I want the lump in your throat, butterflies, breath deeper, uninhibited joy that only my God can give.
My cup is full--but not hot.
My cup is intact but seems to have hairline fractures--I cant really see them but I know they are there. I don't know why--maybe just due to age--or shoddy car.
My cup is "you could drink out of it clean"--but could use a good scrubbin' with some suds of contentment and direction.
My cup is wanting to be part of a glorious tea-party--to be sat down with and cradled in loving, all creating hands. To be filled over and over again with the perfect brew--around a table of laughter, joy and unconditional love.
Just like at every tea party it take time--but I am ready for the clock to start turning and excited to bask in the hands of the tea master.