More Than Just Tea

A kind supporter and friend of our ministry asked me, as we enjoyed a light lunch just last week, if I had seen change for the better in Orange Mound over the past fifteen years.

 In reality, the change is slow, but the change in me has been absolutely for the better.

 Quite astonishing to most of our supporters and customers is  that there is a distinguishable gap between our collective vision for our beloved women in Orange Mound and their own readiness for change. I have often been in conversation with others in similar missions to the poor, who agree and recognize a similar weight in their lived experience. My hope, disappointment, faith, and the raw clarity of reality among the women we work with in Orange Mound daily occupy my prayers, time, and resources.  I am passionate, and I love this job.

The gap my peers and I share is not a failure of our love, efforts, or calling.  I frequently consider that  Jesus Himself faced the same in His three years of ministry in Galilee.  He walked among people who saw miracles, heard truth, and still chose their own way.  He did not stop loving them or walking with them. Nor do we.

Cheryl daily tells every new customer that “My Cup of Tea brings women out of poverty into a new posture of stability, strength, and hope”.

            Measuring that type of success has not been a priority for we are working among many layers of need with our friends here. Accruing stories of crossing women over into stability is qualitative, not quantitative. More importantly and of more consequence, we have been present in their instability. 

We have been a constant of encouragement, consistency, mercy, and Truth sharing.  Many negative voices repeatedly tell our ladies, “You can’t make it,” as well as “Just get by.”  We who are in their favor at My Cup of Tea, never weary of sowing seed of promise and hope, all the while knowing  we must continue in prayer to see them bear fruit. We are  in the cloud of witnesses with unwavering commitment. The volunteers we call Sisters are the cup holders, advocates, mothers,  teachers, friends, and fairy godmothers for all who  are willing to invite us in.

                Another missionary in Orange Mound, Linda Gilbert, often says, “Walking in each other’s shoes brings mercy and respect.” Walking in their shoes has given us a rare perspective. We are not looking at our ladies from a distance. We are walking in cadence side by side with all.  We celebrate their birthdays, we know their children’s names and grades; we know their debts, their bruises, their pregnancies, their firings, their aches, their medications, their unreliable cars, which we have named, and we know their fears. We have been to their houses, and we have advocated for change.  “Knowing” is the mission work.  There is no judging them; we are grieving with them.

                Occasionally, the only request of us is dollars to finish another day. We can easily slip into lament, for many of our deeper offerings are rejected.  I believe their financial hardships crack a vulnerable portal called ‘humility.’  She who asks for a loan is really saying, "I may not yet trust you with my soul, but I trust you with my embarrassment, and in truth, my survival."  We have walked through many harder doors with them, but debt is the most difficult because it signifies failure to them.

I’m often asked why I chose Orange Mound to begin our ministry for women.  Succinctly, I chose to follow Jesus, and He led me to the corner of  Carnes and Semmes, where He was already living.  He has not paved the street or smoothed the paths, but He has walked every step on the broken sidewalks with us, His kind voice:” Walk this way”, keeps us alert and refreshed, and  silences the request for a finish line.   That voice is the motivation, not the outcomes of our efforts.

The hardest part of the mission, especially in sharing the Gospel, is helping our ladies move from blaming circumstances or others for the mess they are in. Their part in their disquieting circumstances most often is the result of an immoral choice.  We have created a space where confession is safe and not shamed.  Jesus did.  He did not force repentance but was a safe place where it could and still can be encouragingly received.

 I spoke recently to a small group and used the word ‘renaissance ‘in view of Orange Mound.  It sounded inspiring, but has resounded in my ear as misinformed ever since. Without homeowners, there is no dedication to repair the brokenness that is still in view on every block.  We are committed to assisting in the courageous leap over the gap  to own a first home.

The renaissance is slowly happening quietly in the relationships between our disparate cultures.  Two of our abused women, victims of domestic violence,   came to work bearing their broken hearts and bruises last week, trusting us to pray for them and provide support.  Two of our ladies are faithfully paying back loans with each paycheck, in cash. 

