More Than Just Tea

            This week, God, by His providence, brought me into a place most people have purposed to avoid.  I sat among a family whose loved one had been killed by her boyfriend, the father of their three children.  It happened in June of 2023.

Though strangers, we became united in our resolve to see justice.   We met, wept, and prayed on the sixth floor in Courtroom Five at the Walter L. Bailey Criminal Justice Center, better known as the Shelby County Jail at 201 Poplar.

I am reminded by Oswald Chambers in his devotional, My Utmost for His Highest,

“All your circumstances are in the hands of God, and therefore, you don’t ever have to think they are unnatural or unique.  God brings you to places, among people, and into certain conditions to accomplish a definite purpose”.

My purpose? I was a participant in the trial this week because My Cup of Tea’s cameras captured ninety-five percent of the deadly deed. The murder scene was in clear view next door.  I was at The House when the guns reported 6 shots. I met the investigators and nine of the Memphis Police Department officers that day. We served all of them tea as the crime tape was strewn on our neighbors’ front yard among the crowd of curious.

Until this week, I knew nothing of the victim, the perpetrator, their connection to each other or the depth of character of her devoted family.  I had never met the two district attorneys, nor the presiding judge for the trial.  They absorbed my time and my thoughts for five long days and sleepless nights. Now, they are embedded in my emotionally charged view of domestic violence. 

The victim had been entangled with her boyfriend for ten years. An unhealthy attachment had formed through the cycle of abuse. Most likely, complex psychological, practical, and social layers cemented her isolation away from support systems, family, and friends who could help.

The National Domestic Violence Hotline reports that an average of 24 people per minute are assaulted physically or sexually or stalked by an intimate partner. That’s 12 million people per year, 4 out of 5 are women. Memphis and Shelby County account for nearly 17,000 of those cases. One in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have been the victim of severe physical violence by an intimate partner. In the 20 cities with the highest incidences of aggravated domestic violence, 29% to 53% of cases go unreported. It is nearly certain that each of us knows someone.

The boyfriend was convicted Friday, and he will spend the rest of his life in jail without parole.  We beg the question, “Why didn’t she just leave?” Tragically, that question places the burden on the victim. A better question is why the abuser chooses to be violent, and what are the barriers that make leaving him so difficult?  I work among women who have the answers to the first question.

 Among the women currently employed at My Cup of Tea, nine are survivors of domestic violence.  The disruptive details of the murder case have profoundly deepened my understanding of how courageous those nine women truly are. I am celebrating their strength and resilience and am even more committed to supporting their progress in healing and empowerment.  Each has stepped away from the endemic dead end of relationships that destroy. Specifically:

·         Acute poverty is often the outcome of women who have lived to change their partnership with violent abusers.

·         Dependence on government assistance becomes necessary and deflating.

·          Fear of losing custody of children because of mental health and depression shrinks her stamina.

·         The stigma and stress of single parenting devalue her reputation among two-parent families.

·          She must ignore the immense cultural pressures to keep the family together.

There are many more.

My preoccupation with offering dignity to our employees has overlooked the dignity they have already achieved by choosing to leave behind the corrosive past and bravely venture into the unknown. It has taken immense courage to turn away from and boldly pray for new possibilities. Each step toward the uncharted providentially brought them to the embrace of My Cup of Tea in Orange Mound. Each is a testament in truth of resilience and hope.

What I once thought we might offer in dignified work and community is far less valued than the safety and protection we command in their behalf.

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, help is available. You are not alone. 

•  National Domestic Violence Hotline (US & Canada): 1-800-799-7233  www.thehotline.org
• National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV): www.ncadv.org
• RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673 www.rainn.org

In Memphis/Shelby County:

• ·   Crime Victims and Rape Crisis Center        901-222-3950

We are constantly rewarded but rarely challenged by the devoted volunteers who frequent The House.  There is a steady stream of experts and experienced friends, of many trades, who come for lunch and connect pieces of the very challenging one-thousand-piece puzzle of loving neighbors as we love ourselves.

Recently, a favorite friend came for lunch. She visits with enthusiasm rarely experienced within our walls. I have worried more than once that she might not read the room well or perceive the vibe when she arrives.  One day recently, unencumbered and armor-clad, she deftly and ingeniously opened King David’s Psalm 100 while we continued eating. Patiently, she waited until the paper plates were cleared and in Mary Poppins fashion, handed out worksheets and pencils to all.  My expectations for the rest of the hour collapsed while hers prevailed.

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,” the psalm begins, and she continued, ignoring the fatigued body language of a few.  She diagramed the salient points of the psalm and made it clear that she would fill the remaining hour.  The energy began to change.

