More Than Just Tea

Thursday was a weary day draped in dreary gray, not uncommon to this time of year. At My Cup of Tea, our central heat was challenged to keep us warm and comfortable.  All the ladies had defaulted to self-pity and yammering about life’s flaws and slights. Our work assignments were unchallenging and laborious. Debbie had all of them totaling inventory and sweeping together product markdowns for our customers who still have solvency after the Christmas season.  

Solvency was not in the conversations around the worktables. Several had asked when the annual federal tax refunds would be available. Tax refunds provide ample financial relief for low-income families in early February. Many of the ladies qualify, prompting impatience and a catalog of woes for the delay.

Mired in discontent, four of them knocked on the office door hoping for an interest free loan from our piggy bank. We have an emergency fund fed by a small sum of the ladies for the benefit of all. It plumps up after pay day, but after Christmas it is on life support. Though constantly urged to save, the ladies have no savings or cash reserve. Like many people, most of the ladies regularly succumb to the charm of affordable instant upgrades at the beauty aisle of the neighborhood drugstore.

Generous support from our friends and philanthropists is our lifeblood and we are constantly blessed.  On this day, however, a new and quite unlikely philanthropy graced our sullen environment with three very large brown boxes housing blankets of brilliant hue. Each had been crocheted by a male inmate from Whiteville Tennessee Correctional Facility.  Twenty-four stunningly intricately woven lap or shoulder coverings were offered in kindness by men who have no savings or tax refunds. A very good, but impossible, day for them would be to work with benefits at a secure job with heat, comfortable chairs, and the freedom to go home at the end of the workday.

As each of our ladies chose her gift and wrapped herself in the luxury of soft wool, the complaints ceased abruptly, shamed into silence by the realization that this kindness came from talented, selfless strangers who possessed nothing but time on their hands and none of the comforts and freedoms most of us take for granted. None chose to remain in an unhappy state.

             We always choose between seeing the glass as half full or half empty. It’s a choice that remains, even for those most blessed. In moments of self-pity, the Lord often gently corrects by reminding us that His provision extends beyond our material want and wishes to His agenda to heal our ungrateful and stubborn hearts.

            All adjourned after lunch with an elegant addition to her wardrobe, a genuine smile, and perhaps a notion to bless a stranger with her surplus of time and treasure and talent.

Every December, I have the glorious and satisfying privilege of acknowledging the support that is offered annually to our little enterprise called My Cup of Tea.  Signing each message of thanks is a reminder of what makes our mission so special.  Over fourteen years of concentration on loving our neighbors in Orange Mound, our experiment has amassed a collective team strength, a trusted reputation, and a shared hope for the future of each of our ladies and the ladies who will join us.

                Originally, when all of this began, my hope was to elevate and redirect the women toward independence and disengage them from the capricious government subsidies upon which they depend.   I thought financial independence would be easy.  I didn’t fully appreciate how fragile things can be for women juggling endless demands on time, transportation, and utilities, with bills piling up faster than income can flow in.

 With reserve, I have never known the absence of what is essential - the means to meet my needs, a way to move through the world, or a place of warmth or shelter.  I say this not as a point of pride, but with a humble awareness that this is a profound grace, not a given.

Originally, I wrongly envisioned mutual authentic friendship with each Orange Mound woman who crossed our front doorstep into employment.   Managing her finances would be solved in two clicks, and our team’s hospitality and personal magnetism would fill the vacuum of friendship and trust.   Earning the dollars for personal essentials by working at the tea company, I thought, would be dignifying, edifying, and ease our employees into self-sufficiency.  Prosperity was not the goal, but the means to instill confidence and a creative, rooted life.

                I read multiple books, prayed, sought advisors, and plunged into a foreign culture and community with a vision to paint hope with flat brushes and primary colors. The shallows in which I soon stood showed me I was painting by the numbers. The canvas soaked up every drop of paint and initiative. In time, the Light touched it, and gradually a remarkable original masterpiece appeared.  It was not at all related to the one I had envisioned.  The freedom and art of foregoing a step-by-step approach to success was less about following a plan and more about witnessing God’s vision come to life.  Something organic and quite beautiful, and indescribable, has evolved.

                The Bible tells the reader at least four hundred times to go to the poor, give to the poor, pray for the poor, defend the poor, protect them, sacrifice for them, and present unconditional love for the poor as central to faithful living.  Jesus’ life on earth and teachings elevate this responsibility. How we treat the vulnerable is directly tied to our relationship with God.  In essence, acting justly, mercifully, and without reservation is the requirement. (Micah 6:8)

                The late Tim Keller, pastor and theologian, answered one of my questions, “Why the poor and why four hundred times?"  Why not old women and men? Why not specific people groups, children, or the lost?  Keller says, “We give to the poor because they can’t reciprocate.”  It mirrors the Gospel.  We model the need, and the Lord models the way we should do it.

