More Than Just Tea

Tattoos are here to stay, quite literally. Today, they are proudly worn by people of all walks of life. Celebrities, models, athletes, and several of the ladies at My Cup of Tea bear visible ones.

                For those with whom I can explore the significance of their permanent body art, I have learned much, and discovered my inquiry is welcomed.  I usually begin with the innocuous and curious query, “Did it hurt, and how much did it cost?” 

Since I love the ladies we employ, and no offence is ever noted, a genuine and personal connection has often deepened. Their tattoos are a permanent diary declaring, “this represents a pivotal moment, a person, a partner, a purpose, a group and/or a point in time that defines me.”

                The decision to get a tattoo for a single mom in Memphis, living in Orange Mound, can often be misunderstood. It’s not a frivolous choice. Changing hair braids, boots, and stick-on nails go with the flow of fashion and give brief and fresh visibility. However, the ladies have control of very few durable things that are primary to their health and well-being.

Housing, income, transportation, and systemic circumstances are unreliable.  “My body is mine,” a tattoo declares to all. “Here are my visual markers, identity, and testament.” Reclaiming ownership inked with symbols, the message shouts, “I belong to this, and this belongs to me.”  It’s a choice for a lifetime funded with emotional currency.

                One of my best friends in Orange Mound has a cross on the inside of his wrist. He reminds himself, “This is to Whom I belong.”  One of the ladies in the tea company has “Josiah” written on her forehead, conveying to all of us, “This baby boy is always on my mind.”  For my friends, a tattoo is a strategic, intentional identity, and permanent. It’s an act asserting their own stories where struggles and trials are etched on their souls.

                This is the Season of Lent, commemorated by many Christians, and for forty days we examine the life and teachings of Jesus, leading to His crucifixion and resurrection on Easter Sunday.

The disciple John, in His Gospel (John 20: 24-29), testifies that after Jesus’ death at Calvary, His disciples convened sharing the terrifying dilemma of their own identity, fearing His fate would soon be their own.  Resurrected, Jesus Christ lovingly met them where they gathered in hiding. He  compassionately offered them the proof of His finished work on their behalf.  The Messiah, King, and Savior conveyed through the permanent scars of nail wounds on His hands that He had risen, indeed; death had no hold on Him, and to them He had returned, and to Him they belonged. 

The nail marks on His hands and feet declared the undeniable truth that He had died on the Roman cross, was buried in a cold tomb, and on the third day had returned to them to declare His life and for them a new birth was available.

His “tattoo” was excruciating in pain, infinite in cost, and received with love and devotion indescribable.  The scars said, “A pivotal moment has come, and a Person has revealed His purpose for all to see and believe. You belong to Me.”

Two thousand years later, this reality transcends mere chronology, and to Him many more belong.  The tattoo is not marked on our thin skin but emblazoned on our heart, permanently and eternally. Christ’s influence and power are not marks of ink or scars, but ones of transformation. 

Article II, Section 3 of the U.S. Constitution says the president is required to

…from time to time give to the Congress Information of the State of the Union, and recommend to their Consideration such Measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.

On February 24^th, President Trump met that requirement in a speech before a joint session of Congress. Such a televised gathering has become the tradition of our nation in modern times. Filled with pomp and circumstance, and in recent decades, rancor, the President tries his best to convince the American people that the nation is on the right track.

After nearly 15 years in the Orange Mound community, in one capacity or another, we wondered. “What is the state of our union at My Cup of Tea?”

Truth is, like the state of the nation in any given year, there is good and bad.

The Bad

Our employee complement increased to 17 at one point last year, but a combination of normal attrition after the holiday season and a few who could not resist the allure of their old ways has reduced our number to 10. Our desire is to help as many Orange Mound women as we can within our budgetary parameters, so losing anyone who may still need the wages and the safety we provide is disappointing, to say the least.

Last week, for the first time in six years, we increased the price of our tea products. We resisted the pull on inflationary pressures when they were at their worst, but we could not hold out any longer. For now, the increase is modest and only applies to our teas, but we are praying our customers remain committed to the product and the mission.

In the past three years, donations to My Cup of Tea have declined each year. We know some of the drop-offs are attributable to higher prices in many sectors and heavy competition from other worthwhile organizations for finite resources. Still, donations account for one and a half times more of our revenue than the sale of tea products. This is where we state the obligatory reminder that you can donate online or join our monthly giving club, The Blend, if you are so inclined.

The Good

The ladies who remain with us are dedicated and hardworking. Two newer employees are learning administrative and management functions, so one day they can be elevated to roles with more responsibility and opportunity, either inside My Cup of Tea or at a full-time position elsewhere. And a prodigal daughter of sorts has returned to our fold.

