Recently our church had a ministry event in which we give away apartment stuff to international students. They can come and pick out stuff for their apartment and then our men and more burly women will hoist it all into trucks and deliver it for them as well. My dear husband got to help with this event again but this year we no longer lived across the street from the church. So I had the brilliant idea of just hanging out at the church so he wouldn't be late for the shindig to start. I packed the kids' swimsuits and their little dvd player and we holed up in my usual Sunday school room which coincidentally was at the threshold of where all the loot was to be had which made it quite a busy place. As the kids played I periodically listened to the helpers and students chit chat. It was cute the brief moments of cultural bonding that were had amidst instructions as the whole thing was set up sort of assembly-line style to try and create some order out of a potentially chaotic deal.
At the end of it the pastor in charge of the deal had called out that church folk could rummage through the stuff left over. I certainly wouldn't be mother's daughter if I didn't know how to rummage through some junk and find treasure so in between checking on the kids I picked around at what was left. I found this little pink coffee cup with the single word "hope" on it. That happens to be one of the primary names in our church name and most of us shorten the full name to just Hope. It had these little flowers on it and all together was perfect. I picked out Kaiya a Barbie doll with a purple dress and CJ a nondescript truck. Kaiya hugged the doll with as much love as would be humanly possible to turn a toy real. I suddenly didn't care about all my semi-half-baked-feministic ideas about Barbie dolls and wanted to rush off and buy her five more. CJ was more interested in a firetruck from the classroom, so much so that rather than fight the fight I let him steal it, figuring I could easily return it when the child's death grip wasn't quite as firm around the blasted thing. If need be he'll surrender a different firetruck in it's place.
All this to say as I sit and write, occasionally glancing at my cute little cup and remembering my daughter's happy little face, that I wonder if the finding treasure story-line isn't one of the grand Author's favorites. I have a friend who wanted a chair for reading and so she prayed for one. She needed a free one and every day she checked Craig's list free section (the day I heard this I stormed home and was delighted to discover that yes such a thing exists) until she found it. The perfect chair. The perfect size. Prettily decorated to her liking. She call's it: "God's chair." So I've decided to call my cup God's cup for it's just what I wanted. A cute cup that every time I drink from it I can pray for my delightful church that loves me and my family very well.