On the calendar, we are sandwiched between Father’s Day and the 250th anniversary of the founding of our nation. We recently celebrated the men who assumed the roles of family leaders, protectors, providers, and caretakers, whether they are related by biology. Soon, we will further laud the men who shouldered those responsibilities for our nation – our Founding Fathers.

The term “Founding Fathers” was coined by Warren G. Harding in a speech to the Republican National Convention in 1916. Harding later used the term in a speech in 1921 and became the first President to refer to the men who led the establishment of America as “Founding Fathers.” Since then, the title has become an indelible part of the nation’s vocabulary.

There is much debate among historians and scholars about which men of the era qualify as Founding Fathers, not to mention the omission of women who were instrumental in forming the republic. One name that earns universal agreement of inclusion in that austere list is George Washington – General of the Continental Army, presiding officer of the Second Continental Congress, and the first President of the United States.

Washington is the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time, to quote the kids) of the Founding Fathers. Yet, ironically, Washington had no biological children of his own.

When Washington met and married Martha Dandridge Custis, the eventual First Lady, she was a widow with two children. Martha had been married to Daniel Parke Custis, a wealthy and politically connected Virginia plantation owner. Daniel Parke Custis was 37 years old when he met 16-year-old Martha Dandridge. They married when Martha was 18 and had four children; two died very young.

The law of the day required Washington to become the legal guardian of Martha’s minor children John “Jacky” Custis and Martha “Patsy” Custis. The law, however, did not, nor could it, dictate the kind of stepfather Washington should be.

Historians agree that Washington doted on his stepdaughter Patsy, who began showing signs of epilepsy at age 6. He personally sought out remedies and medical care for Patsy and attended to all her needs until she died at age 17.

His relationship with Jacky was more strained. Jacky has been described as lazy, lacking in a desire to learn, and indulged by his mother. Washington sent him to boarding school and later arranged for him to attend King's College, now Columbia University. Jacky eventually dropped out of college and married. He died in his twenties, leaving a widow and 4 children. George and Martha informally adopted Jacky’s two youngest children and raised them as their own.

According to writer and historian Ron Chernow, in his biography, Washington: A Life, Jacky acknowledged Washington’s love for him in a letter prior to his passing. He wrote,

“It pleased the Almighty to deprive me at a very early period of life of my father, but I cannot sufficiently adore His goodness in sending me so good a guardian as you, Sir. Few have experienced such care and attention from real parents as I have done. He best deserves the name of father who acts the part of one.” [Emphasis added]

It is difficult not to be struck by the parallel of Washington’s assumption of the role of stepfather and his ascension to his roles in the founding of America.

Washington was nominated to serve as General and Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army by John Adams. He wrote to Martha,

“…I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment I have used every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the Family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too great for my Capacity…”

Just as becoming the stepfather of Jacky and Patsy was a necessary part of marrying Martha, becoming General of the Continental Army was essential to secure liberty and independence. The same was true of Washington becoming the first President. Washington wrote to Henry Knox,

"My movements to the chair of Government will be accompanied by feelings not unlike those of a culprit who is going to the place of his execution."

Of course, we know that Washington accepted the position of President and served two terms before stepping down.

What Washington taught us as a stepfather, general, and President is that reluctance, anxiety, lack of self-confidence, or fear of failure are not excuses for avoiding one’s duty. That is true in families, communities, and nations. It is true in Orange Mound, too.

The founding mothers and fathers of Orange Mound have long since passed from this life. Many of the generations who came after them left the neighborhood. Those still here, like the My Cup of Tea ladies, are in a fight for economic liberty, freedom from violence, and the pursuit of happiness.

They need our help.

Buying a box of our limited-edition Libertea; making a one-time or monthly donation; hosting a tea party; volunteering to bring lunch; or hiring a My Cup of Tea lady to work at your business are a few of the ways to revitalize Orange Mound and impact the lives of the My Cup of Tea ladies.

Stepfather (or mother) or general, pray about how you can stand in the gap for Orange Mound and the ladies of My Cup of Tea.

GenXers will remember the peak of John Mellencamp’s music career in the early 1980s. In 1983, Mellencamp wrote and released what has become a classic American anthem called “Pink Houses.” The song rose to number 8 on the Billboard Hot100 chart and became a beloved Heartland Rock song played at political rallies by both Democrats and Republicans.

The song was inspired by a trip on I-65 through Indianapolis. Mellencamp passed by a Black man sitting on the front porch of his pink house. He was holding a black cat and watching the traffic whiz by his front yard. The first verse recalls those brief seconds:

There’s a Black man with a black cat

Living in a Black neighborhood

He’s got an interstate running through his front yard

Ya, know he thinks he’s got it so good.

When the song reaches the chorus, Mellencamp belts out the peppy lines:

But ain’t that America for you and me

Ain’t that America

Something to see, baby

Ain’t that America

Home of the free

Little pink houses for you and me

Except, the words are sarcastic and cynical. Mellencamp is saying that the American Dream is inaccessible to the poor and the working man. We’re told that we all can obtain our metaphorical “pink house,” but so many fail to realize it.

