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.

One of our elegantly dressed My Cup of Tea Board Members recently confided in me a seminal truth with a wink. Behind her winsome glamour and feminine composure, she could be a car mechanic.  Her father taught her to own a car, not just drive one.  She knew its oil, tires, and the rhythm of its engine.  It was inherited power, and she was willing to share it with the ladies. At my request, she joined us for lunch recently to give her insights.

 My hidden agenda was for her to address the contagious mindset of many Orange Mound ladies during tax season.   Many will receive needed incoming cash from the use of the Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC). It is a refundable tax credit for low-to-moderate-income working individuals. The amounts vary and people with children qualify for more, but the amount of the credit compared to the amount of taxes most pay often results in a not insignificant refund. Our guest suspected that most of the ladies weren’t planning on applying  the refund dollars to savings, interest on debts, or tithes.  

“How do you plan to spend your tax refund?” she asked. In unison, most shouted, “A CAR!”

She had earned their respect with her reported savvy in repairing and maintaining automobiles, so she easily held their attention with the more critical subject of purchasing one.

 She came prepared.  She hit them with a pop quiz on used car smartness hoping to uncover a secret gearhead in our group.  Only one in our classroom of twelve knew   what Carfax was.  She continued and governed their riveted attentiveness as she filled our white board with lists of the clever tricks the used car salesmen have mastered.

 All learned quite a bit, and at least that day, each committed to be more alert and suspicious of the smooth auspicious scams that await the uninformed and overzealous who need a dependable car.

                Transportation is the #1 priority for them, for without it they feel, and are truly stuck. Lack of reliable transportation is a massive, often overlooked, structural barrier in the lives of the women. It limits job access, shopping radius, punctuality, and reliability.  Countless call-ins because the car won’t start is common to our workdays at MCOT. Often the truancy that plagues our neighborhood schools is the result of mom without a reliable car.  To stay mobile, many use Uber Rides, which cuts into the margins of cash for essentials and any attempt to save.

 Our solution to meet their transportation emergencies during the workdays at the tea company is providing a reliable, licensed, insured, and gracious carpool driver employee. My Cup of Tea provides fuel and car maintenance for her vehicle.

The car is no more critical than the road they take.

                Among assistance to the myriad needs and requests of our ladies, and the provisions and guidelines we offer, our focus is lasered to guiding them to the safe streets of life. We can’t control the elements, but we can co-pilot as they navigate their personal journey. We are devoted to helping them read the map, find the way, and reach their destinations. Important life decisions--whom to trust, where to go, how to grow, and what to know--are located along the way.

 Today’s map of choice is GPS. The Global Positioning System, familiar and easily accessible, shows you as a blue dot, and your destination is a red dot.  Your route is the line that connects. The Mentors with whom the ladies have bonded offer  Godly Perspective Service.  They are each a GPS for coaching and praying through reliable external and internal complexities that everyone must face.  Navigating any new neighborhood is challenging, especially when done without a reliable signal.

Poverty is exhausting.

There are one-way streets to destruction, bumpy lanes under construction, blind alleys, and blockades that keep one simply circling the block and repeating the cycle one just left.

Poverty is relentless.

Many of our employees come to us during a time of financial hardship, often utilizing public assistance programs to meet basic needs. They often lack the knowledge and the sharp, rested mind to navigate complex systemic poverty. The offramp is not well marked.

Poverty is systemic.

We often discuss their hopes and prayers for their children and grandchildren. They work sacrificially, dedicated to securing a better life for them. They point the illumined headlights of their broken-down cars toward the better choices on the other side of the many traffic stops. Life’s path to the promised land of independence and economic stability is missing streetlights.

With mentors and our wraparound embrace of each, we are bulldozing some of the roadblocks away. Prayers are many for their patience to wait for the honest car salesman and purchase of a dependable car.  Once she is in the driver’s seat with a full tank of hope, we will join in the road trip focusing on the GPS to greater prosperity and stay within the speed limits leaving poverty in the dust.

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.

As we near the Thanksgiving holiday, it is customary for writers and editors of publications and blogs like this one to draft missives about gratitude, blessings, family, and the like. No doubt, we have much to be grateful for at My Cup of Tea, as an organization and individually. However, despite the focus inherent in the name of the holiday, there is more to Thanksgiving than meets the eye.

