Tea - Cure for the Soul

Happy Friday! 

            It’s a happy Friday for me…after a very long week, I’m ready for the weekend.  Also, it’s snowing!  I love the snow, if for no other reason than it gives me an excuse to curl up in my room with a good book, my notebook, and a warm cup of tea.  Is there anything better than watching the snow swirl on the other side of the window above your desk as you curl up in your desk chair, your only companion steaming tea?  I think not.    

            Tea has always been a staple in my life.  The bitter taste, sweetened with a dab of sugar, carries healing powers unlike any other drink.  A sufferer of chronic sinus infections, I discovered early that tea could cure, or at least temporarily ease, the headache or sore throat.  Cough drops only helped for a few minutes and never aided my throbbing head, so I always had a cup of tea nearby. 

            Despite feeling poorly, I didn’t hate getting an infection.  It meant that I stayed home from school and spent the day with my grandparents.  Grammy would fuss and make me potato soup, a favorite family recipe, and I’d nestle in beside my Pappy for a nap while he watched FoxNews.  For hours.  The reporters went through the same news stories five times before he turned to another channel, but I didn’t mind.  Snuggled up at his side, I was content to feel his arm around me, or smell the soft scent of mint surrounding me as he bit into one of his sugar free peppermint patties.  Then we’d both enjoy a cup of tea together, as we chatted about my latest read - a Dickens classic or a Sherlock Holmes adventure. 

            Now, as it snows, I’m forced to reconcile that we can no longer share in literature and tea.  The many wonderful books I read for my classes would make lovely discussion, yet I can no longer visit with him.  With the kettle warming on the stovetop, I hoped that tea and my favorite book would warm my spirit…and I was not disappointed.  

No Longer a Pancake

           My life is a pancake.  Round, I go in circles day after day and avoid taking risks of any kind, never leaving my shell of comfort and safety.  Soft, I usually try to please, willing to bend to the wishes of others.  Thick, I don’t let in anyone outside of my small circle of trustworthy best friends and family.

            Two years ago, my pastor shared a sermon on service, and I felt compelled to serve in some small way in my church.  I didn’t really know where to begin.  Some people greet and make coffee before the services, others help with sound and lights, while others care for the children.  So many options, yet I had no idea where I fit.  But I felt called to try. 

            Because I am so quiet, I knew I wouldn’t be a good greeter.  I don’t know how, but they’re always so cheery and welcoming at eight in the morning.  I have never been able to understand technology, so helping with sound and lighting was out of the question.  That left working with the children.

Before we started attending this church, I had taught Sunday school at the church we went to previously, but that one was so much smaller.  This church was considerably larger with many more children.  I took a deep breath and emailed the director of the children’s ministry.  Within two weeks, she had me “test driving” with the preschoolers.  The thought of teaching toddlers scared me to death.  They have an attention span that lasts five minutes; if the teacher isn’t fun and engaging, they will eat her alive…which happened the first several weeks.  I came out of church almost in tears.

But I kept going. 

On my sixth Sunday, I sat with my group of three-year-olds while they watched the video lesson for the week.  The room was quiet for once, and the kids were enjoying a little skit on David and Goliath, when suddenly, a little boy crawled into my lap.  He never glanced up at me, just continued watching the television screen, enthralled by the story.  After watching him interact with the other kids for several weeks, I knew this was a big step for him.  He rarely talked to or played with the other kids.  I had never even seen him sit with one of the other teachers.  Yet, here he was, lounging in my lap as if he always had. 

Once the video ended, he finally looked up at me.  His gray eyes seemed cloudy, probably reflecting the same uncertainty that showed in my eyes.  Then he smiled shyly.  I couldn’t help but smile back. 

Seven years ago, I vowed never to start a blog.  My cousin had tried it, and even set one up for me, but I knew what would happen.  I’d post once, forget it, and then go back to my pen and paper.  So, she continued to share her life with the world, while I poured out my heart into one of my notebooks now stashed away on my old dusty bookshelf. 

            I’m shy.  Especially about my writing.  There is nothing I love more than a cold, rainy afternoon spent at my desk with a pen and my notebook, cup of hot tea nearby, or scribbling down my little discoveries as I sit on the swing in my backyard, basking in the wonder of the July sun.  That’s my little slice of heaven, and I don’t really share it with anyone.  It’s my world, a place I can vent frustration, despair of disappointment, or rejoice in victory. I never considered it worthy of sharing with someone else.  But that’s not going to help me achieve my dream.

            One thing I realized while teaching those children is that I need others.  I need them to teach me, challenge me, and push me, because I don’t push myself.  I lock myself up and toss the key down the drain.  Those kids opened me up in a way I didn’t think was possible – one Sunday I even led the worship time.  The song was shrill and off key, but they didn’t care.  They sang along, happy as can be.

            When I gave myself, I found life.  Real life, full of wonder and growth. Hopefully, as I share my writing, I’ll find the same.

As much as I love pancakes, they only satisfy for a short amount of time.