Wednesday, September 26, 2012
A Cup Filled to the Brim
In fact, so full, that it was all I could do to keep from spilling it all over myself.
Babes up early.
Drain overflowing in the shower, and it smells like the upstairs neighbor's wash water.
Call the plumber.
Call the electrician, too.
Run grab almost dry clothes off the line, because a storm is rising.
Slish, slosh, dripping over the sides of the cup.
That is the kind of day I had.
And when I sat down at church tonight, I felt empty.
All of me dribbled out in the messy puddles of life.
That's when the accusations, the doubts, the complaints started.
Why did my day have to be so full?
Why couldn't I have a break?
Why couldn't I take more time for puzzles with my middlest instead of
working on budget reports?
Why couldn't I sit and snuggle with my littlest instead of rehanging wet clothes?
Every hiss emptying my cup bone-dry.
Then, a whisper, much different from the first.
"Are you thankful?"
You have time to sit now.
Your sweet baby is snuggled up in your lap.
Your older two are quietly listening to the story of our Passover Lamb.
There is a cool breeze blowing through the building tonight, keeping the sweat from your brow and the mosquitoes from your ankles.
People who've lived their entire lives in darkness are hearing the Truth for the very first time.
Drip, drip, drop.
A visitor has joined us tonight.
Drop, drop, drop.
And soon my cup is full again:
not too full of my lists,
not too full of my expectations,
not too full of my disappointments,
not too full of myself.
Full of truth; full of grace; full of mercy; full of rest.