Orange Mound was once an example of the American Dream, as we have told you in the past. It is the oldest community in the nation built by and for African Americans. The first landowners and homeowners in Orange Mound were only a generation or less removed from slavery. The community thrived despite Jim Crow and segregation. African Americans owned thriving businesses, and many achieved middle income.

One hundred thirty-six years later, Orange Mound is not the same. Few would describe it as their American Dream. The decline began in earnest in the 1980s and 1990s with drugs, gangs, and a loss of good-paying jobs – about the time Mellencamp released his classic. However, there were and are many communities in Memphis and around the country which have never achieved the success Orange Mound once did.

Is it possible for Orange Mound to be a beacon of the American Dream again?

We believe it is.

Whatever one believes about American Exceptionalism, a much-debated topic today, it is undeniable that our nation’s people across generations exude resilience. As a nation, we not only survived the darkest days in our history—the Civil War—we became better for it. We fought World War I, which was supposed to be the war to end all wars, and lost 116,000 soldiers. We survived the Great Depression and fought World War II, losing 419,000 Americans. Vietnam and the fight for civil rights deeply divided our country even beyond the profound polarization we see today. We overcame these challenges, and in many cases, thrived beyond them.

We have seen American resilience in the lives and actions of the My Cup of Tea ladies over the last decade and a half. We also see it in many of our neighbors who joined Neighborhood Watch, support the community’s anchor, Melrose High, maintain their properties, and demonstrate “staying power” when others tell them it is time to leave. We see resilience in our many community partners, some who have been in the community longer than us – partners like Neighborhood Christian Center, RedZone Ministries, Christ Community Health, JUICE Orange Mound, and more.

July 4^th this year is the semiquincentennial (250th anniversary) of the founding of America. Some of our fellow Americans are not in the mood to celebrate because for many times are hard right now. But we can all be grateful for one of the defining characteristics of Americans – resilience.

To mark the occasion, we issue a limited-edition tea that we call Libertea. On the front of the box, we feature six very different, consequential women of the American Revolution whose resilience is on full display in their stories. Martha Washington spent time in the camps of the soldiers, treating their wounds. Abigail Adams was a fierce abolitionist and counseled her husband on matters of policy. Esther Reed wrote political essays at a time when women didn’t and urged citizens to sacrifice financially for the troops. Elizabeth “Mum Bett” Freeman took liberty seriously and was the first African American woman to successfully file a lawsuit for her freedom. Deborah Samson believed in the promise of our nation so much that she disguised herself as a man and fought in the Continental Army. Phyllis Wheatley published the first book of poems by an African American and rallied colonists with her themes of freedom for all.

Like the women featured on our commemorative box, some of the paths to our American Dream will be fraught with obstacles and disappointments. Getting there will be harder than it should be, but it’s not impossible; and the journey is worth the final destination.

At My Cup of Tea, we continue to pray that our gray house with the maroon shutters will be a portal for Orange Mound women to realize their “pink houses.”

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).

“Tom told me what his plan was, and I see in a minute it was worth fifteen of mine for style and would make Jim just as free a man as mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. So, I was satisfied and said we would waltz in on it.”

                                                   -Huck, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Our plan is certainly lacking in the style of Tom Sawyer’s, and it is unlikely to get us killed, but a few weeks ago, our leadership adopted a bold, new strategic plan. And, in the spirit of Huck Finn, we would be ever grateful if you would waltz in on it.

What is not new is the commitment of our board and staff to what has always been the primary purpose of My Cup of Tea–ministry. We have written here many times about the work of God in the lives of the women we serve, the Orange Mound neighborhood, and the entity that is My Cup of Tea. We have been witnesses to changed lives in both subtle and dramatic ways, but nevertheless changed for eternity.

Many of the ladies will tell you that daily prayer with their MCOT sisters is the best part of their day. Sometimes there is nothing physically one can do for another during a crisis, but sisters can always pray. Knowledge of God’s word is becoming “deeper and wider” as we study together every week. Authentic relationships between the ladies and their mentors have sprouted and are nurtured.

If all else fails, this is what we pray works.

You know our other commitment is helping women in the neighborhood escape poverty. Historically, we offer a fair wage job, provide “soft skills” training, financial literacy, a daily meal, and address needs specific to individual ladies. Fundamentally, none of that will change. However, our plan includes more fully equipping the ladies to fruitfully navigate life beyond and apart from My Cup of Tea.

We have celebrated ladies over the years who have used what they learned at MCOT to secure full-time employment. Yet, there has never been an expectation that the ladies would transition out of their roles with us. If they are good employees, we have been happy for them to remain with us for years, and many have.

An early strategic plan from years past envisioned offering full-time opportunities to women working with us and expanding to offer more women a job. While we have grown and expanded in recent years, we are a long way from offering full-time employment at My Cup of Tea. The consequences are that the women working with us today are not rising to their potential, and other women in the community are missing out.

Over the next several months, we will complete the organization and begin the implementation of a workforce development program at MCOT. The effort will require a minimum of one year and up to two years to complete for each woman hired. Besides a part-time job with us, soft skills training, and financial literacy, ladies will learn real-world skills desired by employer partners in the Memphis metro seeking to hire full-time staff. Our intention is to place ladies who are fully screened and prepared to work with partner employers, while also providing back-end support as they begin their new jobs.