President Abraham Lincoln designated Thanksgiving as a national holiday in 1863 at the height of the Civil War. The recognition of the holiday on a national basis was the culmination of a seventeen-year effort by writer Sarah Josepha Hale, who wrote multiple presidents about the day only celebrated between October and January in New England states.

Lincoln was known for writing most of his speeches and proclamations, but for one reason or another, Secretary of State William Seward drafted the language of the Thanksgiving Day proclamation. Seward acknowledged the “blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies.” He gave praise to the “ever watchful providence of Almighty God.”

Seward then turned to the war and the victories in battle, the peace maintained with other nations, and the expansion of the territory of the United States. He thanked God for the economy and that in spite (or because of) the war, citizens of varying vocations had work to do.

Lincoln/Seward then said:

“No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.”

The proclamation could have ended there with a call to celebrate Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday of November every year. However, whether at Lincoln’s urging or Seward’s own conscience, the proclamation continues with:

“…commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged…”

Of course, the reference, which is made clear in subsequent lines, is to the Civil War and the vast loss of life that was occurring. Yet, the petition to God for the marginalized is just as relevant today.

Memphis has the second-highest poverty rate and the highest child poverty rate in the nation. While there have been seven straight quarters of decline, crime in our community, especially violent crime, is still a heavy burden on the poor and racial minorities. In 2024, the 38114 zip code, which covers most of Orange Mound, was tied for the most homicides.

We have reported to you before that the ladies of My Cup of Tea are not unscathed by this epidemic. Some have lost children and grandchildren to violence and drugs, and everyone knows someone who has died from gunfire.

We have shared about the pervasiveness of domestic violence, the crisis of affordable housing, and the many in our community who are unhoused or struggling with mental illness.

These are not only the problems of Memphis, but of every city in America.

To be clear, the point of Lincoln including prayers for those affected by the war in the proclamation was not about guilt or ruining a good time—neither is our recounting the struggles so many face in our community. Instead, Lincoln was calling for compassion and obedience to the Scripture when it calls on us to care for the poor, the widow, and the orphan.

As you sit down with family or friends this Thanksgiving, most certainly offer up prayers and supplications for all that God has done in your life. Celebrate good news, remember good times with those who are not there, and create new memories. Whether with your loved ones or alone during this holiday weekend, we encourage you to take a few minutes to pray for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the suffering. As Lincoln said:

“…fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation…”

We are grateful for each one of you and wish you and those you love the happiest of Thanksgivings.

            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. 

On the heels of the pandemic, we were searching for a way to be more involved with the Orange Mound neighborhood, and at the same time, attract more people to our work and products. The idea that bloomed was to feature the art of a professional Black artist on the front of a limited-edition tea box.

The project would allow us to collaborate with a neighborhood organization, the Orange Mound Arts Council (OMAC). If successful, we would draw attention not only to the chosen artist, but also to the rich cultural history of Orange Mound. And, we would raise the public profile of My Cup of Tea and our products, which allow us to employ women from the community.

Five years later, the “art box,” as we like to call it, is one of our most popular items, an anticipated holiday gift, and a positive source of media coverage for the artist and us. As we prepare to unveil this year’s art, we are reminded that the gift of art, the stimulation of our senses, and the way it makes us feel come from a creative and compassionate God.

In fact, in the very first verse of the Bible, we are told, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” (Gen. 1:1) One only needs to look to the clear sky in the dark of night or across the horizon at a Memphis sunset to stand in awe of the beauty.

Then, in Exodus 35, we learn of the “craftsmanship” and “artistic designs” to be used with gold, silver, bronze, stone cutting, and wood carving for the tabernacle.

And in I Kings and II Chronicles, we read the accounts of the building of Solomon’s palace and the Temple. We find Solomon requisitioning cherubim, palm trees, and open flowers to be carved of olive wood and overlaid with gold. Inside the temple, there are the sea, lattices, pomegranates, wreaths, oxen, and more cast in bronze.

Not only is God the giver of the tangible art – what we can see, hear, and touch – He is also the one who gives the gift of creativity and artistry.

Also in Exodus 35, we learn that before constructing the tabernacle, God chose and equipped the people who would fashion it.

“…and he has filled him with the Spirit of God, with skill, with intelligence, with knowledge, and with all craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold and silver and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, for work in every skilled craft.”

And James I:17 tells us 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.”