Another renaissance is  evident in the hearts of our volunteers who have stayed when there has been no applause.  They  have learned the cost of following Jesus includes going into the dark alleys and hard places.  They have shown up and they have stayed.

 He who summoned us all with “Follow Me" is walking with us. His metrics are not in miles walked; His measurements are not in lives changed, but His recompense is crowns for those who have faithfully kept the pace.

We often have stimulating guests for lunch, but last week, a friend of mine brought warm insights instead of advice and ideas for change and motivation. 

Aaron Lewis--tall, dark, and handsome--drew immediate attention among our ladies when he entered our hallway.  He was dazzled, as most are, by the elegant décor and the warm friendliness that surpassed his expectations. Supper in the oven and the aroma of chicken and dumplings tempted his appetite and officially erased his next appointment for a business lunch. He complimented the cook for the day, was open for a tour of the House, purchased tea for his mom, and rejoined the women more eager than usual to lengthen the lunch hour.

Lewis, with his father and uncle, has weekly mentored a misunderstood slice of society, who are incarcerated, with few visitors and fewer plans for redemption. The Lewis men have entered the “Inside Circle” and for three years they have been approved for ministry in weekly sessions among willing inmates at  201 Poplar.  After perfunctory scanning, frisking, and pictures, they proceed to the part of the jail where the public is barred and the conditions are brutal. They sit in a large room with armed guards in an open forum among men awaiting trial and open to a respite from their cells. 

The Lewis men, model the male leadership, kindness, and mercy that have been missing in our community and many others over the last several generations.  Roughly 70-80% of incarcerated men, according to the Prison Policy Initiative, have been fatherless children.

                Incarceration, unfortunately, is not an uncommon experience for our crew of ladies at The House.  Many of them have served time, visited family in prison, or both. Therefore, familiar, far more than I, the ladies asked good questions, which he welcomed. They wanted more information as to success, recidivism, and dangers. He shared the statistics and held them spellbound, believing and admiring. Then he winsomely requested to ask a question.

                  His query, “Would you tell me something that makes you happy,” landed on the heart of each lady.  There was none unwilling to speak, and some often noted for little to say, gave us much.  We were past the time for quitting, but all remained at the table to speak her turn.

Summarily, though expressed with many colorful examples and reasons, the response was “My family makes me happy.”

That surprised me and was not my personal response to his question when my turn at the table arrived.

Though ‘family ‘is core and constant across every generation and location since the dawn of time, the ways my family is shaped by inherited dependence and identity don’t align with the pattern shared among our ladies at My Cup of Tea.

I watch it here with respect and am reminded of the stories of my grandmothers who were widows after WW II and tended to and were assisted by my parents who lived nearby them and helped with the family work.  Time marked in decades has redefined the role of family in my own experience as well as among my peers.

Within Orange Mound and other demographically similar communities, ‘Family’ is kinship-based, and though defined loosely, the primary pillar of security.  It is fluid, resilient, and elastic in the network.  It includes blood relatives, half-siblings, “play-cousins”, neighbors, baby mommas, baby daddies, their children from other relationships, and many aunties. There is a loyalty to all, a turn of the cheek, and forgiveness for almost anything in time.

  Many referred to as “Cuz” are expected to provide, when asked,  a safety net for survival through the ubiquitous dips in life including: bail money, childcare, emotional support, money for funerals and burials, a safe home away from home, though the porch light is broken, free car mechanics and transportation, and bed side support in the hospital. However, most valued and expected is a code of silence, especially including no cooperation with law enforcements.

Except for the latter just mentioned, many churches in our city accept this responsibility and welcome all of us in need to join their fellowships, become members, and bring their needs into the community of Christ followers.  Debbie and I point to the opportunities around the corner of 3028 Carnes.  I’m told the minimum number of churches within reach are 50, but I haven’t done a manual count. Some have said as many as 150.