In truth, we are the poor, and we cannot earn grace or reciprocate the immeasurable gift we have received. Undeserving and once impossibly anchored in sorrow and futility, we who have been born again are given the irrefutable reality that we are fully known and fully loved.  Our needs are met and our future outweighs the present.  Everything sad and bad will be undone one day.

We serve the ladies from the unshakable place of a never ceasing wellspring that pours into our hearts through the Holy Spirit and out into the broken and raw landscape of Orange Mound. The My Cup of Tea administrators, volunteers, and you, who are our supporters, are conduits of His living water reviving and reimagining the future for our beloved women, both for now, and for Eternity.

Thank you for standing with us.  Your support is a measurable blessing now, and with more ladies in view, the rewards for you are without measure, and the masterpiece is priceless.

In our business world that often pits women against each other, a woman’s past is a locked vault, and letting other women in feels like surrender.  However, we have achieved one thing that many have said is impossible. There is an indisputable alliance of devotion and respect among the employees at My Cup of Tea.  

 Our internal workforce, and the cohesive bond that maintains it, has been reverently pieced together like a rich mosaic of fragile tiles. Résumés of work experience are not required because living in Orange Mound is the only condition necessary for a woman to apply for work at My Cup of Tea.  Invariably, each fresh applicant arrives for consideration “emotionally buttoned up” and disinclined to share her past, her present, her pain, and much less her privacy. She keeps that information classified.

There is a generational mandate familiar to each. It is a legacy of silence passed from mother to daughter: guard your private life. Privacy neglected opens wounds for infection!  Pride is the bandage that belies the need for attention. “Nothing to see here,” she lies. “I’m fine."

Connection takes courage. At The House in Orange Mound, the superficial film of pride must be gingerly wiped away, just as dust is cleared from a neglected masterpiece. Transparency is tentative, and prayer is awkward at first.  But in time, we carefully uncover the intricate beauty of each woman through friendship, prayer, and service.  Cracks in our mosaic are common daily, but the patina never dulls. Answers to prayers for help are in our daily conversations.  We experience the joys of small victories in the inevitable challenges that are amplified in poverty.  Vulnerability is a virtue here.

Housing needs, transportation, costly utilities, childcare, debt, and healthcare are always on our prayer list.  But a new need has become a significant bother. Two of the veteran ladies are approaching retirement.

                Since a busy holiday shopping season is upon us, I have asked the Lord to send us three women to whom we can offer work, hope, and stability. I requested young ones who can scale our stairs and stock our shelves. My prayer included women eager to build our brand and our mission. I appealed quite vehemently to bring them quickly so we can teach them about tea and our purpose, and assign them work duties as December won’t wait.

 My prayer was on “rinse and repeat.”  Several weeks ago, the Lord gave me further instructions. Details commenced in a homily on Luke 5:1-11, offered by Dr. Carlos Campo, CEO of the Museum of the Bible.  I identified with Peter, who was exhausted and defeated after a whole night of fishing and empty nets. His market depended on a fresh catch. “They have changed their feeding patterns and moved to the shallows,” Peter perhaps thought.

Dr. Campo emphasized the Lord’s words: “Throw your net into deeper waters.”

Peter’s reply to Jesus’s suggestion to fish in deeper waters would be like mine.  He said, “I fished all night.”

 I would say, “I’ve looked for days; perhaps it’s the down cycle of the economy, or they have moved to Binghampton”.

 “Put your nets into deeper waters”.

Peter obeyed and went into deep waters.

I obeyed and commissioned a gossamer web of prayer, which unfurled into uncharted and shadowed spaces in Orange Mound. In floated three new women. 

Though healthy, eager, and young, all three are unmistakably “fish out of water.” The Lord fully answered my prayer and brought them to our shore at the corner of Semmes and Carnes.

                 All are interns now, and were recently onboarded, uniformed, and welcomed into our circle of trust. One has felony charges, a history of drug addiction, and has lived on the streets for most of the past fifteen years.  She is brilliant and enthusiastic. The other has been accused of armed robbery in nine separate events and is on probation for six years and reports to her parole officer weekly.  She is humble, grateful, and eager to please. The third is artistic, a college graduate, and adheres to a non-Christian faith tradition. 

These young ladies are the latest “catch.” We cast into deeper waters to discover exactly whom Jesus had drawn to expand our mosaic. They will enrich it with jewel-like tones while we offer a safe, welcoming, secure sanctuary for fellowship, work, and faith. They will become part of the mosaic of broken tiles the Master has designed from eternity past at 3028 Carnes. All we do in The House transcends the sum of its parts, including a solid salary and a spot of esteemed tea.