Creative Corner

My Cup

By Sara Hardy Bartee 27 Feb 2010

Our cups can either be full or empty. I suppose the cup could be half full or half empty. My cup has been both, though not at the same time.

As a child, I grew up in a very poor family, when measured by worldly standards. My cup was empty of frivolous things; we had only the necessities of life. But the cup was full of love. When I was nine months old, my cup was emptied of my young mother. She left us for nearly a year while she sought treatment that might prolong her life. When she returned, I was allowed to have her for about ten years, then my cup was empty, again. Death snatched her away one cold January night in 1950. It was just a few days past my twelfth birthday.

My daddy became both father and mother to me. We lived together in the house he had shared with my mother and me. Daddy had always been special to me, and now that he was all I had, I clung so tightly to him. But, once again, Death came calling at our house. One June night, Daddy slipped away to join his loved ones who had preceded him in death. I was twenty years old.

Then my cup was filled again! Avon and I had been in love for some time. He had promised my Daddy he would take care of me, so we married less than a year after Daddy died. My cup wasn’t just filled, it overflowed. There was love between two young people that could have filled a bucket, not just a cup. The Lord blessed us with three lovely children. The children brought such joy to us. As the children grew up and left home, one by one, the cup did not become any less full. There was a different kind of fullness. Having lived as a couple for over 30 years, we could anticipate the thoughts, desires, pleasures, and wishes of the other. Then suddenly, on a hot, hot July day, the cup was tilted and emptied again. My beloved Avon was taken from me. I was fifty-seven years old. For a brief time, I felt the cup was broken, never to be filled again.

But time is changing the hurt. It is still there, but I can deal with it, because the cup is being filled again. My children and grandchildren are seeing to that. I arouse from a sound sleep many times and reach out to touch that one who shared our bed for so many years. It is at times like that the cup feels empty. But, when morning comes, I arise and thank God for another day to seek His will for me. Soon the phone will ring, or there will be a voice at the door, and one of the children will be there, refilling my cup.

Then I can again go to the Lord and say, “Thank you for filling my cup so many times.” He will never leave me with an empty cup.

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