The Cup

The rain came and washed away the acrid smell of smoke. The house stood like an empty tomb; the fire had come and made it uninhabitable. It's contents, which had once been symbols of love and hope, were now burnt garbage tossed in the dumpster.

Lyn drove by and surveyed the scene, but something caught her eye. Beside the dumpster there had been placed a small fragile cup blackened by the blaze. Curiosity caused her to stop the car. She went over to the dumpster, picked up the charred cup, and wondered if it could be salvaged.

After my brain surgery I doubted I would ever be able to speak in public again, partly because of my facial paralysis and partly because I was afraid that when they drilled into my skull they had scrambled my brains. Because of this I hesitated when my church asked me to speak at the women's retreat. But I said yes because I believe that light can shine out of darkness.

As I timidly prepared to speak, I was reminded of 2 Corinthians 4:7-15, "Now we have this treasure in clay jars, so that this extraordinary power may be from God and not from us. We are pressured in every way but not crushed; we are perplexed but not in despair; we are persecuted but not abandoned; we are struck down but destroyed...And since we have the same spirit of faith in accordance with what is written, I believed, therefore I spoke."

The day after I spoke,  Lyn handed me a brown bag. Inside the bag I found nestled in the white tissue paper a beautiful, fragile, china cup. It had survived the fire.