My favorite cup is all prepared
with teabag, but still bone dry.
I have a book ready, and a fire crackling--
then the teapot emits its shrill cry.
With care, breathing deeply the soothing vapor
I pour, from pot into cup.
Steaming water splashes on and through the teabag,
cup rattling slightly as it fills up.
Then a great transformation occurs--
the water gains a color, at first dim.
As the teabag steeps, and with each passing moment,
the hue of the liquid deepens, up to the brim.
Every dip, every stir, every movement large and small
changes the situation, and darkens the brown...
Until at last the teabag's served its purpose-
it's removed from the cup, squeezed out, and set down.
Gazing into the cup, it's amazing to remember
how dry and useless the teabag was on its own.
It needed the addition of water, alive with heat,
to do what it couldn't all alone.
Water made the cup hold not a bag, but a beverage,
with flavor, color, and tantalizing smell.
Now the drink can be sweetened with honey--
I like to add cream, as well.
Stirring and thinking, I stand, fully quiet;
a lesson is in the making, one I need to hear.
(Don't forget God speaks through everyday, common things--
He faithfully uses them to draw us near.)
I was the teabag, with potential, but dry,
in need of the Living Water to my core.
The steaming stream filled and awakened me,
causing me to become something more.
He flowed over and around and all through me--
steeping began, even before He reached the rim.
With each push and pull and dunk of life
my color and flavor is released because of Him.
Eventually I'll weaken, and become unnecessary,
Then I can be removed from the cup and set aside.
His touch will sweeten, spice, and intensify my life
I know I can trust Him as my guide.
Lord, help me remember that the truth is this:
only the addition of the water makes tea.
I'm not the primary essence of the beverage--
I must yield and let you work through me.
April 29, 2004