 Our friends in Orange Mound have rarely, if ever, been in a setting such as the one unfolding in our lunchroom.  We obediently filled in the answers on the atypical worksheets she provided. Everyone participated. A seasoned teacher with a positive grasp of the possibilities of her class summons latent skills and sharpens them. No one in the room balked.

 My skepticism shamed me, and my doubts drained away as the hour filled with uncommon hope. Despite that, I countered with certainty, that she was past naïve when she required homework to be completed in two weeks. 

     “Write a psalm and complete it in the tone of King David’s manner.” She continued ignoring the gasps. “Begin with praise, address God personally, extol God’s attributes, thank Him in specific ways for several things, and end again with praise.” She nodded with a smile, “Are there any questions? I’ll be back in two weeks, and we will share each of your original psalms.”  The only thing lacking was two clicks of her heels as she left.

                It’s clunky to dwell on socio-cultural differences. However, the myriad of different life circumstances and varied resources are palpable at 3028 Carnes.  Homework heretofore, though hardly ever suggested, has been lost, stolen, forgotten or eaten by the dog.

This week, she returned as promised. My heart melted with surprise to see that every lady but one had her homework finished and ready.

I have copies of all the psalms that were proudly shared in the room.  The spectrum of their experiences is not my own. I am daily fumbling as I navigate our different social and cultural norms. Though the mosaic of backgrounds and perspectives prevails, we have the same Father. 

Now, it is evident that they have turned their frequently shared sadness of the absence of their earthly fathers into a deeper and abiding trust in our Heavenly One.

One wrote:

“When I think about You, God, all I can say is I am not worthy.”

Another:

“Thank you, Lord, for waking me up, protecting my family while I was away, and answering my prayers for getting me out of that jail cell.” (She was in jail for twenty months at 201 Poplar.)

Still another wrote:

“Thank you, God, for my kids, my job, my mind, my health, my things; but most of all, thank you for being my dad.”

One who has come to us after years on the streets: “Thank you for giving me peace, sobriety from my addiction, and providing me the return to my family.”

There were many more, but one is so well said, and I end with her love of God’s attributes:

“How blessed I am that Your name resides in my mouth. Father, I don’t wish to wonder where I would be without You. Father, You redeemed me from my poor decisions and ungodly choices. I thank you for rescuing me when I was below bottom. You forgave my sins and forgot them as well. Gracious, God, keep me in Your will.”

May that sink in to us all as our cup overflows, we spill the tea, and spread the news of what He is doing at My Cup of Tea in Orange Mound.

Each of our Orange Mound ladies carries a profound story marked by trauma and abuse. These remarkable women have endured unimaginable hardships—too many, they would whisper, to fully remember or desire to articulate.

For them, the act of forgiving is not just a choice; it is an urgent necessity. A Black single mother navigating the harsh realities of poverty must summon extraordinary strength to move forward and reclaim her life. In a world where her voice often goes unheard and her struggles remain unacknowledged, we strive to be advocates, determined to lift them up, validate their experience, and offer resources. Together, we link arms to pursue their redemption and recovery. We have discovered that resilience is remarkably acquired by a wise woman when she is faced with a multitude of injustices.

One of our most resilient employees continues to rise above her past, holding onto her faith that the future will be brighter. At just 12 years old, she was raped by her uncle, and instead of finding support, her mother blamed her, scorned her, and even tried to force a miscarriage.

My friend was assigned all of the cooking and cleaning chores and the daily care of her siblings, yet she maintained her education.  She discovered a talent but was never encouraged to develop a trade. She married, suffered abuse, was abandoned, and divorced. She suffered physically and psychologically, without medical guidance, and bore the scars and wounds of a battered woman. She prevailed.

To borrow the words from a song that is on repeat in my mind: “No matter the wounds, no matter the bruises, no matter the scars, no matter the causes, let me introduce you to amazing grace, for the Cross has made, yes, the Cross has made her flawless."  She refuses to succumb. She rises, resets, and resumes the course.

Her narrative of valor has continued for decades. She honors, nurses, and weeps for her mother, who has dementia. She has nursed, served, prayed with, and buried two brothers without help from any of her other siblings. She starves her own need to complain about her family and fills her afternoons feeding the needy and strangers she passes on her way home.            

 Whenever I am mistakenly lauded for my efforts over the past 14 years to love and encourage the more than 100 women who have worked at My Cup of Tea, I feel not humbled, but embarrassed. These women have shown me the qualities essential for a life filled with faith and peace.  They embody courage, resilience, and a deep capacity for forgiveness towards those who have let them down.  I am the one who has learned the invaluable life skill of unconditional love from them, not the reverse.