A year (or more) ago I borrowed a book from my mom titled Fill My Cup, Lord by Emilie Barnes.  (Yes, I still have the book, Mom, and will return it soon.  :))  I’ve read several organizational books by Emilie Barnes, but nothing else from her long list of publications.  Many of her books have something to do with tea; she mentions that she collects beautiful teacups and saucers.  This book in particular is also titled A Teatime Devotional.  If you’d like more information about Emilie Barnes, visit her website here.

Even though it’s taken me a LONG time to finish, I have loved this book.  There are eight chapters and each focus on another kind of “cup”.  A Cup of Quietness, A Cup of Encouragement, Forgiveness, Trust, Communion, Strength, Thanksgiving, and Service.  In chapter seven, A Cup of Thanksgiving, she tells this beautiful story that I had to share here.  She mentions that she has taken this tale from an unknown author and retold it in a way that speaks to her about her own pain and transformation.

So, grab a cup of tea, and enjoy reading.  This story is for all; for all of us have walked through struggles and pain at some point in our lives.  I hope it speaks to you as much as it did to me.

The story begins in a little gift shop, a charming establishment crammed full of delightful discoveries. A man and a woman have gone there to find a special gift for their granddaughter’s birthday. With excited oohs and ahs, they pick up dolls and books and figurines, intent on finding just the perfect piece.

Suddenly, glancing into the corner of an antique armoire, the grandmother spies a prize.

“Oh, honey, look!” she exclaims, taking him by the arm and pointing.  Carefully he reached over to pick up the delicate teacup in his big hand.  A shaft of sunlight from the window shines through the translucent china, illuminating a delicate design.

“Oh, isn’t it pretty?”  the grandmother sighs.

He nods, “I don’t know much about dishes, but I’d have to say that’s the best-looking cup I’ve ever seen.”

Together they gaze at the beautiful little cup, already imagining their granddaughter’s face when she opens her special gift.  And at that moment something remarkable happens.  Something magic.

With a voice as clear and sweet as the painted nosegay on the saucer, that teacup begins to talk.

“I thank you for the compliment,” the cup begins.  “But you know, I haven’t always been like this.”

A little shaken at being addressed by a teacup, the grandfather places it back on the shelf and takes a step back.  But the wife doesn’t seem surprised at all.  Instead, she asks with interest, “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Well,” says the teacup, “I wasn’t always beautiful.  In fact, I started out as an ugly, soggy lump of clay.  But one day a man with dirty, wet hands started slinging me around, pounding me on a worktable, knocking the breath out of me.  I didn’t like this procedure one little bit.  It hurt, and it made me angry.

‘Stop!’ I cried.

But the man with the wet hands simply said, ‘Not yet!’

Finally the pounding stopped, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  I thought my ordeal was over.  But it had just begun.

The next thing I knew, I was being stuffed into a mold – packed in so tightly I couldn’t see straight.

‘Stop! Stop!’ I cried until I was squeezed too tight to utter a sound.  Parts of me oozed out of the mold, and he scraped these away.

If I could have talked, I would have screamed.

But the man seemed to know what I was thinking.  He just looked down with a patient expression on his face and told me, ‘Not yet.’

Finally, the pressing and the scraping stopped.  But the next experience was far worse.  I was plunged into the dark, and then the temperature began to rise.  The air grew hotter and hotter, until I was in agony.  I still couldn’t talk, but inside I was yelling, ‘Get me out of here!’

And strangely, through those thick furnace walls, I seemed to hear someone saying, ‘Not yet.’

Just when I was sure I was going to be completely incinerated, the oven began to cool.  Eventually the man took me out of the furnace and released me from that confining mold.  I relaxed.  I even looked around and enjoyed my new form.  I was firmer.  I had shape.  This was better.

But then came the short lady in the smock.  She pulled out tiny brushes and began to daub paint all over me.  The fumes made me feel sick, and the brush tickled.

‘I don’t like that.’  I cried.  ‘I’ve had enough.  Please stop.’

‘Not yet!’ said the short lady with a smile.

Finally she finished.  She picked up her brushes and moved on.  But just when I thought I was finally free, the first man picked me up again and put me back into that awful furnace.  This time was worse than before because I wasn’t protected by the mold.

Again and again I screamed, ‘Stop!’

And each time the man answered through the door of the furnace, ‘Not yet!’

Finally the oven cooled once more, and the man came to open the door.  By that time I was almost done in.  I barely noticed when I was picked up and put down and packed in a box and jounced and jolted some more.  When I finally came to, a pretty lady was picking me up out of my box and placing me on this shelf, next to this mirror.

And when I looked at myself in the mirror, I was amazed.  No longer was I ugly, soggy, and dirty.  I was shining and clean.  And I was beautiful – unbelievably beautiful.  ‘Could this be me?’  I cried for joy.

It was then,” said the teacup, “that I realized there was a purpose in all that pain.  You see, it took all that suffering to make me truly beautiful.”

And we can be beautiful, too.  That’s what God wants for us regardless of the circumstances of our lives.

That doesn’t mean that God sends us pain just to test us.  I don’t believe that God kills off loved ones and tortures innocent children with incurable diseases and turns our friends against us just so that he can teach us a lesson.  The God of the New Testament is not a sadistic deity who delights in sending trials just to see if we humans will make it through.  He doesn’t have to.  The human race and the forces of darkness are quite up to the challenge of causing enough pain and suffering and rejection to go around.

And yet our God, through his magnificent powers of redemption, has never lost the upper hand.  Whatever ugliness we encounter, whatever suffering we undergo, whatever pain we stumble through, he has the power to redeem it, if we continue to hold up our cups to him.

We can take the pain of our past and the pain of our present and allow that pain to encase us for a lifetime if we want to.  But that isn’t what God wants us to do.  God wants us to bring our cup of pain to him.  He wants to comfort us, and he wants to transform us into something beautiful.

And for his loving presence yesterday and today and tomorrow, we can be truly and sincerely thankful.