The cinnamon left a tart feeling on my taste-buds, the black tea rich in flavor subdued by the soft soy milk frothy and full, and just a hint of sweet - a cup of tea like none other.
For a few moments in time it was the most delicious creation....
Then the cup was empty.
Foamed soy milk rings were left around the cup, and the tea bag lay soggy in it's bottom. As I grasped the cup, tipping it as far as it would go without splashing my face - longing for the last drops of the delicious tea, my moment of liquid heaven was over.
It felt like it barely began.
I guess I often see life through these tea fashioned rings. Romantic, exotic, sweet but terribly too short.
I should be honest, I'm currently being deconstructed and am reaching for anything that makes sense - any little Lincoln Log I can grab to build something out of the nothing I am falling in.
I don't know why I dread so much the deconstruction, it's not like the building is falling on its own. Rather each piece, each construct of my life is being taken apart intricately and specifically by the illustrious, and good Creator. The hands pulling at my seems are not harsh or cruel - but are loving and holy hands, ones that carry holes in their palms as they have deconstructed the cruel world before and brought life never before imagined.
So why wouldn't these hands bring new life again?
Why be so afraid of the unknown, when it's in the exact place of absence & lack of knowing that Truth bursts forth and moves mountains?
I guess it's about trust.
In one of our many conversations about faith and identity, my husband was reflecting that while my wounds don't define me I've had instances of wounds that have shaped how I see things - God, myself, the world, purpose etc. As a recent professor reflected - we are living in our interpretations of our experiences not necessarily the experiences themselves. That is the beauty of what another professor friend called "God redeeming our memories" - He isn't changing the events themselves, but He is changing our interpretation of them.
But to allow a Holy God to shape us, requires abandonment, full and entire emptying - for this wicked frame cannot hold Him. Every part of my humanity must be made clean, pure, and right before the Almighty.
So Lord, make me renewed.
This Martha.
This part-time Mary.
The industrious one.
The administrator.
Eldest child.
First fruit sacrifice.
Authority challenged.
Wishful feminist.
Secret worshipper.
Loud talker.
The longings.
The dreams.
Pastor.
Missionary.
Mother.
Speaker.
Teacher.
Boss.
Wife.
Friend.
World changer.
Game player.
Take these definitions of me - the titles I wear proudly or in secret, and show me who You say that I am. Conform my memories of those defining moments to the truth of Your Spirit. Lead me into all righteousness. Laying down my expectations but giving into Your will - for all of forever.
I can't say anymore - this is who I am.
For who I am was left at the altar. Who I was given as a burnt offering of obedience.
Rather let me explore the depths of Love, the trenches of hope in the seas of the Unending Known God.
Help me not limit myself, but trust in Your breadth of love to sustain me.
I can't but that's okay. All I know is changing, and I can't control a thing. The waters are calling, help me dive deep. Let me wrestle You Lord, I will not leave You until I have a new name. One given by You not by man's desires or expectations - but a name given expressing who I truly am in You.
As in the words of C.S. Lewis
"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind..."
Even the best cup of tea, in its most exotic and rich of flavor must end - but tomorrow brings an unexpected opportunity to discover its wonder again.
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