During my years of traveling as a singer, I started a collection of coffee cups. They reminded me of people I’d met and places I’d seen.After marrying and settling down, my parents—avid travelers themselves—kept the collection going for me.
A cup here, a cup there, and before I knew it, I had more cups than I had cabinets. Something had to be done.
Not wishing to part with any of them, I found a sturdy box and started a weeding process of sorts.
My favorite cups—the ones I enjoyed drinking coffee from—would stay. The other cups—the prettier, more fragile ones—would go in the box and be stored in the garage until further notice. I didn't want to risk getting them chipped.
And so it was.
I ran across the box a few days ago. It had been years (and a few tears) since I’d seen the cups, and I wanted to see them again.
There was the one I purchased in the early ‘80s from Macy's in New York City. The one from Kentucky with special memories attached. Ones from Colorado, California, Nebraska, Oklahoma, Washington. So many beautiful cups, just like I left them years ago.
I was sad they weren’t being used, but they weren’t. Carefully, I restacked them inside the box and closed the lid. After returning them to the shelf, I walked away wondering what kind of vessel I am in the Kingdom of God.
Am I just a pretty vessel, stored in a box in God’s garage somewhere, too fragile to be of use? Or am I a willing vessel—his favorite cup, you might say—the one he reaches for every morning, knowing that I'm ready and able to do whatever he asks of me, no matter the risks involved?
Sobering questions, for sure. In the box? Out of the box? The answer is up to me.
“Then said I, Here am I; send me.” Isaiah 8:8
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