God willing, the results will be ladies who are more self-sufficient and able to improve their lives, and the ability for MCOT to serve more women, especially young women leaving high school but lacking an opportunity.

If this revised vision for My Cup of Tea excites you, then this is how you “waltz in on it.”

Prayer – We don’t include it or lead with it out of obligation as a faith-based organization. We include it because we know God answers prayer, and we need it.

Partner as an employer – If you own a business and need to hire staff within the next twelve months, reach out to us for a conversation. We can’t guarantee we can meet your needs, and we won’t ask you to make a commitment to us before we have had a thorough conversation. Email mike.carpenter@shopmycupoftea.com or carey.moore@shopmycupoftea.com.

Join The Blend – The Blend is our sustaining donor program. For a minimum of $10 per month, you help us provide jobs to the ladies while they train for the future. You will receive a monthly digital update and special pricing on our products. The significance of The Blend is that it is predictable revenue, which is so critical to our planning. https://shopmycupoftea.com/pages/the-blend

Become a wholesaler – If you own a retail establishment, we can offer wholesale pricing for resale to your customers. If you frequent a restaurant or retail establishment, ask them to consider stocking our tea. Potential wholesalers can contact Debbie.hert@shopmycupoftea.com or visit our wholesale page: https://shopmycupoftea.com/pages/become-a-wholesaler

We are so thankful for your support, and we are excited to continue this journey with you.

"Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established." Proverbs 16:3

I offered my reflections in print on my friends’ permanent tattoos recently. Researching and interviewing the ladies about body art gleaned another tab in my file of respect and cherished connection with our kind and thoughtful employees at My Cup of Tea. Most of the people I work among have skipped tattoos, and with that choice, the pain and expense as well. They aren’t fretting with permanent ink on their skin.

As long as I can remember, choosing to frame and reflect the “real me” or the “who I want to be” for most Black Women has been associated with grooming hair and styles that originated in African roots. Absolutely on trend now are waist-length colored micro braids.

For health standards, ladies cannot work in the tea production rooms with their elegant coiffures unharnessed.  The employees with the microbraids that number in the hundreds and reach their waist must twist them into a bun and tuck them under our required hair nets. It often takes two. The resulting teetering turban can add several inches to her height.

 Several of our younger employees have arrived with new micros in spring hues this month. “How long did it take?” I query, never asking the cost.  I’m told “Well. Ms. Carey, 8 hours is average.”

The once purely cultural tradition of braiding African hair has become high fashion, and what was once a communal and family practice exercised by mothers, sisters, and grandmothers has exploded into a mainstream art form.

Licensed salon technicians in large cities like Vegas, LA, NYC, and Chicago charge by the hour and offer benefits. Products and hair extensions are additional, expensive, and required.  The benefits might include champagne, a massage, and live music. Research suggests that the installation is often split over two days and totals reach into the thousands.

Meanwhile, on our block, the tradition of the “kitchen beautician” is still the salon of choice, and she is our local answer for hair fashion trending in Orange Mound. The benefits in her boutique far exceed the expensive temporary ones described above. 

Her fee is reasonable and firm, but the local, mostly family, unlicensed psychological counselors and therapists don’t charge for their services here. The social, practical, common sense, and biblical tutoring is offered free and fun by the friends and family who gather around the table while the Kitchen Beautician weaves her magic.

The kitchen provides the obvious friendly space for snacks, the best lighting, easy-to-clean floors for the hair clippings, accessible water for shampoo, and several chairs for the onlookers.  Tradition holds for the culture here, and the kitchen remains the favorite site for the ritual passed down for generations.  The process is deeply social, and it’s rarely just about hair.

Hours spent braiding are filled with conversation, gossip, but most importantly advice-giving.  The techniques, like cornrows, box-braids, and twists, are preserved, while innovative entrepreneurs access TikTok and free step-by-step tutorials. The new instant experts quickly gain respect and customers. The “new do” evolves from a party among friends and can be refreshed or replaced at the next weekend party in the familiar family kitchen, or the one of a best friend on the next block.

The term “kitchen” has a double meaning in Black hair lingo. There are tricky short hairs at the forehead and the nape. A skilled braider “tames the kitchen” with cream to what appears to be calligraphy on the skin.  It is impressive and elegant.

My first impressions led to incorrect conclusions when the microbraids began appearing at The House this year. Beyond curiosity, I was appalled at what the elaborate coifs must cost them.

Once again, I have been reproved and have discovered their choice is virtuous, good stewardship, and time well spent.  The older are teaching the younger family stories, values, and morally weighted lessons. The hair appointment provides one lady to sit still in the center of the ring of friends for hours well spent.

As Jesus told us in John 7:24, we must not “judge by appearance, but judge with right judgment.”

Our employee appears on Monday morning with a strong smile, a proud nod, a kick in her step, and refreshing confidence all day. Every woman I have ever met appreciates a good hair day.

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.

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.