A Teacup of Truth

Some women have a fondness for jewelry. Others, an Achilles’ heel for shoes. I, however, have a weakness for teacups. Particularly bone china ones that don’t cost a fortune (but look like they do). Sometimes I even dream about them. And while I know the tea will taste much the same whether I sip it from plastic or porcelain, my heart insists that a dainty china cup is the only proper context for tea with company.

            I haven’t always had this affinity for teacups. For many years, I didn’t even care for black tea unless it came in the form of a heavily-sugared latte. Then, about five years ago, my mother hosted my bridal shower and asked each guest to bring me a teacup. I thought the tea party theme was cute, but didn’t fully appreciate my quirky set of mismatched cups until I later went to a tea room with a girlfriend.


            At first I found the gold-trimmed china intimidating. Roses graced the shiny dishes in colorful profusion, and tiny silver spoons conjured up images of girly six year-olds playing with plastic pink tea sets. I’d spent most of my childhood riding my bike, making bird nests out of mud, and pretending I was an animal. Teatime, therefore, felt oppressively feminine. I hoped I wouldn’t break anything.


            Yet as I conversed with my friend, my tension dissolved as quickly as the sugar in my tea. I felt somehow womanly and sophisticated with the beautiful cup and saucer in hand. The tea warmed my body as the conversation warmed my soul. Art met practicality in the china teacup, enabling human connection with elegance.

            I quickly purchased my own teapot so I could host private tea parties with other women at my home. Teatime became a weekly ritual that deepened several relationships as my friends and I talked, laughed, and prayed together. I enjoyed equipping certain friends with teacups of their own and thanked God for my little “tea ministry.” But I had no idea then that He also delighted in my teacups.


            For my birthday this year, I decided to buy myself a new teacup for my collection. I was picky, of course. I wanted a bone china teacup with blue roses (and I didn’t want to spend a fortune on it). I got online and searched through E-Bay’s inventory for several days. Yet whenever I auctioned for an item, some teacup thief in cyberspace would outbid me at the last minute. After two or thee episodes of throwing up my hands and yelling at the computer screen, I gave up on the internet and started window-shopping at more civil retailers. But I never found anything I liked. So I gave up my treasure hunt and contented myself with my existing collection.


            Then one day, while I was out walking with my two toddlers in the stroller, God seemed to tap me on the shoulder. After heading out of a grocery store, I crossed into the parking lot of The Knitting Mill -- a massive brick building housing thousands of antiques. I was about to pass by when a quiet thought whispered through my mind:


            Go inside, Katie.

            What? I thought in reply. Do you remember what happened the last time I took the kids in there? Weeping and gnashing of teeth, that’s what! 

            Go inside the Mill.

            I made a deal. Okay. I’ll go in. But only if the kids are cool with it.


            “Elijah,” I asked, bending over to face my two year-old, “Would you like to go home or go into the store?”


            While I fully expected my son to favor going home over looking at things he wouldn’t be allowed to touch, he announced his surprising preference. “Store!” he said with a smile.


            Alright then… I wheeled my way up the large ramp and through the wooden front door. My double-seated stroller barely fit down the walkway as I scanned through antique stands in search of teacups. Furniture, flatware, jewelry, clothing, and knick-knacks of all kinds lined the aisles in faded glory. Dozens upon dozens of booths contained hundreds of items crammed together on every open surface. The prospect of finding a single object was visually overwhelming. Yet contrary to habit, my children sat quietly in the stroller despite the caterpillar pace.


            I’d only passed about ten booths or so when I spotted it. The gold-plated trim danced along the edge of the glossy, white china. The handle curved gracefully as if to welcome a woman’s fingers. And printed both on the cup and saucer was a beautiful blue rose. All this for an unbelievable $12.50. My teacup!


            As I walked home from The Knitting Mill, I still couldn’t believe that God would concern Himself with something so eternally insignificant. I knew He was sovereign over the nations and relied upon His provision of the essentials. But with all the war, pain, and poverty out there, why would He care about something as silly as a teacup?


            That day God reminded me that He does not merely rule the universe in a broad, general way -- He’s also intimately in tune with all the particulars. He knows when I’m walking with my kids. He knows when I’m sitting down to tea. And He delights in delighting me with a new teacup for my birthday. King David said it best in Psalm 139:1-3 when he wrote, “O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar… and are intimately acquainted with all my ways.” God is truly master over all the details -- even the silly, insignificant ones.