Teapots
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
Dear Friends,
I was talking to a friend yesterday who voiced many of my own frustrations and disappointments about the time we are in. She’s just so ready to get back to normalcy. As I was listening to her about the hard parts of what has been and her hope of what could be next, my mind kept thinking about this middle space of right now. The middle feels like it’s own wilderness wasteland of imbalance and uncertainty. Like the Israelites escaping from Egypt, it feels like I’m wandering through the Red Sea, watered walls cascading on both sides of me. I know what the “before” looked like and I don’t necessarily want to go back to what was because I’m no longer who I was. I can see what “right now” looks like with putting one foot in front of the other, stuck in the middle with the anxious prospect of walls crashing down. But I have no idea what “what’s next” looks like on the other side of the Red Sea. I want to get out of the middle faster and finally be on the other side of this uncertainty. I want to know what “next” looks like right now and, like my friend, I’m getting tired of waiting.
But friends, I’m not alone and you’re not alone in the middle of wondering “what’s next.” We have each other and we have a God of comfort and compassion with us. Sometimes I feel like I’m alone in a wilderness of loss and lack. It seems like everyone else is handling this middle space way better than I am but when I’m in that state, I take stock of what I’ve been doing. Have I been eating nourishing food? Have I been sleeping or exercising well? Have I been outside in nature? Have I been in God’s Word or talking to God in prayer? Is there an area of forgiveness needed or an argument with someone I love? Am I drinking enough water?
I try to step back from the desire to know what’s next and instead become present to right now—even in the midst of things being unstable, shaky, and uncertain. I find a quiet place in the early morning hours when it’s still dark out and I imagine my life like a teapot. A teapot is designed by an artist—like clay in the hands of the Maker—to be filled and to hold warmth, heat, comfort. In this shaky and uncertain middle space of right now, I imagine the God of compassion and comfort pouring everything I need into me. I sit in the warm stillness of “right now” while “what’s next” dissipates and dissolves from my mind. Like tea in a teapot, I steep in God’s love and comfort for me, resting in the Holy Spirit’s presence and affirmation. My breath begins to slow down and I’m reminded of my belovedness and identity.
But friends, if I stay in that state of me-and-Jesus and just rest in God’s comfort for me for too long, I will get cold and bitter over time. A teapot isn’t meant to steep forever. It’s designed to allow what’s inside to be transformed into something good and comforting for others. I’m meant to be poured out. The comfort and compassion poured into me will transform me into a person who pours out what’s been poured in.
Even in a Lenten wilderness season of loss and lack, you’ve been designed by the Great Artist to receive Love. So may you allow that love to transform you and your perspective and may you pour that Love out for the good of your family, church, friends, neighbors, and all. Praise God.
With (love),
Bethany