I Am A Broken Tea Cup

((preface: this is a vision God gave to me of myself a long while back, but only today has it developed more into words.))

I'm a broken tea cup. I have red and yellow flowers on a white background. A red trimming along the handle and lip. I am pretty from afar, eye-catching. But hold me carefully because I'm chipped and cracked. No longer can I hold full a cup of tea. It dribbles down the sides in tear-shaped droplets, small and constant until I'm empty or hold the remnants of tea leaves. You try to drink from me, but my chips cut your lips and now your blood mixes with the tea. I hold that part of you in my center as it sinks to the bottom. You put me back into the lonely cupboard. The next person comes and picks me up unaware of the odd cracks camouflaged by my flowers. He holds me close, enjoying the warmth I carry from the tea, but as he holds me the warmth of the tea begins to slowly drip through his fingers now lined with nearly invisible, yet painful, cuts. He retreats to the handle to avoid my edges, holding me from afar still able to admire my beauty. His hand grows tired and he places me back in the cupboard. The next man comes by. He sees the beautiful tea cup in my imperfection. He holds me gently by the handle while he takes his time to examine me. He doesn't return me to the dusty cupboard. He sees my dangerous nicks that would dribble the tea onto his newly pressed shirt; he sees my chipped lip that could cause him to bleed; he sees my imperfect dangers and calls them "potential." He holds me from the bottom, supporting me firmly. He finds some filler to fill in the cracks. The filler is accented in gold. He fills the cracks, I can hold tea now. No more will the tea flow from me in tears. He prepares a gold molding to fit the chip in my lip. It fits perfectly as he attaches it. I am whole again. The tea will now pour only for those that choose to drink from me. All can appreciate my beauty from my new cupboard, but still can see the scars from the drops I've endured. Small pieces of me still float about in my old cupboard and kitchen. My new gold cracks and lip piece will be reminders I was once sharp, biting, unfulfilled. When they pick me up, they will pick me up from my new owners cupboard-- a clean and pristine cupboard, one filled with other mended china, but no dust or broken pieces. When people ask of me, he will hold me from the bottom, allowing my handle to be lifted by whomever and from whomever to drink from me, but yet only by his discretion, for he holds the key to the cupboard. He holds me firmly, having invested in my weakness. I will forever reflect his gold that now glimmers in my cracks. I no longer have to feel rejected by those that did not like my edges, for when they return me to the cupboard, they return me to the hand that filled me.

#jesus