Which Cup?

Yes, there really are people who organize their sock drawers. I am one of them, at least once in a while. Yesterday was once in a while because I couldn’t stand the mess anymore. And who would have thought that cleaning out a sock drawer would take me down memory lane?

Among the socks I found a letter from ten years ago. One paragraph nearly brought tears as I read what had gone on in my life at that time. My husband and I were struggling as we parented two teenaged daughters. Then no sooner was my father hospitalized for a heart attack, when one of my daughters was hospitalized. After Dad was released, so was my daughter. Within a short time he was readmitted for renal failure. And again my daughter was hospitalized. If that was not enough, an aunt passed away. The best news of that time was that I finished my last of sixteen rounds of cancer treatment.

Mercifully I had forgotten some of those events, but I decided I didn’t want to walk down that memory lane the next drawer cleaning. I shredded the letter.

Have you had a season or seasons like that? Waves of sorrow, distress, or pain? I would like to tell you why all those things happened to you and me. I have some large-scale answers for us, but thinking about cups helps me more—something on a small scale that I can handle rather than big, theological thoughts.

My perfect cup

I like tea like some people like coffee. (Could there be a Teabucks some time, some place, please?) Everything tea interests me—cups, mugs, little tea saucers for used bags, tea balls. Of course, I am selective about the cup or mug I drink from. I want a nice perfect one. When my tea cups or mugs get chipped, stained, or has-been in appearance, I am done with them. Time for a new, perfect purchase.

That’s how I want my life—just like that perfect tea cup. Occasionally I have a perfect life tea cup—for a fleeting moment. Poignant and beautiful. I want to embrace it, tighten my grasp on it, and hold it forever because life should be like that all the time. But no, I can’t hold a moment any more than I can hold a tea cup all the time.

My broken cup

During that painful time ten years ago, I feel like God gave me a different kind of tea cup—a broken one. Even yesterday, when I thought back on that time, tears filled my eyes, and I wondered why those things had to happen. Yet then and now, I believe God whispers to me, “Will you take this cup from Me?” In my heart I long to say, “Why, Lord? It’s broken. It’s useless.” But if I am still, and let him finish, He reassures me that if he gives me a broken cup, it could never be useless. Uselessness is outside of the nature and character of who He is.

Last fall I attended a ladies conference, and the theme focused on cups. The ladies were invited to take one of the assorted cups on the table where we sat. I had my eye on a blue one near me. Someone got it first. Rapidly the other cups were snatched up until someone finally handed me the last available mug. Small, white with a molded pattern, the cup was not a cup for a serious tea-drinker or for someone who liked a splash of color. Frankly, I was disappointed.

My overflowing cup

Disappointed, that is, until I realized how little it would take for that cup to overflow. And that’s where God met me. I want a perfect cup, which I might only have for a brief time before I have to let it go. Sometimes my Father offers me a broken cup, which I may not understand, but which he promises will not be useless in my life, no matter how it looks to me. But I think most of the time my Father is offering me a small, simple cup because He wants to fill it (me) to overflowing so it spills out for the benefit of those around me.

Which cup? I still prefer the first one, but I am learning to accept the cups the Father offers to me. And, after all, isn’t that what Jesus did? He asked that a cup be taken away, and it wasn’t. Thank God it wasn’t. So which cup? Whichever one God wants me to have.