With introspection, assurance, and gratitude, I claim my church and fellow believers across the world as my family, my safe house, and my safety net. It is a hospital for the needy.  My sisters and brothers there, though not blood, share God as our Father and our future home.

I am determined to lead others, through God’s irresistible love, to recognize Him as The One Eternal Father, Creator, and Sustainer.  I pray daily that my friends will commit to a church.  There, they will discover a family that does what some blood relatives cannot or fail to do: carry their troubles, share their wisdom, and love them unconditionally as sisters with the one true Father.

The Father never slumbers, never abandons, never rushes, never ignores, while owning and ruling over everything we know or can imagine, He graciously welcomes her in, knows her name, and has a plan and a purpose for her best life imaginable.

Spring increases my faith every year as I recall and review the promises in Scripture that seeds planted in good soil, watered, tilled, watched, and warmed, will bring forth multiples of fruits and vegetables. 

 Our greenhouse at 3028 Carnes, provided by a friend, has proven reliable as an incubator for seeds we kept over the Winter months.  Within a few weeks, our seeds have grown from embryo to adolescence. The mornings of the past 3 Wednesdays, our ladies have gingerly transported our birthed potentials to our irrigated garden boxes. Corn, tomatoes, okra, lettuce, peppers, sunflowers, zinnias, and more have marooned into new “neighborhoods” disguised as plebian boxes numbered 1 through 10.

Assured that God does the miraculous touch of the seed bursting up and rooting downward, motivates us to do our part in scattering them in our barren fields in Orange Mound. Our soil is a mix of the garden center's common dirt, to which we add composted tea leaves we have conserved for months. Tea leaves are rich in iron and, once decayed, are gold dust for our plants. We use tea to fertilize the soil, and selling the same tea unites our women in something far more important: it gives them exposure to truth and faith in the God of the Bible.

Our mission at The House is more spiritual, less literal, but infinitely more vital. Well beyond the lilting familiar story we often tell customers who stop in to shop and hear “My Cup of Tea moves women in poverty to stability, dignity, and hope,” we eagerly share the less familiar truth: God’s plan of salvation and the miracle of a faith-filled life is the stability and sacred hope all souls are shaped to discover The vegetables will cycle out and the flowers will fade but the seeds of the Word will last forever.

Mentors, guest speakers, and volunteers we call Sisters are the gardeners and leaders of daily devotions, field trips to churches; daily prayer and discipleship are the grace-filled spades, trowels, and shears cultivating the hearts of our employees.

We have employed over one hundred Orange Mound women, most of whom are unchurched, unsaved, untaught, and unsurrendered. The God of the Bible is a stranger, and for many, He is a cosmic kill-joy, a vague “higher power” or a good luck charm. Without the daily exposure to the actual narrative of the Gospels, our women would not have heard that He weeps at a friend’s tomb (John 11:35), washes His disciples’ feet (John 13:5), touches the leper (Mark 1:41), and forgives His own torturers (Luke 23:34).

The prevalent Biblically naïve culture of our community bends toward a myth that if you don’t get caught, it isn’t a sin. If it is legal, there’s no fault or foul.   Many have heeded mixed messages, easily accessed on television, which paint a picture of faith that is simple and comfortable. They promise that faith in following God with a contribution to the messenger will always lead to worldly success.

The heart of one who responds to the one true God steps into a transformation from the inside out.   Like the seed planted in spring soil, which appears to be dead, God brings one to faith in Christ, then a new life as a follower and servant of Him.

I know He is at work, for our beloved ladies are growing in their understanding of who God is and of why we are here: to know Him, serve him, and glorify Him. Any value we add to the lives to whom we minister is temporary, but the mission is eternal.  Born in poverty and living in Orange Mound might be called by the world a dead end. But born again into God’s Kingdom is a plot twist with purpose, a harvest that multiplies, and hope that outgrows every crack in the cold concrete of crippling crisis and concerns.

In Isaiah 55, God makes a remarkable promise:

As the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my Word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it (vv. 10–11).