Tea with the Father

You are here.

You sit among the ladies grouped together at three tables. Their red hats and bright purple pins, lovely accents to their silver hair. They eat their spinach salads and yeast rolls telling stories of earlier days. Chasing children and lovers lost. One woman talks about her mother of 94 years who got married last month. Another chats about taking care of Oprah’s dogs while she vacationed in Aspen. Bragging about grandchildren peppers the conversation and seasons it with laughter. I feel You smile. You love these ladies.

Father, You are here.

You walk with the teenager server and her practiced smile. She pours tea delicately, carefully. Her quick attention to the needs of her customers delights You. As thoughts of young love or plans with friends cross her face, You gently remind her of her duties. You smile as You see her two little boys, yet to be born. Her service today will help her serve them. You know this. You are with her.

You are here.

You are with me. I sit at a table for two sipping ginger peach hot tea in a charming tea cup painted in tiny yellow roses and olive leaves. The joy of being a girl, sipping water from a goblet and resting in Your love overwhelms me. I can almost see You sitting across from me. You are smiling.

And the phone rings.

“Hello.”
“Mom?”
“Hi Noah, what’s up?”
“Remember the sucker sale?”
“Oh, that’s right. I was going to give you a dollar, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“When is it?”
“In fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll come by.”
“Okay. Bye.”

And God, You are with my boy.
And You smile.

Is He with you? Look around. Feel His smile.