrong. I am not referring to it negatively. There can be both good and bad distractions. Allow me to explain.

Perhaps to illustrate a “good” distraction, I might portray a discussion between two men. As the discourse becomes full, a beautiful woman walks into the room. The one speaking begins to stumble over his words because he loses concentration. I must admit, however, that this is not fitting for me. I am married to a charmingly beautiful woman, and she walks into the room all the time. Pretty girls are not a distraction for me. I think a better illustration would be to say that as my busy life (as it is for others) sometimes has the posture of droning forward with all-consuming duty after duty, on occasion, a sunrise beckons for me to pause, take a breath, and enjoy the uplands coming into view.

Take the sun’s hand and visit with her for a moment. She is distracting you, and it is a good distraction.

A bad distraction would be, as it was a few days ago in my office. It was the immediate after-school hour, and my son Harrison was taking what you would assume to be a restful “sit-down” moment in my office bathroom which is only a few steps from my desk. He’s six years old and has yet to comprehend privacy’s fuller potential and benefit, so the door was slightly open. I was on the phone speaking with a recent visitor to the church when in the background, I heard the little boy grunting toward accomplishing something great, all the while encouraging himself, “C’mon. You can do it.” Needless to say, I had a tough time concentrating. I was talking about the significance of our historic, liturgical worship style while at the same time thinking I needed to stop by the local grocer and pick up some prunes.

Poor kid. Still, he was a bad distraction at that moment.

The Balvenie SherryOak edition is the former and not the latter. She had been sitting beside a twin bottle in my “investment” stash for a few years. Every time I went to turn bottles, she would smile up at me and say, “Wait for a second, Chris. Please take me with you. Let’s visit together.” She’d asked so many times, prodding so gently that I would consider time with her. I could no longer resist, and it was for a restful benefit.

The nose of The Balvenie SherryOak rises full and bright like a sunrise carrying the rich scent of sherry wine in her rays and sprinkling the earth below with spicy dew.

The palate delivers on the promise of that glorious sunrise. The early hours of the new day render sweet and ripened fruit gently etched with the archetypal honey signature penned upon most, if not all, of The Balvenie whisky editions.

The finish was incredibly gentle, running its course toward sundown in swift fashion, leaving a pleasant memory of caramel and fruit shared at ease with a good friend.

And this distraction—this visitation—ended as God intends for friends who have grown close.

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

“Yes, tomorrow. And thank you for today.”