Antique lace curtains gently swishing in the hand wash cycle of my washing machine. Tea brewed using an electric coffee maker steeping in my great-grandmother’s delicate violet china teapot. Stevia in the impossibly small matching violet sugar bowl. The dinner plates for the violet china set are the size we would call a salad plate, reminders that humans didn’t always expect such large portions of food. On one of them sits two lovely slices of whole wheat toast, spray butter melting down into them, a serving of scrambled eggs from an Eggbeaters carton, and a small dish of garden relish, my husband’s concoction of finely diced tomatoes, celery, purple and green onions, and cucumber (some things haven’t changed). A 15 year old grandson on the other side of the world, and one 10 minutes away who is about to be born any day now.
The old and the new. Mixed and mingled in ways never thought of by generations who came before. My great-grandmother used tea leaves, and while those are available to me I opt for the much more convenient tea bags. I doubt she had 1,207 varieties to choose from either. The eggs on her plate came straight from the chicken – I use those too, but again not my only option. Her butter was churned, fresh and rich; what I used this morning was liquid from a plastic spray bottle. Yet the beautiful china with its delicate pattern of purple and white violets is the very same for me as it was for her. It has survived all the packing and unpacking, moves from country to city, and being handed down to my grandmother and mother and eventually me. A connection to Great Grand not joined by genetics but by preference.
In many, more important, ways we are not alike. But we share a love for fine, beautiful things and the tradition of keeping them in the family. Her teapot keeps the tea amazingly warm without benefit of insulation or a heat source. As I pour myself another cup, into a delicate cup and saucer from another pattern – this one my paternal grandmother’s gold-rimmed rose pattern set – I wonder if my great grandmother used this china very often. Did she keep it in the display cabinet, only to be brought out for special occasions? Or did she use it for an everyday breakfast when she was alone, like I do this morning? The rose pattern was used every day I know, because Grandmother served on it every time we shared a family meal at her house. Sometimes I use pieces of the violet or rose china combined with my own white Wedgwood fine bone china – the compliment makes a lovely table setting. Old and new, mixed and mingled in ways never thought of by generations who came before.
But mostly the Wedgwood wins out, my daily choice, china I love and of which I have a complete set. I wonder if it is the same in my spiritual life? The Bible says believers are constantly being transformed by the renewing of our mind, and by the prompting of the Holy Spirit (when I am attuned enough to listen). I observe my new Christ-nature in the same physical body as my old sin-nature, but I am happy that at this stage of life I can honestly say the new nature is more often my daily choice than the old. Still, I let the old mix and mingle with the new at times, and there is nothing complimentary in that. Old, unsuitable language does not mix with the new dialect of unconditional love, edification, prayers to God, and songs of praise. Old judgmental attitudes and harsh thoughts do not mix with an attitude of working on the plank in my own eye first, and putting the needs of others before my own. Old selfish desires to do only what I want when I want won’t work with new desires to show Christ’s love wherever I can, use my talents to serve the church, and to bring the gospel to the lost.
Carried away with my thoughts I poured more tea into the cup and stopped it just as it filled to the brim, making me lean over to sip it down to a level where I could add sweetener without spilling over when I stirred. That’s how I handle my tea, but it’s not how I want to handle my witness for Jesus. I want that cup constantly brimming over, spilling out into the lives of those God puts in my path, washing them in His love and plan for their lives. Let the beauty of the Father’s pure love hold them up, supporting and bringing joy to the flower that is each individual soul, knitting a new meaningful life mixed together with the person He knitted in the mother’s womb. Wedgwood over the Violets.