Twenty-twenty-five was the final year of our three-year strategic plan. Later this month, our entire board will gather with a brilliant facilitator to craft a new plan for the coming years. This group includes new board members, Howard Eddings, Lucy Wepfer, Frannie Hillyer, and Ephie Johnson – all longtime supporters of My Cup of Tea and dedicated leaders in our community.

Later this month, our Libertea box commemorating the 250^th anniversary of the nation will be on sale in the gift shop of the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C. In addition to the many locations around town that stock our boxed and iced teas, you can savor a cup in restaurants like Sunrise and the Lobbyist. And while donations have been down, sales of tea increased by about 13%.

Most importantly, the desire by the ladies, their mentors, the staff, and volunteers to study God’s word together, pray for each other, and bear one another’s burdens remains sturdy and unshakeable.

Much like our country, when things seem dark and chaotic, we can identify many more blessings than curses. Daily, at The House, we witness God’s work in our lives and the truth that He cares for us. So, we take comfort in knowing that the state of our union at My Cup of Tea is on Rock-solid ground, and that,

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. – James 1:17

Most of my 7th-grade class at our small 1950s school shared a reverent respect for our English teacher, Mrs. Burkhardt.  She resembled a less sanctified version of a Mother Superior and a more modern edition of Harry Potter’s Professor McGonagall. She often assigned us memory work and quizzed us to reinforce and cement it in our neocortex, which we learned about from Miss Jameson.

                The popular American poet, Robert Frost, was a favorite of hers. His work, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, is a favorite of mine. The recent snow and ice cap across our city brought familiar lines of the poem back into my conscience. With two weeks of work in Orange Mound suspended, I relished reviewing the poem’s many-layered themes.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are, I think I know.   
His house is in the village though; 
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year. 

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

For fourteen days, I mused over the rhythms of the poem and Frost’s sensually packed lines in iambic tetrameter.

          “[T]he woods fill up with snow,” was my view daily from my office window.

          “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.” I pondered if “dark woods” could represent the often hostile, inhospitable place the MCOT ladies call home. Shadows in their woods of uncertainty and suspicion can inhibit and delay wise choices. Sadly, on many days, we have brought only a measure of light into the shadows of our neck of the woods in the middle of Memphis.   

          “But I have promises to keep.” That adage reminded and refreshed my commitment to obey the Lord’s command to love my neighbors in Orange Mound.

          “And miles to go before I sleep” is said twice by Frost, and on repeat in my head practically daily.

          The “snowcation” melted away when roads cleared. We returned to work, and I learned that two of our most recent hires had relapsed into their lives on the streets. Addictions and deceptions had swallowed up all their good intentions. Wanting to change had sincerely marked their cravings to work at My Cup of Tea. More insidious was the craving to return to the more familiar streets.

 My deepest sadness was that I had to watch the crushing pattern cancel my hopes and prayers for them. The very instincts that had kept them alive on the streets had become barriers in pursuing honest fellowship with our family of employees and prioritizing steady and rewarding work among us.  Each had prodigious strength and survival skills that couldn’t translate into the structured demands of our workplace at The House.

          Upholding our standards at My Cup of Tea overruled my sorrow. It was the heartbreak of watching a door opening, a glimpse of the potential of a different future for each of them, and then watching the door slowly close. So much potential had been undermined by gaps in trust and cracks in consistency. I grieved over the collision of my duty to the organization and my compassion for two women I love and have endorsed.

          Upholding my personal standards gave muscle to my vision of hope and redemption. The culture of “the streets” encourages the moral compromise that some have been steeped in for generations.  The Mound, while unique in many ways, still mirrors our society, celebrating self-expression, instant reward, quick fixes, and independence from judgement.  There are endemic pride and moxie which are contagious and reckless for all of us.

          Proverbs 14:12: “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end leads to destruction.”

           “If it feels right, do it” is a sentiment challenged daily in the workrooms at My Cup of Tea. Our mentors, administrators, and veteran ladies reiterate frequently that wisdom comes through wise, informed choices, prayer, and Biblical instruction.

Traction in the personal trials is modeled among our leaders and managers and is esteemed by all. Kindness to others and keenness in common sense are the consummate prayers they offer for each beloved lady.

 We continue to encourage all to travel a different path than many in their families and neighborhoods have tread. The broad path is full of ruts and roundabouts. Proverb 14:12 warns that the path is broad, but it does not negate the power of a single light pointing the narrow way.

           Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening gently underscores the fundamental choice that falls to us all.  We choose the dark woods or return to the righted route to resolve, restraint, responsibility, and respect.

          We all have made promises that we hope to keep, and have miles to go before we sleep.