If I liked tea, I would probably drink it.
Seems logical right?
I would probably look forward to the morning’s flavoured hot water that would fill the room with a flowery aroma as steam wisp’d and curled like an italian street vendor’s curly-q mustache. I’d probably pull out my notebook and sit on my couch, legs in the criss cross indian style way, tea in my left hand, pen in my right, and I’d probably write. I’d write about my life. I’d write about things I love. I’d write about my tea and pen. I’d write about sunshine and blue skies.
On a good day, that is.
A week later I probably would still look forward to my cup of hot water and pen. And the day would probably dawn bright and sunny, but my head would boom and pound as pain ricocheted off it’s walls. I’d sit up and bang my head, much to my brain’s dismay and the pounding and booming would only be encouraged to make itself more well known in my life. I would stumble out of bed and stub my toe on the corner of my furniture and then both ends of my body would pound and boom in synchronization. I’d probably have one more of my favorite tea bags. A sigh of relief would be heard and I’d brew my cup of tea out of the keurig because I wanted it fast. But in doing so forget to check if there was a coffee pod in there. It would turn out that there was a coffee pod, and of course I’d already put the tea bag in the mug and so there goes my favorite tea to coffee flavored hot water. I’d frown and moan and dump out the tea and go to brew another popping in my second favorite bag AFTER I’d brewed it. I’d put what I thought was sugar in the tea and it would turn out to be salt so I’d have to dump that one as well. I’d brew yet another tea, put yet another tea bag in, and dump SUGAR into the steaming substance. Finally, I’d make it to the couch, wrap up in a cozy blanket, pull out my journal, and think “Now my day will begin going right.”. I’d begin scrawling out something about how horrible my morning was going but how good my tea was and then I’d misspell horrible and go back and try to erase the extra b I’d somehow added. In doing so, my mind would be preoccupied and forget that in my left hand I held a steaming substance that was awful delicious and it’d pour out. All over my journal, my pj’s, and of course me. And you’d probably think, “This day could not get any worse.”
-
I spilled tea once.
I know what you’re thinking, “Wait, she said she didn’t drink tea…?”
Well, I don’t.
Nor do I plan on drinking tea.
It’s metaphorical tea I speak of.
I spilled it all over my metaphorical journal (i.e. my life) and it ruined everything.
One word led to another word, one action led to another action, one mistake led to another mistake. Snowball effect, a bad habit, whatever you want to call it.
Much like the bad day, one thing led to another and before I knew it all I could think was, “What have I gotten myself into?” Now, don’t let your imaginations run wild. It was nothing monumentally bad, it was a series of bad choices that led to me being grounded for approximately 4-6 months. As I left the homeschooling community to join a private school due to the bad choices, I became aware of those spilled tea stains and try as I might to scrub it out, there’s always a hint of it.
It wasn’t until the private school year was over and I was back at homeschooling that I realized this special truth: Jesus Christ is my stain remover.
Not oxi-clean. Not dreft, a Tide-to-go, a shout wipe. Nope. I mean like a deep clean stain remover, one that doesn’t actually physically exist. A stain remover that once put into your clothes would remove stains - not the kind they advertise. This isn’t really talked about as much as it should be, it isn’t proclaimed on every channel, and when talked about it most certainly isn’t the kind of thing that shouts, “BUY ME!”.
He works very much like a stain remover.
He gets the stains out, but if you stain it again you’re back to square one. Until you ask for the spot remover again.
-
Every day I sin.
Every day I lapse into temptation.
Every day this world gets the best of me and I fall onto my knees and cry out, “Forgive me!”
And every day?
He cleanses me once more.
He cleanses me no matter how many times I get stained because that’s just who He is.
