Empty Cup, Full Cup

A homely, snug little mug always starts empty.

It could gleam in a contemporary sensibility. It could be aged and chipped with character. It could be thrown and melded through kind potters hands. It could be stately, and curl the handle. Vintage. New. Sloppy. Exquisite. Bright. Dark. Textured. Smooth. Fragile. Sturdy. Creatively designed, or logically so.

But still empty.

And some mornings when the sun is still new the non-risers need a moment to simply stare at the object before deciding on movement. Early is hard, after all. But eventually hands shift and cabinets open. Sorrel liquids pour and match the mug where it sits. 

There's variety for everyone. Sometimes truckloads of sugar dump in next. Others flip it back straight. Some take moments to breathe the concoction and enjoy every sense. A full cup.

Empty cup. Full cup.

There's something satisfactory about a full cup. Complete. Warm. New. And even better, a pitcher waiting in the kitchen with even more in it. Extra. So that when the next housemate enters, the drinker can look up, tip their mug and say, "Mornin'. Coffee?"

He does, in fact, fill our cup to overflowing. He's quite good at it. All we have to do is ask. 

And when we ask and fill, the overflow extends to our world. We are able to invest in those around us. We are able to pour a drink. Sometimes unexpectedly. 

So why don't we do it more often?

Do you know what I have? A genuine desire to love children, whether they are biologically mine or not. To wrap compassion around someone who wouldn't have it otherwise. To reflect the adoption of a now righteous Daughter.

And that's really, really weird.

There's a lot of reactions when you express that desire. "Don't you want to have your own kids?" "That isn't natural." "You'll changed your mind when you get married." "Your husband probably won't agree with you." Or, so they don't sound like a bad person "oh yeah, I want to adopt too, just after I have my own kids."

I have a heart for adoption. Not as a plan B. Not as a backup. Not to sound nice. Not to avoid having my own children, or to hold a grudge if my future changes. I have a lot of love to give because I've been given quite a bit of love.

A full cup. 

So here, in my mid twenties, as I'm too busy for dating and my future is a faint line on the horizon with years still to pass, I'm grabbing ahold of the mug, letting Him pour, and giving Him the direction of the extra.

I'm watching.