If Teacups Were Women, A Thanksgiving Post

I have a collection of teacups in my dining room that's spilled over into my kitchen, and even into a bedroom, or two. They make me happy. Not in the kind of happiness like holding a baby for the first time, or hearing someone say, "I love you," but that homey kind of settled happy.

I've been collecting teacups for many years, and not just any cup, it must speak to me.

There were a few cups sitting on the bar waiting for a new home. I noticed how they'd been well used. I walked into my dining room and took a quick tour of the cups sitting on the buffet. They sit there every day as I casually walk past them but today was different. Most of these cups are rarely used...beautiful to look at, dainty, gold trimmed, fine porcelain cups.

Today, as I looked at my cups I was reminded of how cups are like women.

You know the one in your group of friends on Facebook who posts everything about her perfect life and you slither to the floor as you recall your not-so-perfect life. Your voice goes silent as the girls chatter on about their perfect marriages and their perfect children with their perfect grades. She has the gorgeous face, clothes, and body to go with her life and you bleed with envy. That perfect cup has never been used. It's probably not been through the fire yet, or maybe she's just good at hiding her flaws.

Then there's the hardworking girl that everyone likes. She's not ashamed of who she is. She's beautiful in her own way, yet smart and simple at the same time, a girl next door kind of quality. Her beauty comes from the fact that she knows she has a purpose. She's tough and she knows how to roll with life's harshness. I like this girl and her cup. I have several Transferware cups that are sturdy and dependable. They have character about them if you look closely enough at the detail. Most people don't take time to look past the simplicity of this girl. But trust me, she's worth a second look. This cup can take the heat of the dishwasher and come out beautiful every time.

And then there's the last cup I noticed in my collection. This one is beautiful and fragile. She's been through the fire and survived. Chips and cracks reveal the years of use to her frame, yet she can still serve her purpose. She was created to hold hot liquid, to be held in the hands of another. Her flowers, though faded, still bear the mark of her creator. If she could talk, I wonder what stories of love and loss she would tell. She might tell of tea parties and love stories, of little girls and weddings, and late night worries of sick babies.

I often think on these things as I'm drinking from antique cups of generations of women no longer with us. What stories would my Ma Bailey or my mother share with me if they were alive? I can only see them in my dreams where they live, and as I remember them.

Which cup are you? Have you been through the fire? You may be fragile as the last cup, but don't give up. You've come through the fire and you have purpose. You're strong and beautiful and if my cup could talk she'd tell you the same.

I've been through the fire, and so have many of you. There is One who is faithful to go through the fire with me, and you. I like to think I come from sturdy stock, but sometimes I'm so fragile the only thing holding me together are the flowers on the side of the cup. It's during those times my Savior is the one who gently picks up the cup and says, "This one's mine, I'll hold her today."

This Thanksgiving, 2015, I'm most thankful for Jesus, the Shepherd, who cares for me tenderly and loves me with an everlasting love.

He'd love to add you to His collection. I can promise He'll handle with care and your cup will always be full and running over...if you allow Him to fill it.

Happy Thanksgiving,
Cindy