Of course, we know that when it comes to artistic ability, some of us are more gifted than others. We have been blessed over the past four years with the innate and inspiring abilities of Andre Miller, Danny Broadway, Darlene Newman, and Mosal Morszart who envisioned the story of Memphis, Orange Mound, and My Cup of Tea in their own unique ways and transferred them to our tiny tea box canvas. This year, we will experience the giftedness of artist Cheryiah Sunshine.

Cheryiah is the second woman to be chosen for the art box, and she is the youngest artist at only 25 years old. Cheryiah was selected from among the largest number of submissions in the five years of the contest. Unlike the previous winners who work with similar materials, Cheryiah creates with materials as diverse as acrylic paints, block printing ink, mixed media paper, duct tape, Washi tape, and even coffee. We are elated to share her work with you and feature it on our art box.

Finally, this 5^th year of the art box includes our first sponsor, Regions Bank. The generous donation covers the cost of the contest, the artist award, the limited-edition tea, and the printing of the box. In other words, one hundred percent of every box sold will go to the wages of the My Cup of Tea ladies. We are so thankful for their support.

If you can, please join us for the unveiling on Wednesday, October 22, at 10 am at My Cup of Tea. If you cannot attend, please consider purchasing this box of tea with Cheryiah’s art. It will be on sale at the unveiling and online later that day.

         Four months ago, I sprinkled a few handfuls of a hybrid sunflower seed in our freshly constructed most Northern garden box at The House. We had received nourishing, rich dirt from Memphis City Beautiful, and we added compost from my decomposed pile of used tea leaves. The garden box was ingeniously irrigated by our long-time contractor friend, Dwayne Jones’ crew, and the sun exposure was the suggested maximum on the tiny seed packet. The conditions were perfect for sunflowers to flourish, and we would not need to water or weed.

         The miracle of burying a seed that generates a small plant, unfurls a flower, and brings forth many seeds is repeated throughout the world every spring. The Parable of the Sower cautions that not all the seeds will mature, depending on the conditions. Apparently, our setting for a few of the seeds was superb.

         While we delighted in our familiar annual plantings of tomatoes, peppers, corn, and lima beans, we marveled over the fast-emerging nubs of the sunflowers that outpaced everything and began to shade the eggplants in box #2.  Within the short month of June, we saw more than we had imagined possible. We had a forest of very thick-leaved, twelve-inch-diameter sunflower trees with flowers the size of large pizzas. They had grown too tall for us to clip and bring in for decoration, and if we had a ladder to do so, there wasn’t a vase that could support a flower unless we repurposed a Home Depot bucket.  

         Did I mention above that the seeds were called Skyscrapers?

         They grew just short of the power lines on Semmes, and the utility workmen preparing for the fiber-optic cables to come stared menacingly at them and us.

         Last week in preparation for planting in the fall, Sandy, a regular volunteer for years, and I brought our personal chainsaws and began our untapped lumberjack roles of cutting down the forest in Box # 1.  We prevailed and then attacked the 15-pound root balls under each one with the same dedication.

         The 20 actual sunflowers clipped from the felled trees weighed between 3 and 6 pounds each.  My pleasure has evolved into harvesting the seeds from the cut and dried flowers and planning how we will plant sunflowers in all the vacant lots in Orange Mound.  I am not overstating that I have plucked at least two thousand Skyscraper seeds from only five of the flowers.

         I grew up singing about Johnny Appleseed, and I only need to change one word to make it fit. It begins:

“Oh! The Lord’s been good to me/and so I thank the Lord/for giving me the things I need/ the sun and the rain and the sunflower seed/Oh! The Lord’s been good to me.”

A friend challenged me to write a story, and I thought the valiant seed deserved a poem. Read below.

Sunflowers rise, bright, saucy, and bold.

Promises of Summer, as their potential unfolds.

From one empowered kernel, the Skyscraper stands, 

Fifteen feet high, reaching upward like hands. 

Summer ore, seeds gathered, rest through fall and frost, 

In spring’s warm embrace, they awaken, not lost. 

With sun and with water, the cycle renews, 

From one tiny seedling, a forest ensues. 

Tall as trees, golden petals debut to display

Beauty and joy in their vibrant parade. 

Though grass will wither, and flowers will fade, 

God’s Word endures, a foundation well laid. 

Life and truth in each season's measured return,

In the heart of a seed, endless lessons we learn.

Let us marvel at Creation’s miraculous design,

In His Garden of Faith, the Holy Spirit aligns.